May-Jun 2 0 1 4 Vol 4 Issue 3 64 Pages

Reading Houc
short fi cti on essays verse reviews
Stories / Poetry
ar un chi t ni s barnal i saha mohd j unai d ansari
pa dma pr as ad sita mami di pudi snehi t h kumbl ;
'"'avOn;-:
or ^ .,
64 pages
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Editorial
Ah, summer . It slows us down, and we follow its lazy curves,
meander i ng past work and pur suant demands. Summer is
saddled wi t h expectations of good j ourneys, health, and harvest.
It allows us to linger, unwi nd and bear t he weight of the year. . .
Abha Sah undert akes one such j our ney tracing the pat h that
t he Buddha traversed mor e t han 2000 years ago, and t ransport s
us to Gaya, Lumbi ni , Sarnath, Nal anda. . . a j our ney replete with
hi st ory and lore. Sarah Rand describes a j our ney of a different
ki nd: an Audubon ' bird census' in t he Gambi a; a frantic, focused,
exhaust i ng activity of species identification and counting, and
sightings of unbelievably exotic bi rds in their native habitats.
An interview wi t h Hansda Sowvendra Shekhar, who makes
his debut as a novelist wi t h The Mysterious Ailment of Rupi
Baskey, reveals a wri t er refreshingly di fferent f r om today' s widely
travelled, jet-setting set, a wri t er who is quite cont ent to say "I am
afrai d I can write only about Jharkhand".
The maki ng of anot her writer, t he delightfully named Patralika
Pat ranobi s, is recount ed in the story The Truth And Fiction by
Barnali Saha. The prot agoni st of Nanda Ramesh' s The Legacy is
t hat all too familiar type, t he cor r upt politician, who must finally
face up to his own devils too. Mens Rea whi ch sounds like some
al armi ng ailment, is actually a legal t erm; wri t er-pai r P Shukla & L
Lut hri a weave an engrossi ng story of a deat h at a high-profile law
fi rm. In A Closed Universe Ar un Chi t ni s deals with the trials of
courage faced by a man with an unresol ved chi l dhood t rauma. A
Paradise Of One's Own is a whimsical story, of a man' s death and
his eart h-ent angl ed soul. Sita Mami di pudi explores relationships
and t he nat ur e of love in Leave Behind A Whisper. Padma Prasad' s
doct or prot agoni st comes perilously close to losing his dhar ma
before he is br ought rat her pai nful l y back on track, in A Doctor's
Dharma.
It' s time, t hen, to take on t he blistering days and the balmy
eveni ngsbri ng out t hat i ce-cream and go ahead, open up your
copy of Readi ng Hour . . . happy reading!
-Edi t ors
f a c e book. c om/ r e a di nghour
r eadi nghour . i n
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3
3
shor t f i c t i o n essays verse r evi ews
mmmn
ESSAYS
The Ga mbi a
sarah rand
On The Buddha' s Trail
abha sah
INTERVIEW
Ha ns da So wv e n d r a She kha r
r k bi swas
FICTION
The Tr ut h And Fi ct i on
barnali saha
The Legacy
nanda ramesh
Me ns Rea
p shukla & I l ut hri a
A Cl osed Uni ver s e
arun chi t ni s
A Par adi s e Of One' s Own
mohd j unai d ansari
Leave Behi nd A Wh i s p e r
sita mami di pudi
A Doct or ' s Dh a r ma
padma prasad
LIGHT STUFF
REVIEWS
LAST PAGE
POETRY
A Ta t t o o And A Cat
vijayalakshmi harish
Wa l ki ng Down Ta boot St r eet
snehi t h kumbl a
The Least Co u n t Of A Rul er
somendr a singh kharol a
Go v e r n me n t Of f i ce Lul l aby
snehi t h kumbl a
Inside cover: Pictures f r om t he Gambia, court esy Sarah Rand
2 Reading Hour
FICTION
The Truth And Fiction
bamali saha
Barnali is a transplanted Bengali currently living in New Delhi. She enjoys
wri ti ng short fiction and poetry, and has been published in several magazines
and newspapers in India, and in various electronic journals in USA.
T
he mor ni ng of t he first day of wi nt er was
daubed wi t h layers of fog. Fog gat her ed
abaft t he st reet s and hung bal eful l y over t he
whol e city, rest ri ct i ng vi si on and di sr upt i ng
traffic. The st reet l amps strove t o penet r at e t he
mi asma, but t he yel l ow l umi nescence t hat
i ssued f r om t he m seemed slight in compar i s on
t o t he f ogs dense deposi t . It was a mor ni ng
over f l owi ng wi t h col ourl ess gl oom.
In a sober cor ner of a pedest r i an- l ess r oad,
a little away f r om t he busy hi gh st reet wher e
vehicles en r out e t o offices pr ogr essed on
t i pt oe t hr ough t he bl eak mor ni ng, st ood a
weat her - beat en house, observi ng, like a bent
sept uagenar i an, t he cur l ed- up fi gures of a
coupl e of st reet dogs on t he pavement , wi t h a
bemus ed gaze.
Eventually, an aut o- r i ckshaw st opped bef or e
t he house. Pat ral i ka Pat ranobi s, t he young
writer, descended f r om t he vehi cl e and st ood
f or a bit out si de t he mor i bund est abl i shment
she had once called h o me for a few bri ef mont hs
dur i ng t he i ncept i on of her wr i t i ng career. She
had a r ot und, qui nt essent i al l y Bengal i face.
Dar k eyebrows cur ved over large eyes, and
a bur n mar k, t he souveni r of an unf or t unat e
ki t chen acci dent , ma r r e d t he s moot hnes s of her
left cheek.
A few mi nut es later, Pat ral i ka wal ked i nt o t he
house. The ent r ance was fami l i arl y l i t t ered wi t h
t he r ust y ent rai l s of several bicycles bel ongi ng
t o a si dewal k repai r shop down t he r oad whos e
owner occupi ed one of t he downst ai r s r ooms.
St eppi ng careful l y over t hem, she smi l ed as she
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3 3
saw how t he house hadn' t changed a bit over t he
years. It was still t he same unkempt , dishevelled,
da nk est abl i shment it used t o be, housi ng payi ng
guest s f r om st rai t ened ci rcumst ances, who j ust
needed a pl ace t o put up for cheap, and di dn' t
mi nd t he mess, t he rats, or t he cockroaches.
Taki ng t he keys t o her r oom f r om t he house-
owner' s wife, she cl i mbed up t he flight of ver y
steep and nar r ow stairs. A tail-less grey lizard
f l ounder ed on t he fl oor of t he upst ai rs cor r i dor
under t he obdur at e gl eam of a fi ft een wat t light
bul b. Muddy shoe pr i nt s of var i ous shapes and
sizes liberally dot t ed t he fl oor of t he passage.
Most of t he payi ng guests wer e out, and except
for t he dr i p- dr i p f r om a faucet somewher e and
t he f ur t i ve scrat chi ng of cockroaches, it was ver y
qui et . Pat ral i ka i nser t ed t he key i nt o t he lock
and aft er a shor t st ruggl e, managed to open t he
door t o her r oom. The mus t y smell, c ommon t o
r ooms unus ed for a whi l e accost ed her.
Upon ent er i ng and swi t chi ng on t he light,
whi ch t o her sur pr i se wor ked, she observed a
naked pat ch of dust y cement ed floor. Di smant l ed
f ur ni t ur e, a br oken t ube-l i ght , several stacks of
newspaper s, a l adder, and a pai r of r ubber flip-
flops, one of t he m wi t h a t or n strap, lay heaped
t oget her in one corner.
There was a r ed not ebook in her bag, a diary,
t o be exact, bel ongi ng t o a l ong past year, whi ch
was t he r eason she was maki ng t he pi l gri mage
t o her ol d h o me today. For it was whi l e living
i n t hi s r oom, years ago, t hat a cert ai n st range
i nci dent occur r ed, and al t ered her life forever.
It's really ext r aor di nar y how stray happeni ngs
in life, when exami ned by f or mal - mi nded,
or di nar y peopl e with heads r oot ed in t he gr i me
oi practicality, pass as meani ngl ess, and yet,
when viewed by a r omant i c mi nd assume t he
sol emni t y of omens. Patralika Pat r anobi s bei ng
a t rue Libran, bel onged to t he latter creed. And
so, when the i nci dent occur r ed, she consi der ed
it lite changi ng, t he like of whi ch coul d onl y
occur to a lew sensitive peopl e bl essed wi t h t he
acumen to i nt erpret its meani ng.
Patralika wal ked across t he r oom t owar ds
one of t he wi ndows and opened it. A cur t ai n
of milky dul l ness hung before her. Aft er a few
moment s of t ryi ng in vain to make sense of a
view r ender ed al most invisible by t he fog, she
walked away f r om her chilly vant age poi nt ,
f or an i nst ant before she moved, t her e fl ashed
before her mi nds eye t he i mage of a ma n seated
at a desk, the pen in his hand movi ng across and
down a virgin sheet of paper; hi s br own ar m, t he
skin of t he naked elbow, t he steel l i mbs of t he
table, all visible t hr ough t he vertical bars of t he
olive green wi ndow wher e she had st ood. Life,
t hr obbi ng with the pai n of existence, et ernal l y
present , eternally nuanced, had existed for a l ong
t i me lor our young scri pt uri ent in t he r oom,
presently invisible, t hat she had once wat ched
from this wi ndow. And now, aft er t he secret had
been exhaust ed and t he dor mant chamber in
the house across t he road had not hi ng mor e t o
offer, it seemed st range to Patralika t hat she had
once at t ached such si gni fi cance t o an or di nar y
r oom that had housed an or di nar y ma n who di d
an ext r aor di nar y t hi ng. The proof of whi ch now
rested in the f or m of a di ary in her bag.
I he i mage l i ngered in Patralika' s mi nd and t he
back story, now comi ng under t he spot l i ght of
the present , played itself out again in sequence.
Five years, six mont hs and t went y- t hr ee days
ago, she had moved into this house as a payi ng
guest. She di dn' t like t he r oom she was al l ot t ed
it seemed chillier and moul di er t han t he ot her
rooms; but no ot her r oom bei ng available, and
she in desperat e need for one, she t ook it.
f i l e moved slowly for Pat ral i ka at first. She
4
went to work, di d her edi t i ng j ob diligently,
r et ur ned t o her l odgi ngs, read Agat ha Chri st i e,
cooked di nner and wrot e shor t stories to escape
t he dr udger y of t he sl ow- movi ng days. You see,
at t hat t i me, Pat ral i ka wrot e mor e for t herapy,
and had no desi re to pr oduce great l i t erat ure t hat
woul d benefi t ot hers. Her st ori es were always
love stories wi t h happy endi ngs, and every t i me
she sent t hem off to some magazi ne or j our nal ,
t he edi t ors i nevi t abl y got back t o her wi t h t he
pi nk-sl i p of rej ect i on. But t hat di dn' t dampen
her wri t i ng spirit; back t hen, she consi der ed
wr i t i ng a leisurely pur sui t and di d not idealize it.
Every day as she left for office, Pat ral i ka espi ed
her nei ghbour in hi s r oom in t he bui l di ng
across t he road, engaged in wri t i ng. She st udi ed
t he back of hi s head, t he br own bal d spot , and
t he chai r he sat on, and wonder ed what he
wrot e. She i magi ned hi m as a gi ft ed nar r at or
compos i ng great epics, s omebody like Home r
or Val mi ki , creat i ng Nuevo poet r y on t he lines
of t he Iliad, t he Odyssey, or t he Ramayana. Or
possi bl y s omeone like t he Moder ni s t gi ant T.S.
Eliot, beget t i ng on hi s st eel -l i mbed table poet i c
lines about a new Wast el and:
"APRIL is t he cruellest mont h, br eedi ng
Lilacs out of t he dead l and. . . "
Or possibly, s omebody like Hemi ngway,
wr i t i ng narrat i ves of br avado and t he ul t i mat e
vi ct ory of t he h u ma n spirit in face of great
adversity.
One day unabl e t o cont ai n her curi osi t y any
longer, she asked t he mai d about hi m.
"Oh, t hat man, t hey say he is a writer, but I
cannot say what he writes. A ver y odd per son
he is; never goes out or meet s anyone. Has his
f ood br ought in by home-del i very. Onl y allows
t he cl eani ng l ady t o clean t he r oom once, onl y
once in a week. I magi ne t he a mount of wor k she
has to do, poor thing," t he mai d di vul ged.
"Has he a fami l y?" Pat ral i ka asked.
"No, I don' t t hi nk so. Hi s wife di ed last year,
and aft er t hat he chucked hi s j ob and t ook up
resi dence in t hat house."
Wri t i ng, even t hough she liked doi ng it,
had always st r uck Pat ral i ka as ext remel y
Reading Hour
di ffi cul t . Thi nki ng up a pl ot was not t oo har d,
as i deas di d c ome t o her qui t e regul arl y, but it
was t he s pr eadi ng out par t , t he act ual act of
wr i t i ng, deal i ng wi t h t he di f f er ent poi nt s of
view, del i neat i ng t he t rai t s of char act er s, and
wr i t i ng t he di al ogue, t hat she f ound ext r emel y
compl i cat ed. But t hen, she had never been a
ser i ous s t udent of t he cr af t of wr i t i ng, not like
her prol i fi c ne i ghbour who wr ot e f r o m mo r n i n g
t o mi dni ght (she had not i ced hi s l i ght swi t chi ng
off af t er 12:30 in t he mor ni ng) . A sense of
r ever ence f or t he u n k n o wn wr i t er de e pe ne d
Patralika' s i nt er est in hi m.
Dur i ng t hi s t i me, Pat r al i ka c a me upon an
adver t i s ement in t he weekend s uppl ement
of a news paper . Publ i s her s of a s hor t fiction
ant hol ogy wer e seeki ng s ubmi s s i ons f r om young
f emal e wr i t er s. Inst ant l y, she deci ded t o s ubmi t
one of her st ori es a nd see wha t ha ppe ne d. A f ew
days ago, whi l e edi t i ng a ne ws pa pe r art i cl e in her
office, s hed ha d an i dea f or a shor t story. It c a me
t o her in a fl ash, like mos t of her i deas, and she
was so s haken at first t hat she ha d t o t ake a l ong
wa s hr oom br eak t o get over t he i ni t i al s hock
a nd sur pr i se. Wh a t was par t i cul ar l y t hr i l l i ng
about t he i dea was t he cl i max, t he meet i ng of
t he pr ot agoni s t and t he ant agoni st at a rai l way
st at i on.
Fei gni ng si ckness, Pat r al i ka t ook a f or t ni ght
off, unpai d, t o wr i t e her story. For t he first
t ew days, wor k pr ogr es s ed admi r abl y and she
sket ched t he i ni t i al bi t of her first dr af t wi t hout
a hi t ch, but t he n it all began t o s eem r at her silly,
and s t opped ma ki ng sense, and t hen, like a car d-
castle, t he whol e i dea f or t he st or y t umbl e d and
di s mant l ed i nt o a heap of not hi ngnes s . She t r i ed
t o e x h u me t he bone s of t he st or y a nd creat e
s ome t hi ng anew, but t hat di dn' t wor k. ' I he
t echni que of s cr ut i ni zi ng it l i ne- by- l i ne t o pi ck
out t he faul t s t hat ma d e it c r umbl e di dn' t wor k
ei t her. It s eemed a hopel ess t al e t hat coul dn' t
be sal vaged at all. Finally, she deci ded t o give
up on t hat st or y and wai t f or f r esh i nspi r at i on,
and whe n, af t er seven days ha d passed, a nd
not hi ng ne w ha d suggest ed itself t o Pat r al i ka,
she exper i enced, f or t he first t i me in her fai rl y
unevent f ul and or di na r y life, t he bi l i ous taste of
f ai l ur e and depr essi on.
On e mor ni ng, as Pat ral i ka lay in bed l i st eni ng
t o t he muezzi n' s mel odi ous reci t at i on of t he
a dha n f r om a ne i ghbour hood mos que, a
t hought c a me t o her. She real i zed that i nst ead
of obsessi ng over her tailed st ory and wast i ng
her f or t ni ght ' s leave in depr essi on, she shoul d
have spent it l ear ni ng wr i t i ng, by emul at i ng t he
habi t s of her creat i ve nei ghbour . She realized
t hat her e she was cr yi ng her eyes out over her
fai l ed at t empt s and t her e was he, t he wr i t i ng
machi ne, effort l essl y c ompos i ng wi t h what
s e e me d t o be compl et e compos ur e, day in and
day out . Wha t was he doi ng ri ght , she wonder ed,
a nd w
r
hat was she doi ng wr ong t hat ma de hi m
so fert i l e and her so bar r en? Evidently, t he best
way t o unde r s t a nd hi s me t hod, she t hought , w as
t o obs er ve hi m car ef ul l y ever y day.
That day, Pat ral i ka shi f t ed her heavy wooden
desk next t o t he wi ndow t o have a bet t er and
uni nt e r r upt e d vi ew of her nei ghbour ' s t oom.
Af t er t he first t hr ee or f our days, she began to
unde r s t a nd t he pat t er n of his dai l y behavi our :
he got up at seven, appar ent l y, and ar ound
ei ght - t hi r t y he s moke d a coupl e of ci garet t es
s t andi ng at t he wi ndow. Ar ound t hat t i me every
day, she obs er ved hi s bul ky fi gure, dressed
in a l oose st r i ped hal f - shi r t and whi t e cot t on
paj amas , exhal i ng r i ngs of s moke one alter t he
ot her pat i ent l y. The grey and whi t e cl oud of his
bear d and t he bl i ndi ng hal o of det er mi nat i on
t hat hi s stiff f or m exuded, were t hi ngs she
especi al l y not i ced. Ar ound ni ne, he was at
hi s desk hol di ng hi s pe na f ount ai n pen, she
t hought at first, but whi ch l at er t ur ned out to be
a pe nny- wor t h bal l poi nt i ns t r ument , t he t ype
t hat peddl er s in l ocal t r ai ns usual l y sell. Ar ound
mi d- a f t e r noon, he t ook an hour and a hall oil,
f r o m whi ch he r et ur ned a r ound f our and f r om
t hen on, he c ont i nue d till mi dni ght wi t hout any
br eak at all. She f ound hi m to be a t hor oughl y
di s cour t eous ma n who, despi t e seei ng her
everyday, never once sent a smi l e or a wave in
her di r ect i on. Never t hel ess, over t i me, Patralika
be c a me so r apt in her little voyeuri st i c leat that
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3 5
unbeknowns t to her, she st opped wor r yi ng
about her story and let nat ur e t ake its course,
whi ch it eventually di d.
Whi l e cons umi ng a piece of t oast at breakfast
one mor ni ng and l i st eni ng to a coupl e of cats
fighting in t he back alley, Patralika had a vision
ot a comel y housewi fe, or di nar y in aspect, madl y
in love with anot her man, who has recent l y
taken the deci si on to leave her hus band for her
par amour and is t hi nki ng of ways to br eak t he
news to her spouse, when one af t er noon, she has
a dr eam in whi ch her husband is cavor t i ng wi t h
her best fri end. In her dr eam, t he housewi f e
finds herself wailing and cr ashi ng di shes and
berat i ng her husband tor vi ol at i ng her t rust . She
wakes up f r om her t erri bl e reverie, shaken t o t he
core, and calls up her hus band to say t hat she
loves hi m very much.
Patralika raced to her wri t i ng desk and began
penni ng t he first draft of her story. Even t hough
this story t oo got t he edi t ori al rej ect i on slip
later, like all her previ ous short stories, t he relief
that the effortless flow of pen on paper pr ovi ded
her, alter what seemed like eons of cessat i on,
was st upendous. It was t r ue t hat she had no
idea how that st range vi si onary flash er upt ed
in her i magi nat i on since she was not t hi nki ng
at that t i me about infidelity or even about love,
subjects on whi ch her knowl edge was l i mi t ed;
nevertheless, she was t hankf ul t hat bef or e her
fortnight' s break elapsed, she had an idea for a
story at hand.
Two days later, Patralika finished her first draft
and took herself out for di nner to celebrate.
When she r et ur ned home, she f ound an
ambul ance squeal i ng on t he pavement out si de
the house across t he road and t wo me n in
white uni f or ms and caps car r yi ng a st ret cher
into the house. I he house- owner , Mr. Bansal,
st ood out si de with a di st ressed face, ani mat edl y
talking to a coupl e of old men.
"What' s t he mat t er?" Patralika asked Mr.
Bansal. 'I he man eyed her conf usedl y and asked,
"Who are you?"
"I live in that house opposite, " Pat ral i ka said,
poi nt i ng in t he di rect i on of t he mor i bund
6
est abl i shment whi ch she never liked t o call
home in f r ont of f r i ends.
"Oh," said Mr. Bansal. "It's one of my boar der s,
a wri t er; he's had a hear t attack. Nast y busi ness!"
"Who, t he ma n in t he second fl oor r oom?"
asked Patralika.
"Yes," said Mr. Bansal, amazed. "Do you know
hi m?"
Pat ral i ka expl ai ned t hat she had oft en not i ced
hi m wri t i ng f r om her own r oom. "Will he be all
ri ght ?"
"I don' t know; t he ambul ance fellows are
t aki ng hi m to t he hospi t al . I have to wast e a
good night' s sleep to be wi t h hi m unt i l his
br ot her comes t omorrow. "
"Oh, so he has a br ot her ?" Pat ral i ka said.
"Yes, and an awful one at t hat , says he can' t
come bef or e t omor r ow af t er noon. Scoundrel !"
Mr. Bansal cri ed. "Now, girl, leave me," he said
i mpat i ent l y, "I have a mi l l i on t hi ngs to at t end
to."
At t hat mome nt , t he ambul ance me n came
downst ai r s wi t h a ma n pr one on t he stretcher.
Hi s lips were whi t e and dr y and hi s eyes closed
shut , his compl exi on a sickly yellow. He was
wear i ng t he same l oose st r i ped shi rt and paj amas
t hat Pat ral i ka had always seen hi m dressed in.
Seeing hi m, she r emember ed t he bl oody and
bat t ered face of a r oad acci dent vi ct i m she had
once seen. She was suddenl y over whel med by
nausea and t hr ew up violently.
Men, always ready to hel p damsel s in distress,
came f or war d wi t h offers of chairs, glasses
of wat er and artificial respi rat i on. Presently,
br us hi ng t hem aside, Mr. Bansal came f or war d
and said, "You had bet t er come in and have a
glass of water. You shoul dn' t have gaped at hi m
for such a l ong t i me. Girls are weak- hear t ed,
you know, can' t handl e crisis."
Pat ral i ka fol l owed Mr. Bansal i nt o hi s office-
r oom wher e she was handed a glass of cold
water. "Dr i nk it up qui ckl y and go home, I will
have to lock t he house bef or e I leave. None of
t he boys are in yet."
Pat ral i ka dr ank t he wat er and whi l e she did,
an out r ageous t hought came t o her. Her hands
Reading Hour
were col d and her hear t beat l oudl y in her chest
when she said, "Mr. Bansal, I wonder if I coul d
see hi s r oom once bef or e I leave?"
"See hi s r oom? Whos e r oom?" Mr. Bansal
asked i ncredul ousl y.
"The writer' s r oom; you see, I am a wri t er
myself and I have seen hi m wor ki ng in t hat r oom
so many t i mes, so I have a r omant i c associ at i on
wi t h it. It will be a sort of pi l gr i mage for me."
Mr. Bansal st ared at Pat ral i ka in disbelief and
alter a moment ' s pause said, "Very well, you
have five mi nut es to compl et e your pi l gri mage.
I have a phone call to make and I will call you
once I arn done wi t h it."
Thanki ng Mr. Bansal pr of usel y for his
ki ndness, Pat ral i ka r ushed up t he dar k flight
of stairs. "By t he way, it's t he r oom opposi t e t he
washr oom, " she hear d Mr. Bansal say.
The r oom in quest i on was easy to locate. It
was wi de open and t he light comi ng f r om i nsi de
it i l l umi nat ed t he i nt eri or of t he was hr oom
si t uat ed opposi t e it. Flies hover ed above a stack
of di rt y al umi ni um and steel ut ensi l s heaped
out si de t he bat hr oom. A cat sat behi nd t he
carcass of a fish, dozi ng comf or t abl y under neat h
a smal l wooden di ni ng table wi t h t wo chairs.
Pat ral i ka passed t he cat and pr oceeded t o her
dest i nat i on. She felt like Alice t i pt oei ng t owar d
a st range wonder l and.
Her sense of wonder , however, was short
lived. The mome nt she wal ked i nt o t he r oom
redol ent wi t h sweat and t obacco, she realized
how ext r aor di nar i l y si mpl e it was. Nevert hel ess,
cont r ar y to her supposi t i on, t he r oom was
spaci ous enough. It was also di st i nct l y l acki ng
in sui t abl e f ur ni t ur e and uphol st ery, just like
all cheap places in Del hi cat eri ng to t he needs
of cash- st r apped payi ng guests. What ever
f ur ni t ur e t her e was, ma de t he r oom seem mor e
naked and empt y, r at her t han addi ng any sort of
char m to it. The onl y good piece of f ur ni t ur e was
t he st ur dy st udy table and t he chair. A coupl e of
f aded cot t on bed- sheet s wi t h gener ous dol l ops
of t ea-st ai ns on t hem were piled in an unt i dy
heap on t he unma de single bed. Mi scel l aneous
i t ems like books of poems by such poet s as Faiz
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3
Ahma d Faiz and Daagh Dehlvi, a steel band
wri st wat ch, a small plastic comb, a folding
mi rror, a cake of soap, and a jar of cheap tea and
anot her of biscuits were scat t ered on the built-in
concret e racks next to t he bed.
Pat ral i ka wander ed about t he r oom gazing
at t he di fferent obj ect s. Her eyes fell on a stack
of several bookl et s that t ur ned out lo he, upon
i nspect i on, cheap books of poet r y publ i shed
by unknown publ i shers whose agencies olten
de ma nd publ i cat i on money f r om aut hors. I he
name Uday Prakash was pri nt ed on the title
pages of t hese books, most of t hem heari ng
ost ent at i ous names like Gul dast a Kavitaon Ka
(A Bouquet of Poems); Yar-e-Bewafaa ( 1 he-
Unf ai t hf ul Fri end); Kavitaon Ki Mehlil (A
Gat her i ng of Poems), and Socht e-Socht e (l.osl
in I hought ) . Patralika leafed t hr ough their
pages hur r i edl y to di scover in a jiffy some poetic
t r ut h, s ome nugget of phi l osophy penned by her
nei ghbour ; her search, however, was truitless as
t he poe ms were not only exceptionally banal,
but also ext remel y short .
She put down t he books and was about to leave
t he r oom when she realized that she had missed
somet hi ng. Next to the stack of poet r y books
was a t hi ck diary, t he ki nd i nsurance agents
di spense to t hei r gener ous cust omer s every year
in January, wi t h a pen i nsert ed inside it. It took
her onl y a second to recogni ze that diary as
unmi st akabl y t he one that her poet fri end used
t o compos e his daily creative entries. Fxcited,
Pat ral i ka pi cked it up and opened it. What she
saw at first made no sense to her. I he pages
in t he di ary were nearly exhaust ed, but the
wr i t i ngoh, it was legible enough-made no
sense. Cont us i on cl ouded Patralika' s features
as she leafed t hr ough t he pages of t he strange
j our nal .
The t hud of Mr. Bansal' s fast appr oachi ng
foot st eps on t he cor r i dor made her dr op the
book, and before she knew what she was doing,
she f ound herself pi cki ng it up and put t i ng it
i nsi de her shirt.
"Is y
r
our pi l gri mage over, girl?" Mr. bansal
asked pant i ng a little.
7
Patralika nodded and came out . She di dn' t
wait lor Mr. Bansal, who went i nsi de Uday
Pr akashs r oom, pr esumabl y to i nspect its
cont ent s and t hen lock it, but went downst ai r s
hurriedly, rushed to her own l odgi ngs, went t o
her r oom, locked the door and br ought out t he
diary. She wonder ed it what she saw was merel y
a figment ot her wild i magi nat i on. Ot her wi se,
the t hi ng made no sense. How can a ma n wr i t i ng
more than ten hour s a day pen not hi ng but t he
sentence, "Mera naam Uday Pr akash
Hai" ("My name is Uday Prakash"
over and over and over again in
his diary? Indeed, it made no
sense, no sense what soever,
that someone who had
extricated hi msel f f r om
society to
d e d i c a t e
his whol e
hfe to the
p r a c t i c e
of his art
would t hen go
on to spend days
and weeks and mont hs
scribbling not hi ng but his
own name in his j our nal . Di d he use some
ot her di ary for his creative composi t i on? But
Patralika was sure that whenever she saw hi m,
she l ound hi m scri bbl i ng in this same j our nal
and using the same pen, and since each day' s
ent ry was duly dat ed and si gned, t he possibility
ot his using a di fferent di ary was remot e. Then
why, she wonder ed, why di d he do it? Was it
writer' s block or somet hi ng else? She opened
the j ournal and scrut i ni zed t he sent ences, or
rat her the one sent ence, repeat ed i nnumer abl y
in l onghand, l he penmans hi p of t he aut hor
was beaut i ful and t he wri t i ng showed no signs
ot i mpat i ence. Patralika t ri ed to i magi ne what
dwelt m the mi nd of this i ncredi bl e racont eur,
with an arrest ed cardi ac organ, now lying i nsi de
an ambul ance on his way to a hospi t al , but she
couldn' t. For once, her sensitive and r omant i c
mi nd was t oo baffled to come up wi t h an
i nt er pr et at i on.
" What are you t hi nki ng about so har d?" Mr.
Goyal' s voice s ounded f r om behi nd. Patralika
t ur ned to face t he owner of a set of betel leaf
st ai ned t eet h now di spl ayed in a gri n.
"Oh, Mr. Goyal," Pat ral i ka said, "you st art l ed
me. How are you?"
"I am in t he pink," said Mr. Goyal, wi deni ng
his al ready wi de gri n. "What did you t hi nk
about my wife? Isn' t she a beaut y?"
Pat ral i ka nodde d in acqui escence but
ma de no reply.
"So," said Mr. Goyal, "you are
t hi nki ng of movi ng back here,
ri ght ?"
"Oh, no, no," said Pat ral i ka
r emember i ng for an i nst ant
t he relief she felt t he day she
i nf or med Mr. Goyal t hat she
had lost her newspaper
j ob and woul dn' t be
able t o afford t he
rent , and woul d
consequent l y be
goi ng back to
Kolkata.
"But, I t hought
when you called me. . . why
are you here t hen?" A not e of
di smay s ounded in Mr. Goyal' s
voice; t he gri n vani shed f r om hi s face.
"Tell me, Mr. Goyal," said Patralika, "what
happened to t hat wri t er in t hat ot her bui l di ng,
t he one who had a hear t at t ack bef or e I left? Di d
he recover or did he die?"
"Oh, he recovered all right; but he doesn' t
live here anymor e. Bansal-ji t hr ew hi m out a
week or so aft er r et ur ni ng f r om hospi t al , aft er a
bl azi ng row; and qui t e ri ght t hat he di d. Woul d
you believe how he repai d Bansal -j i for hi s
ki ndness? Accused hi m of stealing an i mpor t ant
i t em f r om his r oom, but woul dn' t na me what it
was that was mi ssi ng. Even had t he ner ve to
call t he police. Qui t e a scandal it was for poor
Bansal-ji," said Mr. Goyal noddi ng his egg-like
8 Reading Hour
head. "But, why do you ask?" he said.
"You see, I was hopi ng t o have an i nt ervi ew
wi t h hi m for t he bl og I write," said Pat ral i ka,
careful l y conceal i ng t he diary.
"A blog, what' s t hat ?"
"It's s omet hi ng you wri t e on t he i nt ernet . So,
I guess you coul dn' t possi bl y tell me wher e he
now lives."
"But I daresay I could," count er ed Mr. Goyal
wi t h a t wi nkl e. "You see, when I went t o visit my
aunt in her village near Jaipur a coupl e of years
ago, I saw hi m. He was wear i ng a post man' s
khaki uni f or m and was r i di ng a bicycle. He
had st opped for a mome nt t o deliver letters t o a
grocer' s shop whose owner I knew, and when he
had left, I asked t he shop owner if he knew t he
post man' s name. He said it was Uday Prakash,
and he also i nf or med me t hat he was mar r i ed
t o t he local post mast er ' s daught er and had t wo
little girls. I guess all t hat wr i t i ng busi ness is
over finally! I t ol d Bansal -j i about hi m and he
t oo agreed t hat it was all to t he good t hat he
had settled down and r emar r i ed. Oh, you are
leaving? Dol l y t hought you woul d come down
and have some tea bef or e you go."
"Some ot her day per haps, Mr. Goyal; I just
r emember ed an appoi nt ment I have t o keep.
It was ni ce seei ng you and your wife," said
Pat ral i ka wal ki ng t owar d t he stairs.
The fog hadn' t compl et el y di sper sed when
Pat ral i ka st epped out on t he street, but it had
t hi nned consi der abl y So, she t hought , t he man,
t he writer, was nei t her dead, nor l angui shi ng in
a sanat or i um, but was living t he life of a village
pos t man di spensi ng letters to people. Somehow,
Pat ral i ka f ound it har d to i mbi be that news;
she t hought t hat a ma n as ext r aor di nar y as he
had been coul d not be living such an or di nar y
life. But t hen, wasn' t he always an or di nar y
man? Someone who per f or med a one t i me
ext r aor di nar y act, t he chance di scovery ol which
unexpect edl y changed Patralika' s plans lor her
own life forever. I ndeed, it it hadn' t been for
Uday Prakash' s diary, a j our nal that to her always
represent ed in bl ack and whi t e t he very essence
of creative f r ust r at i on and ext r eme depressi on,
she woul dn' t have t aken wri t i ng so seriously and
l abour ed so har d in l ear ni ng t he craft, and finally
become a prolific novelist with t hree English
novel s and t wo Bengali ones to her name. No,
she was sure, she woul dn' t have. She had come
t oday to pay her l ong- due homage to her muse
and r et ur n hi m hi s diary, but now she felt that it
was good t hat she hadn' t met hi m. She realized
t hat she coul dn' t r et ur n t he di ary after all; and
it was act ual l y t hat di ary and not t he post man
living in a village near Jaipur t hat was her muse.
But even so, as she wal ked down t he street, she
coul dn' t hel p but recall t he oft quot ed di ct um
t hat t r ut h is st ranger t han fiction. Real life, she
t hought , can i ndeed be mor e remarkabl e t han
i magi ned tales, and Pat ral i ka Pat ranobi s didn' t
need t he aid of her sensitive mi nd to under st and
t hat everl ast i ng t r ui s m t hat day.
''Start writing, no rihiltn u hut I lie u utei does riot flow until the faucet is t urned on."
- Louis l.'Aitiniti
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3
9
FICT10
The Legacy
nanda ramesh
Nanda worked as an Engineer before taking up hobbies close to his heart,
like bird photography, wri ti ng and volunteering. He has published with
newspapers, and Unisun.
I
sl ammed down t he receiver, my hand
shaki ng. How dare t hey accuse me of a
crime! All I had t ri ed to do was hel p our peopl e.
I his was clearly a conspi r acy by my det ract ors.
My wife wat ched me anxiously. She was
fami l i ar enough wi t h my moods t o r ef r ai n f r om
asking me what t he mat t er was i mmedi at el y. She
would wait for a cal mer t i me. I di d not offer an
expl anat i on either.
For now, I needed to get out of t he house,
organi ze my t hought s, analyse t he si t uat i on and
t hi nk of a way out
1 called for Mohan, my dependabl e per sonal
assistant, who had been wi t h me f r om t he st art
of my political career. He appr oached, l ooki ng
concerned, probabl y sensi ng t he gravity of t he
situation f r om my demeanour .
"Mohan, get t he car out . I want to go on a
drive. Alone," I i nst ruct ed.
He looked at me doubt ful l y.
"N'o driver," 1 repeat ed for emphasi s.
"Sir, please, securi t y at least?" he pl eaded.
1 shook my head.
1 le left wi t hout f ur t her ar gument . In a few
mi nut es, he handed me t he keys to t he Mer cedes
420i, my latest purchase, now par ked j ust out si de
the door. 1 acknowl edged his choi ce wi t h a nod.
Of the 7 cars I owned, he instinctively knew
which car I woul d prefer to dri ve at t hi s t i me.
1 had no idea wher e to go. Maybe a dri ve
al ong the beach road, I t hought . Or a st op at t he
club for a dr i nk with my fri ends. I i mmedi at el y
di scarded t hat idea. News woul d have l eaked
by now and t hey woul d, in all probability, be
gossiping and deci di ng whet her to l end me
10
t hei r suppor t or deny any rel at i onshi p wi t h
me. It woul d be har d t o know a f r i end f r om an
i nf or mer in t hat cesspit. Right now, I was not
i ncl i ned t o face t hose uncer t ai nt i es.
I headed t owar ds t he beach r oad, whi ch had
little traffic at t hi s late hour . I not i ced t he official
Jeep fol l owi ng discreetly. No doubt , Mohan had
i nf or med t he securi t y i n- char ge and t hey were
not t aki ng any chances wi t h my i rrat i onal urges.
I di d not mi nd, as l ong as t hey stayed far enough
and gave me s ome privacy.
My t hought s went back t o t he phone call. Why
had t hey t arget ed me out of t he count l ess ot her s
who were guilty of t he same i ndi scret i ons? I had
done so ma ny good t hi ngs whi l e t hey had all
l ooked to enr i ch onl y t hemsel ves.
The peopl e of my village coul d vouch for this.
First, t here was t he school t hat I had compl et ed
bui l di ng wi t h a large donat i on. Then, I had
ensur ed t hat t he state hi ghway t o my village was
finally commi ssi oned. They had felicitated me
wi t h garl ands and shawl s at t he i naugur at i on.
Our village t empl e was pr oof of my
benevol ence. Our Swamiji
1
had said t hat in
t he temple' s ent i re history, t her e had not been
a mor e gener ous devot ee, and t hat Hi s di vi ne
blessings woul d surely be shower ed on me all
my life!
And what about t he fans I'd di st r i but ed for
free t o t he vot ers in my const i t uency bef or e t he
election? Whi l e ever yone else had been dol i ng
out shi rt pi eces or 5 kg rice bags, I had given
t hem ongoi ng respite f r om t he hot s ummer s . Of
' Pr i es t or l ear ned per s on
Reading Hour
course, in r et ur n t hey gave me t hei r vote. But at
least t hey wer e mor e t han compensat ed for it!
One of t he accusat i ons per t ai ned to t he mi ni ng
company t hat I own. It was t r ue t hat I had
l everaged my posi t i on t o obt ai n t he r equi r ed
per mi t s. Gr ant ed, I br oke s ome envi r onment
rules and t wi st ed a few ar ms t o get t he l and
but it was most l y bar r en anyway. Thanks to my
efforts, many peopl e in t hat regi on now hel d
secure j obs and were ri cher t han t hey ever were
before. Since when was t hat consi der ed a cri me?
Anot her accusat i on had to do wi t h t he
hi ghway const r uct i on wor k t hat I had overseen.
As is nor mal pract i ce, I had made a profi t -
shar i ng deal wi t h t he i nf r ast r uct ur e company
t hat was awar ded t he proj ect . The wor k had
been successful l y compl et ed, had it not ? Wh y
coul dn' t I be compens at ed for it? God knows I
had ear ned it.
There coul d be onl y one reason for t he
i mpendi ng i nqui si t i on. Now t hat I had become
ri cher and mor e power f ul , peopl e were j eal ous
and want ed t o dr ag me down.
Yes, t hat was it!
Ri ght eous Ramaswamy, t hat good for not hi ng
except meddl i ng, had it in for me f r om a l ong
t i me! I knew he woul d t r y to pi n s omet hi ng on
me t he first chance he got. And he got t hat when
he was na me d head of t he i nqui r y panel ! Wha t
di d he know about doi ng real work? Is it possi bl e
t o progress on anyt hi ng wi t hout bendi ng t he
rul es a bit? He now sits in t hat office of his,
passi ng j udgement on s omebody who actually
gets t hi ngs done r at her t han j ust talk!
Then t her e were all t hose who were unhappy
because t hei r share in t he profi t s was not enough.
No doubt t hey are now eagerly l i ned up out si de
Ramaswamy' s office wi t h all t he muck t hey can
share about me. They are wor se t han leeches. No
amount of bl ood is good enough for t hem! They
have to keep on sucki ng. They will surely rej ect
any compr omi s e and leave me rot t i ng in jail,
whi l e t hey t ake over t he oper at i ons t hemsel ves.
Backst abbers!
The t hought made me so angr y t hat I had to
pull over and stop. The cool ocean breeze was
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3
soot hi ng. I di d not want to go to pri son. Surely,
I di d not deserve t hat , i was a good person, and
my good deeds had benefi t ed many.
The raid woul d happen t omor r ow af t er noon,
my source had i nf or med me on t he phone. What
woul d t hey do? Most likely, search our house,
and t hen arrest and lead me away in hand-cuffs.
The press, no doubt t i pped off, woul d be there
t aki ng phot ogr aphs, t he hyenas. My career
woul d be finished! How woul d my wile and
fami l y bear t he shame of t he raid and arrest? I
shudder ed at t he t hought .
I had to find a way out ! Aft er all, I had done
not hi ng worse t han numer ous ot her people.
Take Sommai ah for exampl e. He had made his
f or t une overseei ng that huge roadways project
as Mi ni st er for Tr anspor t . Most of t he bribes
were r emi t t ed i nt o his overseas account s. He
lived in a smal l bungal ow and went ar ound
wear i ng whi t e cot t on kurt as- and Gandhi topis' ,
as if t hey coul d whi t ewash his i mmoral i t y! But
whenever he went abroad, he part i ed and spent
hi s ill-gotten gains, t he hypocri t e!
Or Venkat r aman, t he Educat i on minister,
who got hi s brot her-i n-l aw' s press the cont ract
to pr i nt all t he state text books and raked in
e nor mous profi t s at pre-fi xed bloated prices! All
t hat mone y had been careful l y invested away
f r om t he publ i c eye. Why coul dn' t they raid
hi m?
At least I di d not hi de t he money. I bought
t he cars I l oved and enj oyed showi ng t hem off
openly. Ot her wi se, what was t he use of maki ng
t he money? But I ma de sure to spend enough
on t he peopl e of my const i t uency. After all, they
deser ved a share too, di dn' t they?
I deci ded to visit t he t empl e before I ret urned
home. I coul d always count on His blessings.
No ot her t empl e in t he count r y had i mproved
as muc h as t he t empl e in my village dur i ng
t hese past several years, since I had become the
Mi ni st er for Rural Devel opment .
Yes, a visit to t he t empl e woul d surely appease
all t he evil forces t hat were aft er me now. I
2
Loose f i t t i ng cot t on shi r t ' Cot t on cap
11
par ked in f r ont of t he t empl e and t ook out my
cel l - phone to call Swamiji, who lived close by.
Soon after, he was f umbl i ng wi t h t he keys to
open t he t empl e door, as he f ought off sleep. He
let me in and hur r i edl y swi t ched on t he lights.
We pr oceeded to t he i nner s anct um wher e
the deity st ood wi t h Hi s per pet ual l y open eyes,
wat chi ng over us for all eternity. As Swami j i
prepared to do t he pooj a
4
, 1 l ooked ar ound at t he
marks of my benevol ence t owar ds this t empl e.
There was t he silver door t hat I had donat ed soon
after I had won my first election. Then, I had
ext ended t he area ar ound t he t empl e and rebui l t
the walls. The most preci ous gift, however, now
st ood on His head, glittering. A cr own ma de
of pure gold! ft l ooked so magni f i cent t hat I
i nvol unt ari l y t ook a deep br eat h and felt my
confi dence surgi ng back. Surely, He knows
all, I t hought , and He will rescue me f r om
my t roubl es. He will consi der t he gifts I have
donat ed and excuse my i ndi scret i ons.
"Sahebr e\ you have come at an odd t i me.
1 hope He will give solace f r om what ever it is
that is t r oubl i ng you," Swamiji said, sear chi ng
for answers in my face. I i gnor ed t he i mpl i ed
query and instead l ooked t owar ds t he deity t o
pray. 1 was st art l ed to find t hat t he eyes wer e
now gl ari ng at me wi t h a fiery, accusi ng glow.
Seeing t he shock on my face, Swami j i t ur ned
ar ound qui ckl y to see what had caused it. But
the phenomenon was gone; t he deity' s eyes were
once again st ari ng at us vacant l y wi t h its usual
resigned look.
I hur r i ed out of t he t empl e. Shaken by t he
i nci dent , I qui ckl y rej ect ed it as a t ri ck pl ayed
by my i magi nat i on due t o t he t r oubl ed state of
my mi nd.
As I drove back at a leisurely pace, my t hought s
again went over t he case against me. Most of t he
accusat i ons woul d be difficult to prove l at er in
court . But some coul d still cause a lot of t roubl e.
For a moment , I wonder ed if all t hat mone y I
had made was wor t h t hi s distress. Why di d I
pursue it, I wonder ed, even t hough I al ready had
mor e t han I woul d ever need? I shook my head
to remove t hose t hought s. Money and power
12
were never enough. They were what enabl ed
one ma n t o rul e over all ot hers. This was not t he
t i me for i nt r ospect i on. I had to face t he i nqui r y
panel confi dent l y.
I was up early t he next day, cont act i ng t he
peopl e who coul d hel p me. But it was t oo late
now for a compr omi se. The officials and t he
pol i ce were expect ed in a few hour s. I was still
t r yi ng to fi nd t he cour age to br eak t he news to
my family. I felt helpless t hi nki ng of t he agony
t hat t hey woul d mos t likely go t hr ough for t he
next few days, maybe mont hs or even years. I
woul d not be able t o avoi d it any longer. They
woul d know soon enough.
My oldest son, st udyi ng in hi gh school ,
wal ked in. He was al ready in hi s uni f or m, ready
for school . He is a br i ght boy and does well at
hi s school wor k. Unl i ke me, I am hopi ng he will
gr aduat e bef or e ent er i ng politics, enhanci ng his
chances t o at t ai n hi gher goals.
"All set for school , Ar j un?" I asked, keepi ng
my voice even. Thankful l y, t he chi l dren woul d
not be wi t ness t o t he initial bedl am.
"Yes, Dad", he answered, l ooki ng at me warily,
clearly want i ng to say mor e.
"Di d you want s omet hi ng f r om me?" I asked.
"Well, I am in a bit of t r oubl e at school . They' ve
asked t o meet my parents. "
"Tell your mot he r t hen. I har dl y know your
t eachers, as you ver y well know."
"Well, uh, I was hopi ng t hat you coul d come
by for t hi s one and keep Amma out of it. I t hi nk
you woul d be able t o hel p me wi t h t hi s issue
much bet t er t han her."
I raised my eyebrows in surpri se. I har dl y
knew anyt hi ng about hi s school mat t ers. Wha t
a t i me t o request for my presence, I t hought t o
myself.
"Arj un, t oday I' m goi ng to be ext remel y busy.
I don' t t hi nk I can come t o t he school at all.
Maybe I can call later and t al k to your Pri nci pal ,
if t hat works. Just tell me what it is about. "
' Of f er i ng prayers t o dei t y
^Respect f ul addr ess for a person of hi gher s t at us
Reading Hour
He l ooked uns ur e f or a mo me n t but t hen said,
"Yes, I t hi nk t hat woul d be fine. Well, t he t hi ng
is, you know t hat our syllabus is qui t e t ough
and we have tests every mont h. But t he wor st is
English. I have t o wor k really har d t o get good
marks. "
He paus ed and I gave hi m an encour agi ng
nod. If it was poor mar ks t hat he was concer ned
about , he need not worry, I chuckl ed inwardly.
He di d not know how bad I had been i n school .
"Have you done badl y in your exams Ar j un?"
I asked wi t h an under s t andi ng l ook.
"No, no. It is not that."
That was good to know. Wha t was t he pr obl em
t hen, I wonder ed.
"Well, I t hought about it and deci ded t hat
it was such a wast e of t i me st udyi ng so har d
for each test. So, I f ound t he peon who pr i nt s
t he exam paper s. I br i bed hi m 5000 Rupees
t o give me a copy of t he paper one day bef or e
t he test. That hel ped and I got hi gh mar ks. But
unfort unat el y, t he t eacher suspect ed s omet hi ng
and caught t he peon. That i di ot conf essed and
now I a m i n t roubl e!" He l ooked mor e angr y
t han ashamed.
I was aghast . I gaped at hi m wonder i ng at
t he ease wi t h whi ch he was telling me t hat he
had br i bed a school wor ker and cheat ed in hi s
exams.
" How di d you get so muc h mone y and don' t
you know t hat it is wr ong t o cheat in exams?
Wh y di d you have t o do t hat when you are
per f ect l y capabl e of doi ng well?" I asked.
He nodde d and added hurri edl y.
"Yes, yes, I know, but what is t he poi nt in
wor ki ng so har d t o t ake t he tests? And, you need
not wor r y about t he money. I sol d t he paper t o
my cl assmat es for 1000 Rupees each. I ended up
maki ng qui t e a profit. You will be pr oud of t hat .
And see, I hel ped so ma ny ot her s t oo, who have
genui ne di ffi cul t y wi t h Engl i sh and our class got
good overall resul t s in t hat subj ect . That shoul d
have i mpr oved t he t eacher' s st andi ng wi t h t he
Pri nci pal . I don' t know why she want s t o expose
me. She coul d have j ust kept quiet," he said,
l ooki ng conf used.
I di d not know whet her t o be pr oud or appal l ed
at t he mor al logic t hat he seemed t o have al ready
i nher i t ed f r om me. The deceit seemed so much
starker, comi ng f r om t he child' s mout h.
Maybe it woul d be best for hi m t o stay back
f r om school today, I t hought . He needed t o see
t he consequences of such act i ons in per son
bef or e it becomes t oo late for hi m t o change.
Unl ess, I really di d want t o pass on t hat par t
of my l egacy to hi m! Aft er all, I had done fairly
well myself, usi ng it.
Unt i l now, t hat is.
He st ood wai t i ng for my response, and I st ared
back at hi m, t hi nki ng, unabl e t o decide.
W
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May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3 13
ESSAY
On The Buddha's Trail
abha sah
Abha taught English for sixteen years. She is a
writer and translator living in Mumbai .
L
ast aut umn, I was readi ng Old Path White
Clouds. As I followed t he Buddha' s life
in the lyrical style of the Vi et namese Buddhi st
monk, ' Ihich Nhat Hanh, a little l ongi ng began
to grow subliminally. What if one coul d retrace
the path that t he Buddha had traversed?
As it happened, a f r i end was going on t he
Mahapari ni rvan Express and invited me. It was
as it the Universe had sensed my yearni ng.
Organi sed by the Indi an Railway Cat eri ng
and Tourism Cor por at i on (IRCTC), t he
route covers i mpor t ant places in t he Buddha' s
life, t hough not in chronol ogi cal sequence.
I.umbini, his birth place, is in Nepal, and one
ot the last to be visited. Bodh Gaya, where he
attained enl i ght enment is the first. The stops,
therefore, are chosen accordi ng to geographi cal
convenience.
Oct ober 5th, 2013, found us at Delhi' s little
known Satdar Jang, a station originally built for
a circular rail route in the city, but now used
exclusively tor special cross-count ry trains. We
were just t hi rt y people in an ai r-condi t i oned
l()-coach train.
We were greeted with garl ands of bri ght yellow
mangol d, vermillion tilaks and t he sounds of
shehnai and tabla. Liveried port ers carri ed our
luggage. Our wel come kit compri sed tickets, a
glossy itinerary brochure, and an I RCTC peaked
cap. ' lhe bert hs were already made- up for t he
night, l he train was flagged off at six-thirty.
We di sembarked at Gaya, near Patna, in
Bihar. On board the bus to Bodh Gaya, we were
i nt roduced to the venerable 74-year old R.B.
Singh, an M.A. in Pali f r om t he Nava Nal anda
Mahavi har, t he new University established in
1951 to pr omot e t he st udy of Pali and Theravada
Buddhi sm. Singh proved a veritable repert oi re
of stories, bot h myt h and history, and enri ched
t he t our with anecdot es and facts.
Three mont hs ago, on July 7, 2013, a series of
ten blasts had shaken t he quiet t empl e t own of
Bodh Gaya, i nj uri ng five people. Though t he
t empl e escaped damage, vigilance has since been
t i ght ened. We had to sur r ender our mobiles,
lighters, and ot her potentially dangerous items
at t he security, mor e t han t wo hundr ed yards
away f r om the temple, as t he ent r y poi nt has
been moved fart her away t han it used to be.
The Mahabodhi Temple, a UNESCO World
Heri t age Site, was first built by t he Hi ndu king,
Ashoka, in 260 BCE, 200 years after t he Buddha.
It mar ks t he place of Buddha' s enl i ght enment .
Its current f or m dates back to t he 5th century.
It is in t he Sout h Indi an Gopur am style and is
very ornat e on t he out si de wi t h carvi ngs of t he
Buddha in vari ous post ures of medi t at i on.
Pacing it is a single storeyed, t hr ee- r oom
st ruct ure cont ai ni ng statues of Hi ndu deities.
There were offerings of flowers and vermi l i on
there, and wicks of oil lamps.
Pri nce Si ddhart ha, or Sakya Muni , as he was
known before enl i ght enment , and five ascetics,
fasted and pract i sed austerities for six years
but were no closer to t he Trut h that t hey had
left home in search of. Siddhartha' s faith in
asceticism had wor n t hi n, t hi nner t han t he skin
that covered his skeleton. Frail and starving, he
collapsed near t he Ni r anj ana River at Gaya.
Though images of Sakya Muni are rare, in
Buddhi st iconography, he is an emaci at ed figure
14 Reading Hour
with pr omi nent ribs, gaunt face, sunken eyes and
mat t ed hair piled hi gh on t he head. The figure
si mul t aneousl y captivates and haunt s; at least it
di d me. The Buddha t hat Sakya Muni eventually
becomes, is, in cont rast , represent ed by t he
distinctive Ushni sha, or cranial prot uberance,
and a healthy, even r ot und body.
Fi ndi ng t he unconsci ous Sakya Muni , Sujata, a
young village girl who came to make an offeri ng
to t he forest gods t hat full moon night, forced
some mi l k into his mout h. Gradual l y comi ng
out of t he faint, he asked her for more. At this,
accordi ng to Singh, Siddhartha' s compani ons
desert ed hi m, out raged by his betrayal.
Si ddhart ha sat in medi t at i on under a peepal
tree, ficus religiosa, pr esumabl y facing and
fi ght i ng many ment al devils and at t he end of
fort y-ni ne days, he saw t he Trut h and t he Sakya
Muni became Buddha, t he Enl i ght ened One.
That or di nar y peepal became t he Bodhi Tree. It
is just behi nd t he Mahabodhi Temple.
The Bodhi tree and about ten yards square
ar ound it, have been encl osed wi t hi n a hi gh
fence. Several at t empt s were made to dest roy
t he tree in t he power struggles of t he t i me.
Though Ashoka became a devout Buddhi st , one
of his many Hi ndu wives resent ed her monarch' s
devot i on to Buddhi sm. Not satisfied with havi ng
t he tree chopped down, t he possessiveness of t he
queen had her order sugar-cane juice pour ed on
t he root s to entice ants, Singh told us. Buddhi st
lore says t wo saplings survived; one of t hese is
t he parent of t he present Bodhi tree, and t he
ot her was pl ant ed in Sravasti.
The mor e widely hel d hi st ori c versi on says t hat
as Buddhi sm spread, Ashoka' s son, who was one
of its most ardent missionaries, t ook a br anch
of t he original Bodhi tree and had it pl ant ed in
Sri Lanka; this present tree grew f r om a sapling
br ought back f r om t hat one. Whe n discreetly
conf r ont ed, Singh admi t t ed t hat this ' fact' was
history; what he had told us was Buddhi st lore!
A st one slab mar ks t he place wher e Sakya
Muni is pr esumed to have sat and medi t at ed.
Our bus t ook us to t he 80-foot tall Buddha
statue commi ssi oned by t he Japanese
gover nment and made f r om Chunar, a stone
wi t h a highly polished surface found in Uttar
Pradesh. The hei ght of the statue has been
det er mi ned by t he age at whi ch Buddha attained
Pari ni rvan, a t er m whi ch refers to his dying or
t he casting off of t he physical body. ' Ihe red
pedest al is 10 feet, t he yellow lotus seat is 6 feet,
and t he Buddha' s figure, in pink, is 64 feet. In
addi t i on, t here is a l i ne-up of t e n larger than life
statues of his closest disciples, five to a side.
The Ni r anj ana River is now just a muddy
trickle but at t he t i me when Si ddhart ha accepted
t he mi l k or ' kheer' that Sujata offered hi m, it
must have been a wi de and swift river.
Old Path White Clouds ment i ons that this was
t he same river where Buddha also met Svasti, the
little buffal o boy, who offered hi m kusa grass for
a cushi oned seat to medi t at e upon, and whose
life inspired t he Sutra on Tendi ng Water Buffalo;
Svasti went on to become a devout bhi kkhu.
Bodh Gaya also has t he royal Bhutan temple
and a Thai temple. The statues of the Buddha
in bot h t hese t empl es are very distinct in form
and feature. I was tickled by t he not i on that the
deity coul d be cast in t he i mage of the sculptor.
Buddhi st s f r om Myanmar, Japan, Thailand and
Sri Lanka are frequent visitors to these and ot her
Buddhi st pi l gri mage sites in India.
Next mor ni ng, we left by bus for Rajgir (or
Raj agaha). Buddha had st art ed his life as a
mendi cant ascetic here.
King Bimbisara, who built Rajgir, was the
rul er of Magadha in t he 5th cent ury BCE, and
a Jain. Legend says he recogni sed the young
ascetic as Pri nce Si ddhart ha and offered hi m
his t hrone. Si ddhart ha decl i ned but promi sed to
r et ur n after he l earnt t he Trut h. He redeemed
his promi se, and spent a lot of t i me medi t at i ng
and t eachi ng in Rajgir. Bimbisara, won over by
his t eachi ng, became a very i mpor t ant disciple
and spent lavishly f r om t he royal coffers on the
Buddhi st Sangha and t he needs of the bhi kkhus.
Bimbisara' s pat ronage of t he Sangha must
have sent di st urbi ng ripples among the Jain
communi t y but accordi ng to Buddhi st lore, many
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3 15
peopl e in hi s ki ngdom also became followers.
However, his son, Aj at asat ru, di sappr oved,
and it is said t hat he sent eagles t o di st ract and
har m t he Buddha, whi l e Devdat t a, t he Buddha' s
cousi n, sent an i nt oxi cat ed el ephant t o t r ampl e
t he Buddha. However, t he Buddha' s gaze cal med
t he eagles, and t he el ephant knel t bef or e hi m.
The t op of Gi r i dh Kuta or Vul t ure Peak, has a
shri ne wi t h a smal l Buddha statue, and nat ur al
rock shapes r emi nd one of t he el ephant and t he
eagles pr ost r at i ng t o t he Buddha.
The present caret aker of t hat shri ne, who has
been in charge for t he past t hi r t y years, t ol d us
that Aj at asat ru over t hr ew hi s fat her Bi mbi sara
and i mpr i soned hi m; however, Bi mbi sara, f r om
his pri son, coul d vi ew t he Buddha whenever t he
latter was in Rajgir. A pl aque mar ks t he area of
Bimbisara' s cell and it does have a vi ew of Gi r i dh
Kuta hill.
Mi dway bet ween Gi r i dh Kut a and Bimbisara' s
jail is a mango grove. This was t he di spensar y
ot Jivaka, t he most cel ebrat ed doct or dur i ng
Buddha' s t i me. Jivaka was adopt ed by Pr i nce
Abhaya, a son of Bimbisara, when t he r aucous
cawing of circling crows dr ew Abhaya' s
at t ent i on to t he abandoned day-ol d baby. Wh e n
Jivaka learnt t hat he was t he illegitimate son of a
court esan, he vowed to prot ect life, and became
a doctor. He was a dedi cat ed healer, but hi s
greatest pl easure lay in at t endi ng to t he Buddha.
I recalled an i nci dent f r om t he book.
Devadut t a had had a boul der rolled down t he
hill t arget i ng t he Buddha; fort unat el y, it dashed
against anot her on t he hillside and spl i nt ered;
one piece st ruck t he Buddha' s foot , i nj ur i ng hi m
severely. Jivaka r ushed hi m to t hi s Mango Grove
and t reat ed hi m.
On a hill near Gi r i dh Kuta but hi gher t han it,
is t he Japanese Worl d Peace Pagoda, or Vi shwa
Shanti Stupa. At 400 met res, it is t he tallest peace
pagoda in t he worl d.
A hal f - hour bus ri de f r om Rajgir and about 88
km sout h-east of Pat na, is Nal anda. The r ui ns
of that i mpressi ve anci ent site of l ear ni ng sprawl
over 14 hect ares. At its peak, t hi s resi dent i al
compl ex of red brick, whi ch was st art ed in t he
16
5t h cent ur y CE, accommodat ed 10,000 st udent s
and about 2, 000 t eachers, dr awi ng schol ars
f r om Japan, Korea, Chi na, I ndonesi a, Ti bet and
Turkey. It had a magni f i cent l i brary occupyi ng
a ni ne- st or eyed bui l di ng. In 1193, Bakht i yar
Khilji, a Turk, set it afire, killing several monks
in a vi ol ent at t empt t o st amp out Buddhi s m.
The t op t hr ee layers have been excavat ed and
are clearly di scerni bl e in t he t hr ee di fferent
staircases l eadi ng up t he side of Sariputta' s st upa,
one of t he mai n feat ures of t he old uni versi t y
campus. Accor di ng t o l egend, Sari put t a, one
of Buddha' s earliest and mos t revered disciples,
was known for hi s i nt el l i gence and open-
mi ndedness. He had been i nspi red to leave hi s
first t eacher and j oi n Buddha because of t he
great peace he had seen on t he face of Assaji, a
Buddhi st bhi kkhu.
The na me Nal anda is deri ved f r om Na- al am-
da whi ch means ' Insat i abl e in Gi vi ng' and was
appar ent l y one of t he names of t he Buddha in
an earlier bi rt h, when he was a ki ng and had hi s
capital here.
By ni ght , we travelled t o Varanasi for a visit to
Sarnat h, t he place of Buddha' s first s er mon. This
was t he f our t h day of our i t i nerary and by now
we had begun to f or m opi ni ons, ri ght or wr ong,
about our compani ons . Hu ma n dynami cs
repeat edl y br ought us back to t he pr esent f r om
t he hal l owed past!
Sarnat h, 13 km nor t h- east of Varanasi , is
wher e t he Buddha gave his first s er mon. The five
ascetics who had felt bet r ayed by hi m were his
first disciples. He knew t hem as s hr amanas or
strivers, t hose who were aware of t he i mpor t ance
of seeki ng, and moul ded hi s t eachi ng for t hem
accordingly. It was in Sar nat h t hat t he Sangha
st art ed.
The pr esent Stupa, a solid r ound monume nt ,
whi ch has been enl arged six t i mes, was bui l t in
500 CE to repl ace t he earlier one commi s s i oned
by Ki ng Ashoka in 249 BCE t o c omme mor a t e
t he activities of Buddha. We met gr oups of
Sri Lankan devot ees, all whi t e clad, led by
monks in doi ng t hei r puj a and t he par i kr ama
( ci r cumambul at i on) of t he st upa and l i ght i ng
Reading Hour
Top: Sl eepi ng Buddha, Kushi nagar
Above: Sar i put t a St upa, Nalanda
Right: Shri ne Giridh Kut, Rajgir
Next page cLockwise from t op Left:
The spot where t he Buddha medi t at ed,
80- f eet Buddha s t at ue Bodh Gaya,
Ruins of vi har at Sar nat h,
Mahapari ni rvan t empl e and st upa
candl es at its base. The Buddha had ment i oned
Sarnat h as one of t he four i mpor t ant places of
pilgrimage; t he ot hers bei ng Lumbi ni , Bodh
Gaya and Kushinagar.
About t wo met res of t he mut i l at ed Ashoka
pillar of t he lion capital, still exists, but is now
encircled by a fence and has become a sort of
shri ne for offerings of pr esumabl y first locks
encased in dough. It carries an i nscri pt i on t hat
war ns against any schi sm wi t hi n t he Sangha.
The pillar mar ks t he exact spot wher e Buddha
gave his first s er mon to t he five ascetics.
In t he Sarnat h Museum, not far f r om t he st upa,
t he lion capital of t he Ashoka pillar, also made
of Chunar , occupi es pri de of place, respl endent
in its fine scul pt ure and grani t oi d shine, ri ght in
t he cent re of t he mai n hall faci ng t he ent rance.
The f our lions faci ng t he four cardi nal di rect i ons
represent t he Buddha' s sovereignty.
On t he right side of t he door as you ent er is a
mut i l at ed statue. Al t hough t he t orso is missing,
it seems to be a femal e f or m, since it wears a skirt
decorat ed wi t h Buddha heads all al ong t he hem.
It is st andi ng wi t h one foot on t he head of Shiva
and t he ot her on t hat of Uma. The statue, named
Trailokya Vijaya, pr esumabl y commemor at es
t he vi ct ory of Buddhi sm over Hi ndui sm.
So much for non-vi ol ence, I mused. Perhaps
this creation, f r om a t i me after t he Buddha,
by a scul pt or whose doct r i nal beliefs are not
known, reflected t he angui sh or t r i umph t hat
t he popul ari t y of t he new fai t h evoked.
That evening, we went to Varanasi for t he
Ganga arati; it was cleverly arranged. We boar ded
t wo mot or - boat s at t he ghats, ramshackl e old
barges fitted out wi t h t he most pri mi t i ve mot ors,
chugged down to Dasashwamedha Ghat and
moor ed a little way away. We wat ched t he arati
f r om t here, in peace, albeit f r om a distance.
At ni ght , t he t rai n wended its way t o
Gor akhpur . The next mor ni ng, day five, we went
by bus to Lumbi ni , t he place of Buddha' s bi r t h in
Nepal, whi ch means we crossed t he l and border.
The Maya Devi Temple, also a UNESCO Worl d
Heri t age Site, was rat her a di sappoi nt ment to
me. The spot of Siddhartha' s bi rt h is mar ked by
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3
a st one slab under t he gr ound and is prot ect ed
by a Plexiglas cover. On t he wall is a bas-relief of
Maya Devi giving bi rt h. She st ands hol di ng on
to t he br anch of a sal tree with her right hand
so t hat her right side is stretched. Accordi ng to
Buddhi st myt h, Si ddhar t ha was bor n f r om her
ri ght side. The face of t he statue has been slightly
damaged. To make mat t ers worse for t he visitor,
excavation under t he Japanese-funded project
is in progress and t he ubi qui t ous green mesh
dr aped everywhere created a darkeni ng gl oom.
The next mor ni ng, we left for Kushinagar
by bus, crossing back to India. Aft er a relaxed
l unch, we went to see t he site where t he Buddha
is said to have at t ai ned pari ni rvana. It is mar ked
by a large st upa cont ai ni ng his relics, again
much built over. We were told t hat his body was
shi ft ed to anot her spot nearby, where he was
pl aced wi t h his head facing sout h, as t radi t i on
demands, and t hat is wher e t he Mahapari ni van
Temple, wi t h its eighteen foot long sleeping
Buddha statue, stands.
The Buddha came to Kushi nagar after
delivering a ser mon at Sravasti, whi ch t ur ned
out to be his last. He was invited to a meal by
his lay devotee, Chunda. Singh explained
t hat accordi ng to t he Pali books, he di ned on
' sookarmaddam' . ' Sookar' coul d be i nt erpret ed
as ei t her por k or mus hr oom, and ' maddam' is
meal. Old Path White Clouds ment i ons t hat after
his meal , he t ol d Chunda to bur y t he remai ni ng
mus hr ooms and not allow anyone to eat t hem.
He is r epor t ed to have told his favoured
disciple, Ananda, whose comput er-l i ke memor y
hel ped record his t eachi ngs infallibly, that since
this meal was his last, peopl e woul d accuse
Chunda of servi ng an unwor t hy meal, but it was
one of t he t wo meal s t hat he t reasured t he most ,
t he ot her bei ng t he one he had before attaining
t he Way. He was referri ng to t he kheer that t he
young Sujata had offered hi m.
The Buddha was cr emat ed at Kushi nagar and
t he spot is now mar ked by t he Ramabhar Stupa.
Legend, accordi ng to Singh, says t hat t he pyre
was readi ed and Ananda t ri ed unsuccessful l y
to set it alight for t hree days. When t he seni or
19
disciple, Mahakassappa, who was on his
way havi ng hear d of t he Buddha' s ni rvana,
arrived, and bent down to pay homage to
Buddha, t he body ext ended its left foot t o
t ouch Mahakassappa' s forehead and t he pyre
mi racul ousl y ignited.
Old Path White Clouds takes t he mystical
out of t he funeral . Apparently, t he Buddha
told Ananda t hat he woul d leave t he worl d
in t hree mont hs and he spent his last days on
eart h t eachi ng and clarifying doubt s of his
bhikkus, encouragi ng t hem to ask quest i ons.
Mahakassappa, havi ng hear d of t he Buddha' s
declaration, st art ed to make his way t owar d t he
Buddha.
When t he Mast er br eat hed his last, t he
authorities of Kushi nagar (t hen Kusi nara) were
i nformed. At t he end of a week-l ong wake, as
they were about to ignite t he pyre, a messenger
rode up t o state t hat Mahakassappa and about
three hundr ed bhi kkhus were on t hei r way. The
pyre was lit only after t hey arrived.
His eart hl y remai ns were di vi ded i nt o eight
part s so t hat t hey coul d be st ored as relics in
different stupas, whi ch woul d become sites for
member s of t he Sangha to congregate.
What bot h Singh and Old Path White Clouds
agreed upon was t he Buddha' s emphasi s t hat
each person shoul d strive to be a light unt o
himself.
Sravasti, near Gonda in nor t h- east er n Ut t ar
Pradesh, t he site of his last ser mon, was our last
stop. It is a concourse of rui ns of several st upas
of vari ous sizes, t he venue for his sermons.
The t wi n of t he original Bodhi tree is pl ant ed
here, supposedl y by Ananda, and known as t he
Anand Bodhi tree.
Sravasti used to be a Jain st ronghol d. The
growi ng i nfl uence of t he Buddha' s t eachi ngs
had begun to cause concern. Singh told us t hat
some monks conspi red to def ame Buddha. The
services of a beaut i ful woman, Ci nca Malavika,
also known as Sundari , were enlisted. She kept
at t endi ng his sermons, payi ng deep at t ent i on
and t hen seeking pri vat e audi ence. Later, she
came to one of his meet i ngs, visibly pregnant ,
and charged hi m, in Singh's words, wi t h
' preachi ng serenely while I am in such a state
because of you'. The Buddha fixed a cal m glance
on her and t he wooden blocks t hat built up her
abdomen fell to t he gr ound, revealing her falsity.
Sundari fell at his feet, beggi ng forgiveness.
Sahet -Mahet are t wo di st i nct groups of r ui ns
near Sravasti. The Jetavana Vihar, wher e t he
Buddha spent many monsoons, is in Sahet.
Mahet has a st upa dedi cat ed to Angul i mal a, a
chari smat i c charact er encount er ed in t he hi st ory
of Buddhi sm. Lore has it t hat he ear ned t he
envy of his fellow st udent s in t he gur ukul and
pressure was bor ne upon t he t eacher to get ri d of
hi m. The t eacher demanded a gur u- dakshi na of
1,000 fingers of peopl e he had to kill. The bri ght
st udent became t he i nf amous mur der er - bandi t
Angul i maal , spreadi ng t error in t he regi on
and weari ng a neckl ace of fingers. The villagers
appeal ed to t hei r ki ng for help. Fortunately, t he
Buddha appr oached Angul i mal a and changed
his ways. By t he Buddha' s grace and compassi on,
he became a bhi kshu and was chri st ened, quite
poetically, ' Ahimsak' , t he non-vi ol ent .
The at mospher e in all of t hese anci ent sites
is vital and alive, one can' t but marvel at t he
i nfl uence t hat has travelled over so many
cent uri es to reach out across t he worl d, to
peopl e of di fferi ng cultures, creeds and races.
My belief is t hat t he devot i on of pi l gri ms keeps
t hese places sacred.
The diversity of t hose who have come t oget her
under t he c ommon umbrel l a of Buddhi sm is
reflected in t he vari ous faces and shapes t hat
t he Buddha statues take, in t he col ours t hat
domi nat e t hei r temples. These di fferences are
superficial; however, deeper di fferences led to
schi sms t hat later broke up t he Buddha' s way of
a mi ndf ul compassi onat e life i nt o vari ous sects.
*
20 Reading Hour
FICTION
Mens Rea
p shukla & I luthria
P Shukla & L Luthria arc practising advocates based
in Bangalore who co-author shoit liction.
M
ost peopl e read obi t uari es in newspaper s
but even if one wasn' t in t he habi t of
doi ng so, t he size of t he one for Aj eet h Kumar,
B.A, L.L.B, Par t ner of Rai, Johar & Associates,
4. 8. 1957-17. 12. 2013, woul d have c omma nde d
at t ent i on. The black and whi t e phot o whi ch
showed a good l ooki ng ma n wi t h wavy hai r
was obvi ousl y t aken a decade ago. Below t he
phot o, was pr omi nent ment i on of t he fact t hat
t he obi t uar y had been pl aced ' i n deep sor r ow'
by t he law firm of Rai, Johar and Associates,
Advocat es and Solicitors.
"Typical," said one of t he advocat es in t he
Hi gh Cour t Bar Associ at i on, t ossi ng down t he
newspaper , "the Bar Counci l does not per mi t
advert i si ng so t hey utilise t hi s oppor t uni t y and
ensur e t hei r name is ' in your face' visible." The
fact t hat one of his col l eagues at t he Bar had
passed away was clearly less not ewor t hy t han
t he fact of anot her firm bei ng able to advert i se
its existence.
"What a pity," said anot her lawyer, wi pi ng
his eyes, since his allergy had been act i ng up
recently. "Now I will never get t he chance to kill
hi m myself," he said wi t h regret.
"Mean bugger," said t he t hi r d lawyer, "Not t o
speak ill of t he dead, but if t her e was anyone
who deserved t o di e. . . I wonder what di d hi m
in?"
"Wher e t he hell have you been? It's been t he
talk of t he bar and bench. Those f ancy law firms
obvi ousl y don' t have enough mone y to repl ace
t hei r old, t er mi t e r i dden bookshel ves. One of
t hem, l oaded wi t h heavy l eat her bound law
report s, fell on t he bast ar d and smashed his
skull in."
The ot her s had all begun to laugh. "It's divine
justice," said one.
"Wi sh I had been t her e to push the shelf down
on his bl oody head!" said t he allergy afflicted
lawyer, t hi s t i me wi pi ng away tears of mi rt h.
The ot her s fell silent at t hat .
Someone cleared a t hr oat , "Do you t hi nk that' s
what mi ght have happened?"
"Nah. Why woul d anybody in his firm want
to do hi m in? He was mean, nasty, never played
fair, made personal at t acks on opposi ng counsel,
pai d off j udges and commi ssi oner s, misled the
cour t when he coul dn' t and won his cases. With
all hi s political net wor ki ng and cont act s his
par t ner s wer e bound to be happy with him."
"But not all hi s clients were. I've heard he
r i pped off a numbe r of peopl e and raised
ext or t i onat e bills," said t he allergic lawyer.
"If it had happened in t he court we could have
cast suspi ci on on pract i cal l y everyone around. "
The scene in t he law offices of Rai, Johar
&Associates, t he day aft er t he ' incident' , was
sombr e. Peopl e t al ked in hushed voices and
cast f ur t i ve gl ances t owar ds t he cor doned off
west wi ng of t he office, whi ch housed the office
l i brary and Aj eet h Kumar' s r oom. ' Ihe library
area had ori gi nal l y been one big open space, but
t went y years ago, a row of bookcases had been
ar r anged t o split t he space, at t he same t i me
f or mi ng a cor r i dor whi ch led to Ajeeth' s r oom at
t he end of it. A yawni ng gap l oomed now, where
t he of f endi ng bookshel f had st ood.
The t wo f oundi ng par t ner s of t he firm, M. I,. Rai
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3 21
and Dilip )ohar, wi t h Jayant Singhvi, who had
become a par t ner al ong wi t h Aj eet h Kumar,
were braci ng t hemsel ves for t he r eper cussi ons
of the deat h. There was bound t o be a lot of
publicity. The fatal acci dent had happened in
the office. It had been r epor t ed to t he pol i ce and
a post mor t em had been or der ed. They coul dn' t
under st and how the r umour s had cr opped up,
hi nt i ng at t he ci r cumst ances of deat h bei ng
suspicious. Obvi ousl y t he press, sharks t hat t hey
were, had scent ed bl ood and wer e circling. But
the firm' s PR consul t ant s were categorical t hat
any publicity was ul t i mat el y good publicity.
The part ners, as everyone knew, aft er
initially bei ng closeted wi t h each ot her, had
spent t he rest of t he mor ni ng st rat egi zi ng and
maki ng t hei r moves to cor ner Aj eet h Kumar' s
mor e pr omi nent clients for t hemsel ves. Hi s
secretary, Malini, who had just t hat mor ni ng
displayed copi ous tears, suddenl y f ound hersel f
invaluable. Being t he onl y per son ful l y aware of
the deceased' s mur ky deal i ngs, she di scovered
that she was in a posi t i on of power to mi l k
the par t ner s for her own benefi t . She was soon
diverted by cal cul at i ons of how to get hersel f
appoi nt ed as personal assistant t o M. L. Rai, and
manage to ext ort a much hi gher salary.
Whilst t he par t ner s and t he secret ary schemed,
the ot her advocates, unsur e of what it meant
lor t hem, uneasily stayed at t hei r wor k spaces.
They had been i nf or med t hat t he pol i ce woul d
have quest i ons for t hem and t o be pr epar ed.
Al t hough t hey knew what to tell t hei r clients in
such ci rcumst ances, t hey were uncomf or t abl e
when it came to t hemsel ves. Advocat e Kavitha,
27 years old, was surrept i t i ousl y pl ayi ng ma h
jong on her comput er . The ot her s were sitting
ar ound, handl i ng t he i ncessant phone calls
f r om largely cur i ous and some pani c- st r i cken
clients. Once t hey had f ound out t hat t he office
was open, t here had been a st r eam of visitors.
Kavitha cast occasi onal glances t owar ds t he
workst at i on of her colleague Deloris. Since t he
two of t hem had wor ked di rect l y under Aj eet h
Kumar t he consequences of t he acci dent were
bound to affect t hei r work t he most . Del ori s
however kept her eyes fixed on t he screen in
f r ont of her.
Kavi t ha l ooked up t o f i nd her col l eague Ar un
st andi ng before her, and qui ckl y mi ni mi zed t he
game on her screen. Ar un, an i nvet erat e gossip,
had had enough of sitting ar ound when t her e
was so much to discuss.
" Who do you t hi nk you will be wor ki ng wi t h
now?"
Whe n Kavi t ha shr ugged he went on to wonder
who woul d i nher i t Aj eet h Kumar' s pl ush office.
"Do you t hi nk s omeone will be made a par t ner ,
now t hat we' re one par t ner short ? Bot h Ravi and
Naveen are in t he r unni ng. "
Kavi t ha said briskly, "I honest l y don' t care. Let
t hem do what t hey like."
Ar un was not t o be put off so easily. He gl anced
ar ound and asked, "Weren' t you and Del ori s in
his r oom when it happened?"
A few peopl e l ooked up and t he office boy,
wal ki ng past , st opped. Kavi t ha want ed t o hit
Ar un.
Ar un cont i nued regardless, "Di d you know,
t her e is talk t hat it mi ght not have been an
acci dent ?"
This was t he openi ng t hat ever yone was
wai t i ng for. Di nesh f r om t he next table, eyes
wi de wi t h interest, said, "So that' s why t he pol i ce
wer e here all eveni ng. I hear d t hat t hey grilled
t he part ners. "
"What was Aj eet h doi ng in t he l i brary?" asked
Irfan l ooki ng at Kavitha. She and Del ori s had
al ready been over t he event s of t he previ ous
mor ni ng wi t h t he par t ner s. But t hey woul d
have t o at some poi nt go over it wi t h t he ot her
advocat es too, or t hey woul d be badger ed
endlessly.
"He want ed to l ook up a par t i cul ar vol ume
of But t er wor t hs for a clause in a share t r ansf er
agr eement . We weren' t able t o f i nd t he vol ume;
he r ang for t he office boy but t her e was no
r esponse and hi s secret ary was not at her desk,
so he flew off t he handle, " Kavi t ha st opped to
collect herself.
"He called us useless ni ncompoops , wi t hout
a single br ai n cell bet ween t he t wo of us. . . , "
22 Reading Hour
Del ori s said, mor e to herself t han to t he ot hers.
"That ma n had a nast y t ongue whi ch t ur ned
vi ci ous when he was angry," said Di nesh.
"Anyway," cont i nued Kavitha, "he st or med out
of t he r oom scr eami ng t hat he never got any
assistance."
"Then what happened?" asked Ar un
i mpat i ent l y.
"We hear d hi m yelling in t he l i brary and
t hr owi ng books
ar ound whi l e
we sat like
zombi es in hi s
room, " Kavi t ha
shudder ed, "we
di dn' t want to
go anywher e
near him. "
She gl anced
at Del ori s for
af f i r mat i on and
t hen cont i nued,
" When we
hear d t he
crash, we ran
out to see what
had happened.
Oh my god, it
was horri bl e. The t hi ng had col l apsed on hi m. "
"Irfan and I," i nt er j ect ed Di nesh, "hear i ng
t he noise, r ushed t o t he west wi ng t o fi nd t he
mess on t he l i brary fl oor and t hese t wo girls and
Mal i ni havi ng hysterics."
Nai na, who was some years ol der t han t he
ot her s and had j ust come in, st ood t o one side;
uncomf or t abl e t hat t he whol e t hi ng was bei ng
r ehashed yet uns ur e how t o br eak it up.
"It was i nsane, man! " excl ai med Irfan, "All
t hose l oud scr eams and prot est at i ons of love
f r om Mal i ni . She had gr abbed hol d of Ajeeth' s
hand t hat was st i cki ng out f r om under t he books
and was s mot her i ng it wi t h kisses!"
"Isn' t t hat a bit st range?" asked Ar un, "Di dn' t
t hey have t hat bi t t er and vol ubl e br eak up a
mont h ago?"
"Ya, crocodi l e tears, dude! "
Di nesh cont i nued, "Nai na, usually so aloof,"
he nodded t owar ds her, "was forced to calm
t he hyst eri cal hor des, whilst we manl y ones
got down to ext ri cat i ng t he guy. But boy, t hose
screams," Di nesh gr i maced, r ubbi ng his ears,
"t hey' re still r i ngi ng in my head."
"Of cour se t hen we just t hought he was
unconsci ous, " said Irfan, "but his head was a
bit smashed wher e it had hit t he cor ner of the
table."
Wha t Irfan di dn' t add was t hat some mont hs
earlier, he had desi red a similar i nj ury for
Aj eet h Kumar ever since he'd been yelled at
and humi l i at ed in f r ont of a client. Ajeeth had
decl ared hi m a pat het i c excuse for a lawyer and
knowi ng t hat Irfan' s fami l y owned an Afghan
rest aurant , he had fol l owed it up with, "You
make mi ncemeat of ever yt hi ng you handle."
Ar un regret t ed t hat he had been in court
t hat day and had mi ssed all t he exci t ement .
He consol ed hi msel f by telling everyone that
he had managed to sneak a l ook at t he copi ous
bl oodst ai ns on t he fl oor and t he table before t he
ent i re wi ng had been cor doned off the previ ous
day, and all t he advocat es had been told to go
home.
Six mont hs later, M. L. Rai was put t i ng on
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3 23
his cigar, whi l e Si nghvi and Johar t r i ed t o
sur r ept i t i ousl y wave away t he copi ous s moke
gener at ed.
"Well ACP," he addr es s ed t he offi cer si t t i ng
in f r ont of hi m, "you have finally cl osed t he
' i nvest i gat i on' by cal l i ng it an acci dent .
"It was anyway a f or egone concl usi on, " sai d
Johar, "
r
l hat books hel f was ri cket y; t hos e i di ot
vast hu consul t ant s ha d not let us al t er t hat
por t i on of t he office. Aj eet h, at hi s bel l i ger ent
best, t hr owi ng t hi ngs a r ound, j ust br ought t he
whol e d a mn t hi ng down on hi msel f. "
ACP Kabir, because of t he connect i ons of t hese
men, had f ound hi msel f assi gned t o t he case
wi t h i ns t r uct i ons t o find t he deat h acci dent al .
He had al so been wa r ne d t o be ' sensi t i ve' and
to wi nd t hi ngs up quickly, whi ch he ha d done.
But l ooki ng at t he t hr ee me n now, he t hought
how much ni cer it woul d have been if he coul d
have f r a me d one of t he m i nst ead. Dur i ng t he
cour se of hi s enqui r i es he had di scover ed t hat
t he deceased had been a par t i cul ar l y l oa t hs ome
i ndi vi dual and t hi s lot di d not exact l y ma ke a
bet t er i mpr essi on.
"It's not as if," M. L. Rai cont i nued, "you coul d
have f ound any me ns rea."
ACP Kabi r had t o i nt er r upt at t hi s poi nt , " On
t he cont r ar y, your er st whi l e par t ner , havi ng
ant agoni sed pract i cal l y ever yone he c a me i nt o
cont act wi t h, was s ur r ounde d by mu r d e r o u s
i nt ent , i ncl udi ng. . . " he coul dn' t resist t he ur ge
to make t he m s qui r m a bit, "t hat of hi s par t ner s .
Isn't it t r ue t hat Aj eet h had want ed t he f i r m
name to be Rai, Johar and Kuma r but you peopl e
r ef used? Di dn' t he t he n t hr eat en t o br eak away,
t aki ng several of your cl i ent s wi t h hi m? We' ve
also hear d t hat he was s ki mmi ng pr of i t s a nd
recei vi ng payment in ki nd f r o m cl i ent s. I ' m
sure all of t hi s shor t changi ng di dn' t escape you."
They were not l awyers f or not hi ng. All t hr ee
managed t o r emai n poker faced, "Real l y ACP,
you are s hoot i ng in t he dark, " sai d M. L. Rai
bet ween puf f s of smoke.
The ACP, i gnor i ng hi m, cont i nued, "Some of
t he l awyers t hat I spoke to in cour t wer e act ual l y
qui t e sad t hat he met hi s end by way of an
24
acci dent . They felt t hat if not t hemsel ves, at least
s ome one s houl d have ha d t he pl easur e of ki l l i ng
Aj eet h Kumar. "
M. L Rai guf f awed, "Such j oker s, t hos e chaps. "
A year later, a r ound t he anni ver s ar y of Aj eet h
Kumar ' s deat h, Nai na, wh o h a d si nce be c ome a
pa r t ne r at Rai, Johar & Associ at es was s peaki ng
at a Sout h Asi an wo me n l awyers' conf er ence
bei ng hel d in Sri Lanka. She ha d t aken al ong
bot h Kavi t ha a nd Del or i s. They ha d all, needl ess
t o say, t ravel l ed at t he expens e of di ver se cl i ent s.
On t he last day of t he conf er ence t he t hr ee
wo me n wer e si t t i ng a nd havi ng a l ei surel y
meal t oget her at t he hot el whi l e gazi ng out at
t he spar kl i ng, azur e bl ue of t he I ndi an Ocean.
Kavi t ha, l eani ng back af t er st uf f i ng he r s t omach
wi t h pr awns , addr es s ed Nai na, "It was such
a relief c omi ng f or t hi s conf er ence wi t h you. I
me a n, you ar e a bit of a dr a gon and expect us t o
do r esear ch at t he dr op of a hat but be yond t hat
I di dn' t have t o worry. "
Nai na r ai sed her eyebr ows, "I bet it was
di f f er ent whe n you at t ended t hat Ar bi t r at i on
conf er ence wi t h Aj eet h a year a nd a hal f ago."
"It was gross!" s hudde r e d Kavi t ha, "he kept
suggest i ng t hi ngs and kept t r yi ng t o cor ner me
i n. . . well, cor ner s! "
"I can i magi ne, " Na i na s nor t ed, "t he ma n
di dn' t k n o w h o w t o keep hi s ha nds t o hi msel f. "
"Sicko. He kept pawi ng me wi t h t hos e ugly,
rest l ess ha nds a nd woul d put hi s a r m a r ound
me whe n i nt r oduc i ng me t o ot her s. Usi ng
t he oppor t uni t y t o feel me up! The wor st par t
was t hat peopl e a r o u n d coul d see what was
ha ppe ni ng and t hey wer e amus ed! It was
humi l i at i ng! An d t he n l at er on. . . "
" Wh y di d you st i ck on at t he f i r m t hen?" asked
Nai na.
"I desper at el y want ed t o qui t but Aj eet h t or e
up my r esi gnat i on a nd t ol d me he woul d ma k e
d a mn e d sur e t hat I woul dn' t get a j ob anywher e
else. The onl y opt i on f or me was t o appl y f or
LLM s ome whe r e , whi ch I coul dn' t af f or d. But
t he n he died. "
Del or i s si ghed, "He t ol d me t hat he woul d tell
Reading Hour
everyone t hat I was a chr oni c t r oubl emaker and
had no capabilities as a lawyer. Wh o woul d have
bel i eved a j uni or wi t h six mont hs exper i ence
over s omeone like hi m wi t h all t hose big
political connect i ons?"
"Was t hi s aft er t he case you at t ended wi t h hi m
in Del hi ?" asked Nai na.
Del ori s nodded, "You knew?"
"I suspect ed. It was t he pig's modus oper andi .
Take a new j uni or out of t own s omewher e and
assault her. It has happened in t he past wi t h
ot her women. Some left and waved goodbye t o
t hei r careers. Some acqui esced, got big bonuses
and t hen qui et l y got out . I ncl udi ng hi s ex-wife,
who, fed up wi t h hi s womani s i ng ways ext or t ed
a massi ve al i mony and went off to t he US."
Bot h girls l ooked at Nai na and asked, "What
about you? You di dn' t really wor k under him. "
"No, but I assisted hi m on a case s ome years ago
and t he creep t ri ed to assault me. I compl ai ned
to Mr. Rai who t ol d me not to make a mount ai n
out of a mol ehi l l and just do my work. So I kept
quiet."
"And he left you al one aft er t hat ?"
"As if! Though he di dn' t t r y anyt hi ng like t hat
again, he gave me hell professionally. He woul d
r un down my wor k at every given oppor t uni t y,
def ame me t o clients and ot her lawyers, and
ensur e t hat my bonuses and i ncr ement s were
much less t han t hose of t he ot hers. The vi ci ous
r umour s he spread about me had an effect on
everyt hi ng, i ncl udi ng my fami l y life; t o keep my
sani t y I j ust f ocussed on work."
"Must have been tough, " sympat hi sed Del ori s.
"Well, he's dead now, and since I kept qui et ,
I've been ma de a part ner, " said Nai na wi t h a
bi t t er little l augh.
"Sooner or later nemesi s comes to us all,"
decl ared Kavitha.
Del ori s l ooked at her and wonder ed whet her
Kavi t ha real i sed t he i mpor t of what she was
saying. Bot h t hese women, she t hought , seemed
very mat t er of fact about t he t hi ngs whi ch still
bot her ed her badly. They had not di scussed any
of it bef or e t hi s but per haps it was t i me.
"It was st range how t hi ngs happened that day,
wasn' t it?" Del ori s began tentatively. "1 mean,
Kavi t ha and I were just st andi ng in t he corri dor,
bur ni ng wi t h hat r ed whi l e t he man flung books
ar ound in t he l i brary and t hen. . . "
"You came al ong f r om t he ot her side ol the
office. . . " said Kavitha to Nai na.
Nai na l ooked on impassively.
"It was amazi ng how we gl anced at one anot her
and knew exactly what each of us was t hi nki ng
at t hat preci se moment , " said Kavitha.
"Like ESP or somet hi ng! " said Deloris.
"Because," Nai na said finally, "we had the exact
same expressi on on our faces. Like mirrors. "
"I know. Even t he move t owar ds t he bookshelf
was concert ed, wi t hout a word bei ng spoken. . . "
Deloris' s voice trailed off. Aft er a while she said,
"We di d it wi t hout i nt ent , didn' t we? We just
want ed to hur t , not kill. I mean t here was no
mens rea."
"You shoul d hol d on to t hat t hought , Deloris,"
Kavitha l eant f or war d, "don' t let your mi nd
wander down ot her avenues."
"But it's f unny how no one even asked us about
Ajeeth' s t r eat ment of women beyond yelling at
t he m and generally bei ng mean. "
"That' s because it's not consi dered relevant.
They don' t t hi nk t hat it mi ght be i mpor t ant
enough for us to be deepl y bot her ed by it," said
Nai na.
Kavi t ha st art ed, "We can' t . . . "
"No, of cour se not," said Nai na firmly.
"Never," af f i r med Deloris.
All t hr ee once again st ared out at the ocean
whi l e t he sea breeze ruffl ed t hei r clothes
and hair. Del ori s si ghed. The ot her t wo were
gat her i ng up t hei r t hi ngs to leave. Kavitha,
seei ng t he cont empl at i ve l ook on Deloris' s face
gave her a slap on t he back, "Come on Deloris,
snap out of it. Aft er all, even if t wo wrongs do
not make a right, you have to admi t , they at least
make it even."
*
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3 25
LIGHT STUFf
Rising Sun, Sinking Souls
rachna singh
Rachna is a bestselling author of three books: ' Dating, Diapers and Denial' , ' Nuptial
Knots' and ' That Autumn in Avvadh'. This is adapted from her upcoming novel, 'Digs,
Dogs and Drama' . More at: wvvvv.rachnasingh.net.
A decade ago, when in Japan, my husband and
I staved at a business hotel for a mont h. Now, the
demarcations in Japanese culture are clear-cut and
specific. A business hotel is meant for business stay,
which means that you wear a business suit, leave
tor office, return late at night, make yourself some
green tea in the room, take a shower and sleep.
This was the definition till a dozen or so Indian
'business' people showed up in Kawasaki on work.
They all checked into the same hotel, booki ng
rooms for a month in advance. The manager, Iezaki
san must have been delighted, and sushi-ed and
sake-ed all night that day. But his joys were short-
lived. A week into their stay, their families started
arriving with bottles of pickle, bags of rice, stashes
of pap,uls, garam masala, and podi powder. These
families comprised newly-married wives, slightly-
married wives and wives with small infants/
toddlers.
Ihev moved in with their respective husbands
and unleashed a curry-t sunami like never before.
Whills ot rasam floated in the corridors as the fiery
liquid simmered in the innocent kettles that were
meant for the timid green tea. Some diligent ones
cooked entire meals in that kettle. The humbl e
kettle was washed and recycled to prepare rasam,
then a vegetable and finally rice. At the end ot the
first week, the once shiny kettles were dark, sordid,
scratched cauldrons ot evil.
1 think the management of the hotel had an
emergency meeting to discuss the grave issue. We,
obliv ious to the crisis we had created, roamed the
corridors wearing the ki monos which were meant
to he worn in the privacy of our rooms, flashing
underwear as we swished around.
At that point, 1 assume that there must have
been an emergency meeting in the basement of
the hotel, where they considered hara-kiri. We,
26
oblivious of their pain, were holding communi t y
satsangs in our rooms.
One day, Hari, whose kid's sixth birthday was
around the corner wanted to know if the hotel had
a party hall. He inquired politely with Iezaki san,
who mustered all his zen-courage and responded
in Japanese: "No, sir, we are a business hotel."
(Distilling the t rue meani ng of this after taking out
the Japanese politeness: "Sir, Can I put you in the
dryer and spin you around till you underst and that
we are a Business Hotel?")
Hari nodded, smilingly, and came up with
Plan B, which was, decorating the corridor with
balloons and placing chairs against the walls. Each
room had a study table and chair and since we
had around fifteen rooms between us, it was easy
to get enough chairs. Some had to be dragged up
the stairs, which was a tedious and noisy task. But
that was a mi nor discomfort in the light of the final
look that we managed to achieve. The party was a
huge success, with Maggi being served in kettles,
and potato wafers and cold drinks doing several
rounds. The cake was cut amidst a loud rendition
of ' Happy Barday to You' and we also had some
nice party games like 'tail the donkey'.
Iezaki san, by now, had put himself in the spin
dryer, I guess.
Weeks passed and Iezaki san seemed to have
resigned to fate. He sometimes smiled at us. We of
course, tried pushi ng our luck at the sign of every
little favourable cue [Note: ff he did not spit in our
direction, we took it as a favourable cue]
One day, Wonky, jokingly said,
"Let's ask t hem if instead of ' Moshi Moshi' can
the reception answer the phone with ' Chepanddi?' "
I laughed out loud, and t hen fell silent. If Hari
heard this, he would actually consider persuading
t hem to do so.
Reading Hour
While staying in that hotel, we witnessed our first
earthquake. We came tearing down to the lobby,
yelling, "Bhago, bhago!"
Now, for the Japanese, an eart hquake is
commonplace, quite like an overflowing drain in
India, ft is annoyi ng but you move on. But, for us,
it felt like the end of the world. So, we swarmed
the lobby, wearing pyjamas, assorted chappals and
litres of jasmine-scented hair oil. Iezaki san stared
in dismay, and, at that moment , must have hoped
for the quake to bring the hotel down, killing him.
Saving face is paramount in the Japanese culture,
you see.
The weeks passed, and we continued to make the
hotel our home. The women would get up early to
pick the muffins from the lobby, collecting them
in their dupattas to get them to their rooms. 'I hey
would be back in the lobby late in the night to make
calls to India from the pay phone there, yelling into
the receiver, "Papaji pranaam!"
So loudly that Papaji might as well have been
next door, near the Keikvu station and deal to hoot.
I think, at some point, lezaki-san also gave up
and started adopting our ways, f or his own good,
I could imagine him sitting back in his chair,
cleaning his ear with the long finger- nail of his little
finger, telling the staff, as he wiped rajma chawal
from his face, "So what if someone stole a towel?
My father what goes?"
About ten years ago, an aunt bought a Bundt
cake-pan from the States and made a present of
it to Mum. Who' d heard of Bundt cakes in those
times? Not me, not Mum. But there it was, a shiny
red al umi num pan with grooved sides, and a
central tube that would leave a hole right t hrough
the centre of the cake. A masterpiece from H.
David Dalquist's Nordic Ware.
Bundt cakes, or kugelhopfs, are of C j erman
origin. A semisweet cake of yeast-leavened dough
containing raisins, citron and nuts, and baked
in a fluted tube pan, it is a tradition in German
households. One story says it originated in Vienna.
When the Turks were defeated by the Hapsburg
forces at the gates of Vienna, the Viennese bakers
made cakes in the shape of the sultan's t urban in
Recipe: Bundt Cake
manjushrec hegtle
celebration. According to another story, the Magi,
or Three Kings, tired after a walk from Bethlehem
to Cologne, stopped at the village of Riheauville
in Alsace, and received hospitality from one Mr.
Kugel. In appreciation, they baked a cake in the
t urban shape and named it after him.
So how did this German cake become a rage in
America?
In 1946, Dave Dalquist and his wife, Dotty, had
set up a business to manufact ure kitchenvvare in
the basement of their Minneapolis home. In 1950,
a Jewish woman from the local chapter of 1 ladassah
approached t hem with a request to replicate her
ceramic kugelhopf pan in metal; she wanted to
make cakes like her German grandmother. 1 )alquist
conceded and made a pan in cast al umi num just
like the kugelhopf pan, complete with fluted sides
and a center tube.
The pan's name comes from the German word
"bund", which means "bundling" or wrapping the
cake's dough around the pan's centre hole. Mr.
Dalquist added a t, t rademarked the name, and the
Bundt pan was born.
For fifteen years, the Bundt pan business remai tied
slow. Then, in 1966, a woman, Klla Helfrich, made
a Bundt cake for the annual Pillsbury Bake-Off and
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3 27
won the second prize for it. The bakers went nuts.
More than two hundred t housand people wrote
letters to Pillsbury to ask t hem where they could
get a Bundt pan. lhe Dalquist factory ramped up
production and the Bundt-cake era began. Home
cooks had found a way to bake the perfect cake
simple, sculpted, evenly cooked, and beautiful!
Bundt cakes go with everything at any t i me of
day. The neutral flavor, an even balance of sweet
and salt, is as good with morni ng coffee as with
afternoon tea, evening wine or a mi dni ght beer.
Ten years ago, with much help from my aunt, we
whipped up one of the first, most beautiful, ring-
shaped apple Bundt cake Id ever eatenspooky
soft, crumbly, and dense. Yum! Here's the recipe.
Ingredients:
6 apples, 1 tbsp ci nnamon, 5 tbsp sugar
Cryptic Crossword
Across
! I t t ol l s to j ump at one' s servi ce! (6)
b Small ci rcl e adore no Engl i sh (3)
/ So ques t he bl ack sheep (3)
9 Unt ni t h mi xed up wi t h f l owers (3)
SO Gsfvm-i and backwards about bat t l e (5)
1 1 Wab" nody before nor t her n churches i nvoke
spi ri t' ,! / ;
12 Freni.h said Morse sound (3)
13 Oned f r ui t right in I ndi a n ci t y ( 5)
14 Stops si bl i ng i n debts, nearl y (7)
16 Trendy, fai r gi r l wi t h al cohol i sm (15)
19 f i ni shed si mper i ng wi t hout : hesi t at i on l ef t i f you
begi n i nsi de, maki ng it t oo easy ( 15)
24 Mixed up t ones i n stress (7)
2 7 Haunt af t er Uday hol ds t he handl e (5)
28 Shi nqi e tossed l anguage (7)
29 Toss out f ast er n, part l y vi ct i m (5)
31 rasf ern Greek l et t er t o get bi rd (3)
32 Bnqht degree subj ect (33)
33 Married the red pl anet wi t hout one (3)
34 Cirini wi t h hesi t at i on for a bone (7)
Down
1 Ban 1 fin piece of musi c (3)
2 Dress f ol l ows rul e f i l ed i n court (7)
3 Hesi t at i on f ol l ows crowd t o per enni al grasses (7)
4 He's at t he pen mi l l anyhow, l ooki ng f or f t at wor m ( 15)
5 Dauyht ei , morose l ookout i n debt s, not f avourabl e (15)
6 Rips and t r i es (5)
7 Supports f oot bal l posi t i ons (5)
8 Like si sters wi t hout hesi t at i on, hel ps (7)
13 Quiet gr eet i ng i n l et t er (3)
2 % cups sifted flour, 1 tbsp baking powder,
1 tsp salt, 1 cup vegetable oil,
2 cups sugar,
2Vi tsp vanilla, 4 eggs,
i cup walnuts, chopped (optional)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease Bundt pan.
Peel, chop apples into chunks, mix ci nnamon,
sugar and set aside. Stir flour, baking powder and
salt in a mixing bowl. In a separate bowl, whisk oil,
sugar and vanilla. Mix wet ingredients into the dry
ones. Add the eggs, one at a time.
Pour half of the batter into prepared pan. Spread
half of the apples over it. Pour the remaining batter
over the apples and arrange remai ni ng apples on
top. Bake for 1
l
A hours. Cool completely and serve.
Enjoy!
15 Shar e wi t h o u t a n i ma l is c ha r ge d ( 3)
17 Net a s s e t Val ue ( 3)
18 St ar in Ri t a' s unbl i nki ng e ye s ! ( 3)
19 Goat not good f or l unch, i t ' s c e r e a l ( 7)
20 Legal ma t t e r a b o u t p o i n t ( 3)
21 So me wh a t s us pi c i ous l ook f r om a wi de - a ngl e l ens ( 7)
22 I hur r i ed be f or e hi m, c ou nt r yma n ( 7)
23 Don' t r e me mb e r wi t h o u t s u p p o r t and a c qui r e ( 3)
25 Like t h e r ound t a b l e t i me ! ( 5)
26 I' d one ma nt r a f or a di a l e c t ( 5)
31 Dog goi ng back l os es t i me a nd s t o ma c h ( 3)
S o l u t i o n : Pa g e 5 4
28 Readi ng Hour
FICTION
A Closed Universe
arun chitnis
Arun is a professional conten! and copy writer, proof-reader and editor, I lis areas ol
interest are medical and lifestyle issues, family dynamics, parenting, natural health,
home improvement, real estate, humour and fiction. Me lives in Navi Munibai.
"But then I remembered: the universe was closed, and so very small. There was really nowhere else to </<>."
~ Peter Watts, Blindsight.
S
aurabh Chakrabort y' s office door was one
of t he last few open as t he ornat e wall clock
over his desk st ruck a sol emn six o'clock. He
l ooked up at it wi t h surpri se and i rri t at i oni n
his absorpt i on with t he BPL file, he had lost all
t rack of time. He felt slightly di sconcert ed as he
glanced ar ound, for t he first t i me in t wo hours,
at t he now empt y cubicles and work stations in
t he office.
"Shit..." he mut t ered. Whe n had everybody
left? Once again, he had allowed himself to be
preoccupi ed to t he exclusion of everyt hi ng else.
In an unpl easant way, it was like an alcoholic
blackout. He had oft en been called a workahol i c.
He t ook off his glasses and pol i shed t hem on
his shirt sleeve. Being t he only person left in t he
now desert ed and shadow- r i dden office sent
t he first cold, niggling fingers of cl aust rophobi a
up and down his spine. The shadows made t he
office seem smaller t han it was, and he coul d feel
t he walls begin to close in on hi m.
He di d not consciously reflect on that dr eadf ul
day in his early chi l dhood, but i mages of it
flitted like restless phant oms across his mi nd' s
screen. He and his br ot her Santosh had deci ded
to test t he extent of t hei r own courage with a
simple boyhood chal l engewhi ch of t hem
coul d st and bei ng locked up longest in t he small
closet in their bedr oom? The t heor y of sensory
depri vat i on was, of course, an unknown one
but t he concept had nonet hel ess filled t hem with
delicious, namel ess ant i ci pat i on. Their mot her
was out shoppi ng for t he entire aft ernoon - i t
was safe to l aunch t he experi ment .
Santosh hadn' t been five mi nut es in the closet's
stifling confi nes before he began screami ng to
be let out. Saurabh had been obsessed with the
idea of out l ast i ng Santosh when his t urn came,
and he was dul y locked into the coffin-like
space. As soon as t he door shut in his face, he
i mmedi at el y began count i ng backwards from
hundr ed to give his mi nd somet hi ng to do. He
also squeezed his eyes shut, t ryi ng to ignore the
oppressive darkness that sur r ounded hi m.
Aft er he was certain that he had beaten
Santosh' s time, he rapped victoriously on the
door onl y to be met with an awful, impersonal
silence. At first he t hought that Santosh was
playing a cruel sour-grapes j oke on hi m. But
repeat ed and increasingly l ouder knocki ng still
failed to get hi m to open up.
To this day, Saurabh wasn' t sure of what
happened to hi m t hat dreadful aft ernoon in that
cr amped closet. He was aware that somet hi ng in
hi m di ed foreversome ki nd of ability to cope
with certain si t uat i ons in life. . . a certain level of
t rust in his fellow humans. And somet hi ng had
been bor n, t ooa laughing, caperi ng demon
t hat woul d pounce on hi m at certain times
dur i ng his life wi t hout warni ng.
As it t ur ned out, Sant oshas children often
arehad been di st ract ed by somet hi ng and had
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3 29
left t he scene, obvi ousl y i nt endi ng t o r et ur n in
a moment . It had been a close f r i end r i ngi ng
t he doorbel l , and t he t wo of t he m had begun
a di scussi on on t he latest cricket scores, t hat
t hey had t hen deci ded t o cont i nue at t he ice
cream parl or on t he corner. Bot h Sant osh and
Saurabh had caught hell f r om t hei r mot he r
when she r et ur ned to find a nearl y dement ed,
screami ng, sobbi ng younger son l ocked in t he
upst ai rs closet, but t hat hadn' t changed what
was to follow for Saurabh. He had never been
able to handl e encl osed spaces agai n. This had
caused hi m no end of pract i cal pr obl ems and
embar r assment s in later life. At 20, pr ompt ed
by his love for a Chr i st i an girl f r om t he coast,
he had briefly conver t ed t o Cat hol i ci sm and
honest l y t ri ed to wal k t he talk. Cecilia had been
an ardent chur chgoer who firmly bel i eved in t he
confessi on boxand if confessi on was good for
t he soul, t hen Saurabh' s soul was in pr et t y bad
shape by now. There was no way t hat he coul d
bri ng hi msel f to sit in one of t hose little cubicles.
Nor woul d he consi der usi ng one of t hose i nst ant
phot o cabi ns or get t i ng a CAT scan done at t he
hospital. He di d not even use a car, despi t e t he
fact that t hi s made hi m an obj ect of r i di cul ehe
preferred a mot orcycl e. At hi s executive club, he
was good- nat ur edl y dubbed ' Uneasy Rider' .
And now, he once again felt t he same
oppressi ng dr ead of t he deepeni ng shadows in
his desert ed office. He realized t hat it was late
enough for hi m to be t he onl y per son left in
the offi ce-bui l di ng, and t hi s was a deci dedl y
unpl easant t hought . He gr abbed t he paper s he
had been wor ki ng on, shoved t he m i nt o hi s
briefcase and bol t ed f r om t he office. The walls
were closing in on hi m in a hellish bear hug.
' Ihe cor r i dor was empt y and silent, and onl y
one feeble bul b i l l umi nat ed it. The staircase he
woul d use to descend f r om t he fifth fl oor t o
the basement wher e hi s bi ke was par ked was
forbi ddi ngl y dark. He coul d hear Porwal , t he
building' s mai nt enance- cum- s ecur i t y man,
cl anki ng his bucket s and mops s omewher e in t he
bui l di ng. The fami l i ar s ound reassured hi m, but
was not enough to over power hi s anxi et y over
t he caver nous staircase. He had never used it
wi t hout bei ng accompani ed by s omeone else
at t he ver y least, he woul d wait till s omeone else
was leaving. He di d not have t hat opt i on now.
Saur abh licked hi s suddenl y dr y lips wi t h
a t ongue t hat seemed to have t ur ned i nt o
s andpaper as he gl anced f r om t he staircase shaft
t o t he el evat or door t hat st ood besi de it.
There was no logic involved, of course. A
t hous and scr eami ng voi ces in hi s head t ol d
hi m t hat elevators wer e even wor se t han dar k
st ai rcasest hat once he was in t hat little met al
box, he had no cont r ol what soever. Still, a shor t
ri de down suddenl y ma de mor e sense t han a
slow, f umbl i ng, t erri fi ed j our ney down t hat
t hr oat - l i ke st ai rcase shaft .
He gl anced at t he elevator' s met al door agai n.
' HAPPY LABOUR DAY' sai d a comput er
pr i nt out , st uck over its ent r ance wi t h st i cki ng
t ape. Someone' s goodwi l l gest ur e. . . was
t omor r ow really t he first of May already? He
had lost t r ack of t he passi ng days, as usual .
Saur abh shook hi s head and t r i ed to f ocus on
t he pr obl em at hand. A l ong, sol i t ary wal k down
t he dar k st ai rcase or a shor t ri de in a conf i ned
met al cont r apt i on t hat he had used maybe
t hr ee t i mes in hi s ent i re life? Hi s ski n crawl ed
unhappi l y as he real i zed t hat he woul d now have
t o make a deci si on.
Somewher e in t he bui l di ng, Porwal' s mops
and bucket s cl anked agai n. The ma n was
whi st l i ng a t unel ess end- of - t he- day ditty, and
Saur abh f ound hi s mor al e absur dl y boost ed by
it. Dr awi ng a deep br eat h, he punched t he call
but t on next t o t he el evat or door. A mi nut e later,
t he met al j aws of t he lift gaped silently open.
There was a sweat y and slightly mani c- l ooki ng
ma n st ari ng back at hi m f r om t he i nsi de.
Saur abh j umpe d back and ut t er ed a t erri fi ed
yelp. The ma n on t he i nsi de seemed j ust as
st art l ed and j umpe d back a pr opor t i onat e
di st ance wher e no space existed. A second later,
Saur abh l aughed at hi msel f in embar r as s ment
he was l ooki ng at hi s own refl ect i on in t he
mi r r or t hat covered t he back panel of t he
elevator' s i nt eri or.
30 Reading Hour
Saur abh gazed silently i nt o t he mobi l e
sar cophagus. The i nsi de l ooked far f r om
t hr eat eni ngeven cheery. The smal l cube,
big enough t o hol d f our st andi ng peopl e,
was embel l i shed wi t h fake mahogany plastic
panel i ng. A single mi ni at ur e t ubel i ght lit t he
ent i re space brightly. This, Saur abh t hought
desperately, mi ght not be as bad as it seemed. He
had not pr ayed in years, but he ut t er ed a silent
prayer now"Pl ease let t hi s be fast and pai nl ess,
God. . . " Then he gat her ed all t he cour age he had,
ent er ed t he el evat or and punched t he Basement
but t on wi t h a t r embl i ng finger. The doubl e
door s j oi ned wi t h a hydr aul i c wheeze like t wo
hands cl osi ng i n a cyni cal ' amen' t o hi s prayer.
Saur abh coul d har dl y believe t hat he had
arri ved safely in t he basement . Porwal , who
was put t i ng away t he t ool s of hi s t r ade in t he
mai nt enance r oom, l ooked t aken aback t o see
hi m emer ge f r om t he elevator. It was a well
known fact in t he office t hat Saur abh avoi ded
lifts like t he pl ague.
" Good eveni ng, Mr. Chakrabort y, " said Porwal ,
r ef r ai ni ng f r om comment . "Done for t he day?"
"I cert ai nl y hope so," said Saurabh, wi pi ng t he
resi dual sweat off hi s br ow and fishing for hi s
bi ke keys in hi s pocket s. He coul dn' t find t hem.
Hi s hear t rose like a t hr obbi ng br i ck i nt o hi s
t hr oat . He had f or got t en t he m in t he office.
"Damn, " he mut t er ed. Por wal l ooked at hi m
but said not hi ng.
The t hought of havi ng t o ri de up in t he
el evat or agai n was daunt i ng, but it had t o be
done. He bri efl y consi der ed aski ng Por wal t o
accompany hi m, t hen di scar ded t he t hought
as t oo undi gni f i ed. Also, aft er hi s monume nt a l
t r i umph over cl aust r ophobi a j ust a mi nut e ago,
he t hought he mi ght do it agai n. He smi l ed
bravel y at Porwal .
"Forgot my keys upstairs, " he said, t ur ni ng
back i nt o t he elevator as t hough it was t he mos t
nat ur al t hi ng t o do.
"Well, happy Labour Da y Mr. Chakrabort y, "
said Por wal bef or e t he door s closed. Saur abh
smi l ed wi t hout regi st eri ng t he greet i ng. The
elevator cage gave a slight l urch as it began
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3
its upwar d crawl. Saur abh t ri ed to breat he
nor mal l y and kept hi s back st udi ousl y t ur ned
t o t he mi r r or . He di d not need to know how he
l ooked ri ght now.
Back in t he basement , Porwal scrat ched his
head and left t he bui l di ng. Hi s moped was
chai ned t o a t el ephone pol e on t he ot her side
of t he street. He hur r i ed over to it, his mi nd
uneasy f or some reason. The street was a sea
of convergi ng shadows, and a red, bloated,
s omehow i l l -l ooki ng mo o n presi ded over the
ni ght f r om behi nd t at t ered, scur r yi ng clouds.
Por wal shudder ed, r emember i ng a saying f r om
hi s boyhood in Kol hapur. Somet hi ng about evil
spirits bei ng afoot when t he moon was red and
f ul l . . .
The elevator was appr oachi ng t he t hi rd floor
and Saur abh was begi nni ng to feel deci dedl y
pl eased wi t h hi msel f. A febrile gri n of uncert ai n
cour age spread slowly over hi s face. It really
seemed like he had br oken his chi l dhood
j i nx t oni ght and t hat t oo wi t hout any real
pr emedi t at i on or pl an. It had just happened. . .
he coul d see a whol e life of i ncreased ease before
hi m now. No mor e endl ess, hear t - bust i ng stair
cl i mbi ng (his doct or had c omme nde d hi m for
it, but t her e was a l i mi t t o how many staircases a
ma n coul d cl i mb in hi s life).
He was j ust est i mat i ng how much t i me he
coul d save by usi ng t he elevators of t he vari ous
busi ness bui l di ngs he had t o visit each week
when f r om s omewher e above hi m came a
squeal of mes hi ng gears. The next moment , t he
lift cage j ol t ed si ckeni ngl y t o a halt. Then t he
light went off and he was pl unged i nt o utter,
uncompr omi s i ng darkness.
In t he next t went y mi nut es, Saurabh
Chakr abor t y revert ed smoot hl y, seamlessly to
t he age of six. The mat ur i t y accr ued over t he
i nt er veni ng years vani shed like it had never
been. He was once again l ocked in t hat bedr oom
closet, hi s l ungs cl ogged wi t h t he vi scous
bl ackness ar ound hi mf or got t en by his captor.
Bur i ed alive. Wh e n he coul d finally dr aw a
31
deep enough breat h, hi s j aws yawned open and
he scr eamed his brot her' s na me over and over
again. He fell to his knees on t he har d met al
floor of t he elevator cage and ha mme r e d hi s fists
against t he i mpassi ve steel door s. He scr eamed
until his t hr oat seized up and hi s l ungs coul d
spare no mor e oxygen and all t hat came out wer e
dry, raspi ng croaks. He di ml y hear d hi msel f
beggi ng his brot her, Por wal . . . ANYONE. . . t o
release hi m because he coul dn' t t ake it and hi s
mi nd was about t o snap. The bl ack air ar ound
hi m was t oo t hi ck to dr aw i nt o hi s const r i ct ed
chest, and every de mon his mi nd had exorci sed
was giggling at hi m and caper i ng at hi s side.
He hammer ed bl i ndl y at t he el evat or doors,
hopi ng to break open a space big enough
to crawl t hr ough. The fact t hat he was st uck
bet ween floors and t hat t her e was nowher e t o
go to beyond t hese door s di d not register.
In his bl i nd flailing ar ound, his fist st r uck t he
mi r r or har di t shat t ered wi t h an explosive
sound and a shower of invisible shards. Wa r m
bl ood flew f r om his l acerat ed knuckl es, but
he did not notice. Hi s mi nd was pai nf ul l y
cons umed by a yammer i ng t error.
Eventually, Saur abh cr umpl ed i nt o a sweaty,
sobbi ng heap on t he elevator floor. He di d not
feel the jagged splinters of glass t hat cut t hr ough
his t rousers and i nt o his knees. Hi s mi nd coul d
not register physical pai ni t was absor bed wi t h
the effort of staying sane. Somehow st ayi ng
sane. . .
Remember i ng that he had a lighter in hi s
pocket, he f umbl ed it out and flicked it i nt o life.
The i nt eri or of t he elevator cage was a mess of
bl ood and br oken mi r r or shards t hat refl ect ed
t he lighter fl ame like a swar m of fireflies. He
checked his wrist watch and saw t hat it was onl y
7.00 p. m. Saurabh moaned in t er r or Por wal
woul d not r et ur n before 7.00 a. m. t he next day,
which meant t hat he woul d have t o spend twelve
hour s in this waki ng ni ght mar e. He di dn' t t hi nk
he could t ake it, but somet hi ng in hi s mi nd
was al ready happeni ng to pr epar e hi m for it.
Over whel med wi t h ext r eme terror, it di d t he
only t hi ng it coul d in or der to survi vei t shut
down.
Saur abh was suddenl y, i ncredi bl y asleep.
The beach at first seemed desert ed, spread
out in all di r ect i ons ar ound hi m in gl ori ous
secl usi on under t he hot t ropi cal sun. The ocean
surf mut t er ed its et ernal song and seagulls cawed
and swooped over its emer al d bl ue wat ers. The
sandy expanse was st udded wi t h pal m trees,
and Saur abh sat wi t h hi s back t o one of t hem,
dr i nki ng in t he peacef ul scene cont ent edl y. He
had no i dea what ci r cumst ances had caused hi m
t o be on t hi s beach, or how it happened t o be
t hat he was st ark naked except for hi s execut i ve
tie, whi ch was still knot t ed ar ound hi s collarless
neck. It di d not seem i mpor t ant . Wha t mat t er ed
was t hat he had appar ent l y been sitting here
for qui t e a whi l e, enj oyi ng t he pi ct ur esque
t r anqui l i t y of t he scene. Hi s mi nd knew not hi ng
of t he scr eami ng hor r or of a whi l e before.
Saur abh was a ma n most l y at peace. . . mostly,
because even in t hi s har moni ous state, hi s mi nd
seemed t o be telling hi m t hat he was forget t i ng
somet hi ng. Somet hi ng of vital i mpor t ance. He
br us hed t he i nt r udi ng t hought aside.
It slowly occur r ed t o hi m t hat he was not ,
aft er all, al one on t hi s serene beach. Two young
boys dressed in s wi mmi ng t r unks wer e bui l di ng
a sand castle a few yards bef or e t he wat er line.
They seemed vaguel y fami l i ar. If t hei r par ent s
were ar ound, Saur abh coul d see no sign of t hem.
One of t he boys (he was no mor e t han six years
ol d) spot t ed hi m and nudged t he ot her boy.
They bot h forgot t he sand castle and st ared over
at hi m. Saurabh smi l ed and waved peaceful l y at
t hem. It was perfect l y all ri ght . The boys rose
and came over t o wher e he sat in t he shade of
t he pal m tree.
"Hey, mi st er. . . " said t he one who had spot t ed
hi m. Hi s face was covered wi t h freckles.
Saur abh wonder ed idly wher e he had seen hi m
and t he ot her ki d before. He had never had
muc h cont act wi t h kids. If t hi ngs wi t h Cecilia
had wor ked out , he woul d doubt l ess have had to
l earn how t o deal wi t h t hem eventually. But . . .
wher e had he seen t hese ki ds before?
32 Reading Hour
If s omeone had whi sper ed t he wor ds ' fami l y
al bum' in hi s ear at t hat moment , hi s mi nd
woul d have ma de an i nst ant connect i onand
t hen rej ect ed it.
"Yeah, ki d?" he asked.
"What ' r e you doi ng here?"
"Well, j ust t aki ng in t he air and sunshi ne, I
guess," repl i ed Saurabh. "It's ni ce here, isn' t it?"
The boy nodde d and l ooked at t he ot her kid,
who r emai ned silent and l ooked uncomf or t abl e.
"Mister, why you wear i ng t hat tie?" asked t he
first boy.
Saur abh t hought about it. It was a reasonabl e
quest i on, and he was mi l dl y annoyed at hi msel f
for not havi ng a pl ausi bl e answer. The tie had
been a gift f r om hi s f at her on his gr aduat i on
f r om busi ness school an expensi ve silk affair.
In execut i ve circles, it was what was known as
a ' power tie'.
" Hmm. . . because I t hi nk I' m goi ng t o need
it," he replied, fiddling wi t h t he i ncongr uous
silk tie. He l ooked uncer t ai nl y up at a sky
t hat had suddenl y gone f r om azure
bl ue t o a s omber shade of greya
t hunder cl oud had appear ed out of
nowher e and obscur ed t he br i ght
mi dday sun. He suddenl y
felt a di st ur bi ng sense of
hopel essness and dr ead t hat
he coul dn' t account for.
Bot h t he boys
nodded. "Wher e are
you f r om, mi st er?"
asked t he first one.
Saur abh l ooked
about idly and saw,
wi t hout muc h surpri se,
t hat a pai r of steel
elevator sliding door s
had suddenl y appear ed
wher e t hei r sand castle
had been. They l ooked
absurdl y out of pl ace on
t he hot beach sand. A
comput er pr i nt out t hat
said ' HAPPY LABOUR
DAY' was t aped above t hem.
"Fr om t here. . . " he replied, poi nt i ng to the
surreal i st i c appar i t i on. The boys gl anced over to
t he shut pai r of met al doors.
"Are you okay?" asked t he ot her kid, speaki ng
for t he first t i me. Saurabh wonder ed mor e t han
ever wher e he had seen t hese boys before, but
t he af t er noon was rapi dl y dar keni ng and all t he
t ranqui l i t y had gone out of t he scene. A single
flash of l i ght ni ng st abbed out of t he growl i ng
t hunder cl oud and i l l umi nat ed t he met al doors
like an evil spot l i ght .
"I don' t know, son," he replied, suddenl y
despai ri ng. "I just don' t know. . . . "
He was r i pped f r om t he f adi ng edge of his
dr eam, back t o wher e he lay in t he pitch-black
dar kness of t he dead elevator cage. War m bl ood
dr i pped f r om t he cut skin of his hands and
congeal ed on t he gl ass-st rewn floor. It t ook
hi m a l ong mome nt t o reori ent himself, t hen
t he ful l hor r or of t he si t uat i on his mi nd
had briefly managed to leave behi nd
resurfaced. Hi s ri ght fist was cl enched
ar ound hi s tie like a dr owni ng man
cl ut ches at a straw. How long had he
lain here? Surely dawnand blessed
release f r om t hi s ni ght mar ewas
soon at hand?
He pul l ed out his lighter and
spun its wheel. On t he t hi rd
try, it flickered into lite and
he hel d it over his watch. The
t i me was 5.00 a.m., and he let
out a t r embl i ng breat h. Oh,
God. . . t wo hour s still to go
bef or e Porwal woul d come on
duty, find t hat t he office building' s
elevator was st uck bet ween
fl oors, and wi nch t he cage down
manual l y. Saurabh scrambl ed to
hi s l acerat ed knees, fol ded his
bl eedi ng hands t oget her
and moaned a prayer.
Please, God, let Porwal
come in earlier today. I
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3 33
can't take t hi s any mor e. . .
Onl y a coupl e of hour s mor e, he t hought . Get
a hol d of yourself. There was little hope t hat
Porwal woul d arrive earl yhe was a ma n who
liked his l i quor aft er work, and t hat ki nd of
lifestyle di d not accommodat e early mor ni ngs .
Also, it was perfect l y possi bl e t hat Por wal woul d
have dr unk a lot mor e t han usual last ni ght .
This was a st range t hought , and Saur abh
wonder ed wher e it had come f r om. Wh y woul d
Porwal have t hought it okay to down a few
extra pegs last ni ght ? Was t her e s omet hi ng to
celebrate? He concent r at edi t seemed very
i mpor t ant t hat he fi gure t hi s out . Then he
smiled. Of course.
Today was Labour Day. That was what t he
pri nt out over t he elevator had said. All over t he
world, t he wor ki ng class cel ebrat ed t hi s day as
t hei r own. A bonus t o spend on what ever t hey
pleased. No work for t wo ent i re days. Relax
at home or soak it up at t he local bar. Cat ch a
movi e with t he family. No work.
No work.
No work for t wo days. Office bui l di ngs over
t he wi dt h and br eadt h of t he count r y cl osed for
business by inviolable gover nment edict. Por wal
at home, dr unk as t he Lord of all Creat i on. Most
assuredly not at his j ob as mai nt enance ma n for
a certain office bui l di ng. . . not for t wo whol e
days and nights, st art i ng today.
Saurabh' s bowels and bl adder suddenl y
l oosened and shed t hei r mal odor ous cont ent s
into his expensi ve executive t rousers. He hear d
a sharp, wet s ound. . . t he s ound of his mi nd,
overl oaded beyond br eaki ng poi nt wi t h t error,
finally snappi ng.
When Porwal opened up t he office bui l di ng
forty-eight hour s later, he was i ndeed nur si ng a
mean hangover. He and some of his f r i ends had
gone on a monument al bender and he coul d
recall little of t he last t wo days.
Well, not hi ng new about t hat , he t hought , as he
st epped aside to let in Mrs. Gai kwad f r om Ace
Copi er s on t he second floor. Back to busi ness.
" Good mor ni ng, madam, " he said. The woma n
smi l ed vaguel y at hi m, and he coul d see her
fl i nch at t he l i ngeri ng ar oma of cheap booze on
his br eat h and comi ng f r om hi s armpi t s.
"Good mor ni ng, Porwal," she replied. "Had a
good Labour Day, it seems."
Por wal had t he decency t o feel mor t i f i ed, but
he hi d it well.
They appr oached t he el evat or and Mrs.
Gai kwad punched t he call but t on. There was
not hi ng. She punched it agai n. Agai n, not hi ng.
"Oh, oh. . . it's stuck," said Porwal . "The f use in
t he cage mus t have bl own agai n. One second. . . "
He went t o t he mai nt enance st ore and br ought
back t he met al handl e wi t h whi ch t he el evat or
cage coul d be wi nched back down f r om t he hol e
besi de t he ent r ance. He i nser t ed it and began t o
t ur n it rhyt hmi cal l y. They coul d hear t he elevator
cage appr oachi ng reluctantly. A mome nt later it
gr ound to a halt out si de t he l obby ent rance.
"I'll repl ace t he f use and you can ri de ri ght
up, madam, " said Por wal as he pr i ed t he met al
door s open.
Mrs. Gai kwad smi l ed wearily, t hen scr eamed
and clawed at her face in hor r or as t he door s
opened to reveal t he interior.
The cage fl oor was littered wi t h gore and
br oken glass, but Saurabh Chakr abor t y' s shoes
dangl ed a good five i nches above t he mess.
Hi s pur pl e, bl ood- suf f used face, pr ot r udi ng
t ongue and unnat ur al l y bul gi ng eyes leered
at t he m as he hung t here, s us pended f r om t he
fan in t he elevator cage's ceiling by hi s silk tie.
Bl ood was pool ed on t he el evat or cage wher e it
had dr ai ned f r om hi s wri st s - he had slit t he m
wi t h a shard of br oken mi r r or bef or e. . .
If his f at her had had a sense of black humor , he
mi ght have appreci at ed t he use his unf or t unat e
son had put t he tie to.
Saur abh Chakr abor t y had finally gr aduat ed.
34 Reading Hour
Ch a t t i n g Wi t h
Ha n s d a So wv e n d r a Sh e k h a r
r k biswas
Hansda Sowvendra Shekhar
is a doctor, like his mother.
He is an only child, and has
never lived anywhere but in his
beloved )harkhand. And from
the well spring of this love for
his birthplace, has emerged a
luminous story about men and
women whose lives are woven
with lore and magic, good and
bad Gods, and a landscape that
is almost surreal.
The Mysterious Ailment
of Rupi Baskey.
Hansda' s novel traces the
lives and times of the Baskey
family: Somai the patriarch, his
alcoholic daughter Putki, her
devout and upright husband,
Khorda, their sons Sido and
Doso, and Sido' s wife Rupi,
once the strongest woman
in Kadamdihi. And it brings
to vivid life their colourful
stories in the Santhal village of
Kadamdihi in | harkhand.
Hansda has written short
fiction before. He has been
published in Indian Literature,
The Statesman, The Asian Age,
Good Housekeeping, North
East Review, The Four Quarters Magazine, Alchemy, The Tranouebar Book of Erotic Stories II and The
Fimes of India. ' The Mysterious Ailment of Rupi Baskey' is his first novel.
Here he chats with R K Biswas for Reading Hour. R K Biswas is the author of 'Culling Mynahs and Crows' , a
novel set mostjy in the Bengal of the 1980s. She has been widely published in journals and anthologies both
online and in print across the world. She has won prizes and accolades for her work, including the first prize
in the Anam Cara Writers Retreat Short Story Competition 2012, and has participated in literary festivals
and readings in India and abroad. She blogs at http://www.rumjhumkbiswas.wordpress.com.
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3 35
RK: Tell us somet hi ng about your book. What
triggered the story?
HS: I woul d like to call it a pr oduct of village
gossip and my i magi nat i on. My novel is based
on an incident whi ch t ook place in my village.
The story was always t here in my mi nd.
I t ook hi nt s f r om real life, created somet hi ng
out of my i magi nat i on, put t he t wo together,
and The Mysterious Ailment ofRupi Baskey was
born.
RK: When did you start wri t i ng t he book? Any
specific writing related experi ences t hat you' d
care to share?
HS: I started wri t i ng it in May 2011. In June
2011, I realized that I wasn' t wri t i ng t hat well.
So I deleted all t hat I had wri t t en and st art ed
afresh. This draft wor ked and I finished t he draft
in Oct ober 2011.
This was t he first t i me that I was wri t i ng a full-
length book, so, all I can share of t he wri t i ng
experience is t hat it helps to have a pl an and
focus. And t he fact that you have to keep wri t i ng
and not stop till your work is done.
RK: Describe to us your homel and; take us
home even if it is for one short paragraph?
HS: My homel and is Jharkhand. And home
is in a village called Kishoripur, wher e my
ancestors lived, and my family; and wher e our
ext ended gushti or clan lives even now. That is
where all our umbilical cords are bur i ed under
the front door of our ancestral house.
I grew up in Moubhandar s ome 40 k m to t he
west of Kishoripur. Moubhandar is where we
have the f amous copper fact ory of Jhar khand.
I went to school in Mosaboni in Moubhandar ,
where the copper mi nes are. Moubhandar
stands on the nor t h bank of t he Subarnarekha.
I have grown up sur r ounded by hills, green
fields and open spaces. It is even mor e special in
my village Kishoripur, where t he air and wat er
are cleaner and t he gr ound greener.
36
INTERVIEW
RK: Will your next book also be set in Jharkhand?
What is t he most compel l i ng t hi ng about your
sur r oundi ngs, home, people? Somet hi ng that
pulls you back and doesn' t want to let you go.
HS: I am afrai d I can wri t e onl y about
Jharkhand. And especially t he par t of Jhar khand
t hat I know wellGhatsila and Chakul i a bl ocks
and near by areas. My worl d-vi ew is quite
l i mi t ed! I haven' t seen t oo many places or met
t oo many people. My home in Jharkhand, t he
peopl e of this area, t hat is all I know and can
wri t e about .
The fact t hat it is my home is t he most
compel l i ng t hi ng about Jhar khand. There' s no
quest i on of Jhar khand pul l i ng me back to her
again and again, because I don' t i nt end to leave
Jhar khand at all!
RK: You've wri t t en a number of short stories
before. The Mysterious Ailment ofRupi Baskey is
your first novel. How di d you find t he t ransi t i on?
How was your j ourney?
HS: I don' t see any t ransi t i on. Wri t i ng, whet her
it's a short st ory or a novel, involves hard work.
Also, I see each chapt er in Rupi Baskey as a short
story. You just break down Rupi Baskey into its
charact ers and you see t hat each charact er has
a story. The novel isn't just Rupi' s story. It is
Putki' s story, and Delia's, Sido's, Doso' s, Dulari' s,
t he whi t e-hai red old aunt' s. It's all t hei r stories
connect ed together.
The j our ney was good. Since t he st ory was
already in my mi nd, I didn' t have to mul l t oo
much as I wrote. Yes, I di d face a pr obl em
t owards t he end. I didn' t know how to finish t he
book. My edi t or at Al eph, Mr. Anur ag Basnet,
hel ped me wi t h t he endi ng.
Then t here was anot her change I made in
Reading Hour
t he book dur i ng t he editing. I placed t he story
in a t i mef r ame. Whe n I wrot e Rupi Baskey, I
wrot e it as a plain narrative. But Anur ag told
me t hat a t i mef r ame was necessary for peopl e
to under st and t he st ory as t here is a general lack
of awareness about Jhar khand and t he Santhals.
I realized t hat he was right. So I made t hose
changes.
Ramachandr a Guha' s magisterial India After
Gandhi: The History of the World's Largest
Democracy hel ped me when I was researchi ng
to put Rupi Baskey into a t i mef r ame.
RK: You are a doct or in Jharkhand. It must be
a very busy life. How do you carve out t i me for
your writing? Do you follow a rout i ne? Do you
meet i nt erest i ng charact ers at t he hospital and
make notes?!
HS: Yes, my wor k keeps me very busy, but I
love it. My j ob is a gift.
Whe n I wr ot e Rupi Baskey, I followed a
rout i ne. Nowadays, however, I am t aki ng t hi ngs
a bit easy. I am wor ki ng on a second book. I
have finished about 60,000 wor ds already, and
I still have a lot to write. But i nst ead of t aki ng
t i me out f r om my work, I wri t e onl y when I
have somet hi ng to write, when I have gat hered
enough mat eri al for a chapt er or a page or even
a paragraph. And when I have f or med t he right
sent ences in my mi nd, creat ed a compl et e scene
wi t h all t he characters, I put t hem to paper.
Yes, I do meet a lot of i nt erest i ng characters.
Not onl y in t he hospi t al and heal t h centre, but
everywhere I go. I love sitting down at some
place, just to wat ch people, observe what t hey
do and say.
RK: Wh o is your favourite charact er f r om t he
novel?
HS: Undoubt edl y Delia!
Readers curious about Delia can read the
chapter 'Dular Gaatay, Reyar-Baha on the
Aleph Book Company's website.
Meanwhile here is a sliver to taste:
"No one could tell what drew Putki to
Delia, a girl tuhose parents were infamous
throughout the village for worshiping the
god who brings misfortune. Perhaps it was
because Somai-haram and the naikay were
neighbours. It could have also been because
Somai-haram was unconcerned about his
daughter's upbringing. Whatever the reason,
this u;as a pair no one from the majhi-gushti
approved of."
RK: And any one in your book that you don t
like or don' t approve of or woul d like to caution
your readers about?
HS: No. I am no one to j udge anybodynot
even my characters, who are my creations. Had
I j udged t hem, I woul dn' t have created t hem in
t he first place or made t hem do t hose things. As
far as caut i oni ng readers is concerned, I would
just tell t hem to l ook out for Delia!
RK: How do your parent s put up with a writer
in t hei r mi dst ?
HS: Well, I don' t know. I've never asked t hem
and I don' t t hi nk I will. I am also not used to
bei ng called a writer. It makes me feel self-
consci ous when somebodya colleague or an
acquai nt anceasks about my book. So I hope
my family, at least, doesn' t see me as a writer.
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3 37
FICTION
A Paradise Of One's Own
mohd j unai d ansari
lunaid studied Literature at the University of Delhi.
He has done comic series for newspapers and enjoys
wri ti ng poetry and short fiction.
Ye who read are still among the living;
Bui I who write
shall have long since gone my way
into the region of shadows.
Edgar Allan Poe, "Skadow- A Parable"
T
he day I killed myself, it was Basant
Panchmi . I left my body wr i t hi ng i n pai n
on t he gr ound, and began to rise up t hr ough t he
air, light as paper. I wat ched my wr et ched body,
t he wi ndows of my r oom, t he apar t ment , t he l ane
where I'd lived, all gr ow smal l er and smal l er in
size. Good t i mes must finally be here, I mused. I
was al ready st art i ng t o feel super i or t o t he puny
willed huma n bei ngs who cont i nued t o suffer
on the eart h. Now I was near t he cl ouds, wher e
t he wi nd was st rong, and t he kites s wooped past
me f r om all sides wi t h a t er r i f yi ng whoos h! Just
t hen, I hear d di st ant cheers of ' Ka i po che!' ' Kai
po che!' f r om down bel ow and in a jiffy, my
ascent to t he heavens came to an abr upt end. I
felt myself fl oat i ng down t hr ough t he air like a
feather. The locality, t he apar t ment , t he st reet
came closer and closer, and I hit t he street l amp
near my wi ndow. On its pol e I per ched. I l ooked
down and saw a red kite hangi ng f r om my waist,
ar ound whi ch t he kite's st ri ng had wound itself.
I tried to guess what had happened. My soul
must have got ent angl ed in t he st ri ng of t he ki t e
while its flier was t r yi ng t o ' cut' anot her one.
Apparently, its t hr ead was not as st r ong as t hat
of its rival; it had got itself cut and br ought me
down al ong wi t h it.
I t ri ed flying again by j umpi ng off t he l amp. I
floated a few met r es in t he air, t hen came back.
I r et ur ned to t he t op of t he street l amp and sat
t her e br oodi ng over my pr edi cament . No one
seemed to be t aki ng any not i ce of me. It was
clear t o me no one coul d act ual l y see me. But t he
street ur chi ns caught sight of t he ki t e hangi ng
f r om my waist. One of t hem was swi ngi ng a
rock wi t h a t hr ead tied r ound it. He was wear i ng
a t at t ered shi rt and pant s like t he rest of hi s
f r i ends. He swung t he r ock swi ft er and swi ft er
and t hen fl ung it at t he kite. It mi ssed! The boy
pi cked up t he st one and began swi ngi ng it again.
All t hi s whi l e, I was pr ayi ng t hat t he boy woul d
get t he kite. I hoped t hat I woul d be able t o fly
wi t hout t he wei ght of t he kite.
The boy t hr ew t he st one agai n and t hi s t i me
t he t hr ead of t he st one wound itself r ound and
r ound t he st ri ng of t he kite. I shout ed ' Bravo!
Bravo!' in j ubi l at i on but my wor ds fell on deaf
ears. The boy began t o t ug at t he t hr ead he
was hol di ng. But every t i me he di d so, I felt
an excruci at i ng pai n r ound my waist. It was
as if s omeone was t r yi ng to separat e my t orso
f r om t he rest of my body. I shout ed, "Ouch!
Don' t ! Don' t do it! Stop!" But t he boy pul l ed
even harder. "Aargh!" I bawl ed in pai n. Now
ot her ki ds wer e hol di ng t he t hr ead as well and
t uggi ng at it. Luckily, t he t hr ead snapped under
t he st rai n. The ki t e was out of t he reach of t he
chi l dren now. I gave a sigh of relief as I saw t he
di sgr unt l ed gang t ur ni ng and dar t i ng away in
anot her di rect i on.
It had been ar ound 5 p. m. when I had j umpe d
off my wi ndow ledge. Peopl e had assembl ed
ar ound my corpse. I was lying spr ead- eagl ed on
t he street, bl ood oozi ng out of my open mout h. I
38 Reading Hour
had hear d t he crack of my ri bs as I hit t he gr ound
wi t h a t hud. One of t he ri bs had pi erced i nt o my
hear t like a dagger. It was pai nf ul . But I di ed
al most instantly, and t herefore, di d not have t o
endur e t he agony for t oo l ong. Soon, t he cops
came and shovel l ed my body i nt o t hei r vehicle,
t r eat i ng it as callously as t hey coul d, t hen t hey
went away wi t h it, t hei r si ren boomi ng self-
i mport ant l y. It was t hen t hat my soul, whi ch had
been wat chi ng all this, st andi ng under t he st reet
l amp, began t o fly of its own accord.
As t wi l i ght appr oached, I st art ed t o s hudder
incessantly. It was t he begi nni ng of Mar ch and
t he ni ght s wer e still chilly. The mar ket street
bel ow me was st ar t i ng t o wear a desol at e l ook.
Shopkeeper s wer e l ower i ng t hei r shut t ers.
Vendor s were l eavi ng for t hei r shacks in t he sl um
at t he back of t he locality. Thous ands of stars
t wi nkl ed in t he sky and seemed t o be shi veri ng
in t he col d as well. I had t he urge t o reach out t o
t he m for company. I had once read a cel ebri t y
super st ar r emar k in an i nt ervi ew t hat it is
very lonely at t he top. Sitting on t op of t he
street l amp, i n t hat f r eezi ng ni ght , I coul d not
agree mor e. I soon real i zed t hat all t he st reet
l amps wer e lit up except t he one I was on.
It had fl i ckered for s ome t i me and t hen had
f used wi t h a pop.
Meanwhi l e, t he street dogs had become
curi ousl y aware of my presence. They were
mi l l i ng ar ound t he street l amp and waggi ng
t hei r tails excitedly. They howl ed and snarl ed.
Toget her t hey ma de qui t e a commot i on. I A
t r i ed t o shush t he m but t o no avail. I even I (
pr et ended t o shy invisible obj ect s at t hem
to scare t he m away. But t he dogs si mpl y
woul d not budge. Finally, when I was
st art i ng t o devel op a headache f r om t he
noi se and was on t he verge of cryi ng,
a vendor, who was sl eepi ng on hi s cart ,
came to my rescue. Cl earl y mi f f ed wi t h
t he hul l abal oo ar ound hi m, t he vendor ,
who was a young ma n wear i ng a shawl and
l oose pyj amas, cur sed t he dogs al oud and
hur l ed a st one at t he gr oup, upon whi ch t he
pack qui ckl y scat t ered and t he dogs scur r i ed
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3
away in di fferent di rect i ons. The vendor t hen
r et ur ned t o hi s cart and di sappear ed under his
quilt, still cur si ng t he dogs under his breat h.
It seemed t o me t hat my ordeal had come to
an end, at least for t he day. In t he silence of t he
ni ght , I saw my whol e life, now t hat it was over,
r un like a fi l m in f r ont of my eyes.
My par ent s di ed when I was a child, in a
l andsl i de in Ut t ar akhand. I was br ought up by
my gr a ndmot he r who lived al one in a cr umbl i ng
cot t age wi t h her pet bi rd: a paradi se flycatcher
she called Hel en (aft er t he f amous Bol l ywood
dancer ) . She lived on t he pensi on of my late
gr andf at her who used to be an engi neer with
t he PWD. Gr anny t ook care of my every need
and sent me t o a good convent school. My r oom
was on t he roof of our cottage. Every mor ni ng, I
coul d see t he sun ri si ng f r om behi nd t he sleepy
hills f r om my wi ndow. The hills were covered
wi t h tall pi ne trees and looked
like huge
dr a gons
at ni ght . A
flowed
serenel y bet ween t he
paddy fields below our
hill. Every day,
before goi ng to
t he school, I
woul d go and
get mi l k f r om
t he cowher d
who squat t ed besi de
his cows in a shed
down t he hill. Whe n
I r et ur ned to t he
cot t age in t he af t er noon, I
woul d catch wor ms in our backyard
and feed t he m to Hel en. Later in t he
eveni ng, I woul d go out and play wi t h
Shaili, a rosy-cheeked girl wi t h curly
br own hair, who lived next door.
39
My gr anny di ed when I was st udyi ng in Del hi .
I was in t he final year of my gr aduat i on. She left
me her cot t age but I di d not r et ur n t o live t here.
I f ound a j ob in a smal l publ i shi ng house in
Del hi and shi ft ed t o t hi s r oom f r om t he wi ndow
of whi ch I was to t hr ow mysel f t o deat h, a few
weeks later. Though, when I first came t o t he
r oom, I had ent i rel y di fferent pl ans. I was head
over heels in love wi t h Shaili.
Granny' s deat h had t or n me apar t and left a
gapi ng void in my heart . It was t he first t i me
in my life t hat I t rul y felt or phaned. I was t oo
young when my par ent s di ed. I r emember ed
how much I had wept when, one af t er noon, I
went to feed Hel en onl y t o find her l yi ng still at
t he bot t om of her cage. Her mout h and eyelids
were open wi de as t hough deat h had come as a
shock to her. Years later, I t hought it was a r at her
f unny sight and it woul d br i ng a smi l e t o my
face. Shaili was now a medi cal st udent in Del hi .
Being chi l dhood buddi es, we oft en chat t ed on
the phone and met each ot her occasionally. We
were still very close. She was ar ound, weepi ng
too, when I was bur yi ng Hel en in t he backyar d
of t he cottage. Though strangely, I had st opped
cryi ng myself and had begun t o enj oy t he
eerie busi ness of di ggi ng t he soft mu d out and
pr epar i ng a grave.
One day, I pr oposed to Shaili over t he phone.
There was a l ong silence before she said
diplomatically, "I under s t and t hat you mus t be
feeling very lonely at present ! It is qui t e nat ur al
after your gr andmot her ' s deat h. But..." she
st opped, gr opi ng for t he correct words. She was
soundi ng apol oget i c. I guessed t hat she di d not
wish to hur t me and even pi t i ed my si t uat i on.
"But what ?" I asked, feari ng t he worst . "I always
t hought we were l i ke. . . well... like siblings!" she
said a little hesitantly. My j aw dr opped in shock.
"I am sorry," she said before di sconnect i ng t he
call.
The next day, I di d not go to t he office.
Work coul d go to t he blazes, I t hought . I was
going to die anyway. I wi ped my nose wi t h t he
sleeve of my shirt. I was suddenl y filled wi t h a
st range ener gy and felt a st r ong i mpul se t o do
40
somet hi ng. I went t o t he f ar t hest end of t he
r oom faci ng t he wi ndow, t ur ned, r an across t he
r oom and j umpe d over t he sill and out of t he
wi ndow. That was my mome nt of t r i umph.
I had never been out on t he st reet for t he
whol e ni ght before. I had never been on t he t op
of a street l amp ei t her! Al t hough I real i sed t hat
I was a ghost now, I was a little afrai d. The kite
hung upsi de down f r om my waist like a bat. I
gazed helplessly at t he t wi nkl i ng stars. I st art ed
count i ng t hem t o kill t i me, hopi ng I mi ght fall
asleep. But t he dead don' t sleep j ust as t hey never
wake up. I eagerly wai t ed f or t he dawn.
Wh e n t he dawn came, it st art ed t o rai n. For
t he few mi nut es t hat it lasted, I had t he most
wonder f ul experi ence. The r ai ndr ops shi ni ng
in t he pal e mor ni ng light fell ri ght t hr ough me
and br oke i nt o a myr i ad of col ours. I saw cl ouds
of col our fl oat i ng ar ound me, bounci ng on one
anot her like balls of t ransl ucence, di ssol vi ng i nt o
each ot her to f or m newer shades. Wh e n I t r i ed
t o peep i nsi de one of t he cl ouds, I saw electric
sparks. I di d not feel t he wet ness of t he rai n, yet
when it st opped, I felt light and rej uvenat ed. I
st ood up on t he street l amp and st ret ched my
ar ms wi de, t hi nki ng t hat I mi ght st art flying at
any mome nt . But I r emai ned wher e I was.
Soon, t he st reet st art ed t o bust l e wi t h activity.
First came t he r i ckshaw pul l ers t aki ng t he
drowsy, rel uct ant school chi l dren t o t hei r
school s. Then t he l abour er s arri ved to savour
early mor ni ng hot cups of tea at t he cor ner tea
shop. Dogs went scur r yi ng ar ound sear chi ng for
t hei r breakfast in t he garbage. They i gnor ed me
today. Apparent l y, t hey had adapt ed t hemsel ves
t o my pr esence j ust like t hey get used t o a new
car or scoot er in t he locality aft er bar ki ng at it
first. Slowly, t he shopkeeper s came r i di ng up on
t hei r scoot ers or bicycles and lifted t he shut t ers
of t hei r shops. Some of t he m bent over t hei r
bul gi ng st omachs t o t ouch t he fl oors of t hei r
shops wi t h t hei r hands devoutly, and t hen wi t h
t hei r heads several t i mes, bef or e ent er i ng t he
shops. The vendor s came too, shout i ng out t he
names of t hei r goods.
I r emai ned per ched on t he street l amp like a
Reading Hour
rooster. By t hen, I had lost all hopes of r esumi ng
my great flight to t he heavens. Per haps a pri est
or a pundi t coul d relieve my soul f r om t he eart h,
but no one coul d hear me or see me. I had never
felt mor e helpless.
Ar ound noon, I saw t wo men come t r ampi ng
down t he r oad. A l adder rested on a trolley t hat
t hey dr agged bet ween t hem. They hal t ed under
t he street l amp t hat I was squat t i ng on. One of
t hem st ared up at t he l amp and scrat ched his
chi n. Then t he me n lifted t he l adder off t he
t rol l ey t oget her and opened it, so t hat it st ood
like an i nvert ed V besi de t he l amp post. Whi l e
one of t he men st ood st eadyi ng t he ladder,
t he ot her began to cl amber up. He had a bul b
i nsi de his shirt' s pocket . He began t o whi st l e
nonchal ant l y as he unhooked t he existing bul b
f r om t he socket of t he street l amp and went on
to repl ace it wi t h t he one in hi s pocket . I felt a
great urge to talk to t hi s ma n and ask for help.
He was t he nearest t hat a man had got to me
after my trial as a soul had begun. Suddenl y, he
st opped whi st l i ng. I t hought he had not i ced me.
But he was l ooki ng at t he red ki t e hangi ng down
my waist. He t ugged at t he st ri ng a few t i mes
and it snapped. "Here, t ake it. You can fly it next
year," he j oked wi t h his colleague, and dr opped
t he kite. It fl oat ed down i nt o t he hands of t he
ot her man, who caught it wi t h chi l dl i ke alacrity.
I was finally free of t he kite. But t hi s di d not
hel p me much. I r emai ned st uck wher e I was,
as t he ma n descended f r om t he l adder, hol di ng
t he f used bul b in his hand, whi st l i ng an old
Bol l ywood t une.
Days passed. Then one day, my l andl or d came
to my r oom to sell off my bel ongi ngs to a scrap
dealer. I knew t hi s because I saw hi m bar gai ni ng
wi t h a shabby l ooki ng man out si de t he gate of
our bui l di ng, and t hen receive a few not es f r om
t he man. Later I saw my cupboar d, st udy table,
charpoy, few cani st ers and t r unks bei ng l oaded
ont o t wo ri ckshaws before t hey t r udged up t he
street and t ur ned ri ght f r om t he cor ner tea shop.
Havi ng not hi ng else to do, I l ooked up at t he
wi ndow of my r oom. ' Ihe f r ame was wooden
and pai nt ed whi t e. It had r emai ned shut since
t he day of my suicide. Cl osed and shut, just
like t he st ory of my life. I was t aken aback and
al most t umbl ed off t he street l amp when the
wi ndow suddenl y opened.
For a second, I t hought some supernat ural
power whi ch my eyes had secretly acqui red
had caused t he wi ndow to open. But then I saw-
t wo hands cl ut chi ng t he sill and a beaut i ful face
appear ed wi t hi n t he f r ame. A ruddy, smoot h face
whi ch appear ed exhaust ed, yet full of life. Shaili.
Long curls fell over her shoul der s carelessly. Big
eyes gl anced up and down t he road and blinked
at t he sunl i ght . She had never visited me at mv
r oom. I was bewi l der ed but happy. Like a Irog
on a t rapeze, I leapt f r om t he street l amp and
l anded di rect l y on t he wi ndow sill.
Shaili ret reat ed i nsi de t he r oom ami began
i nspect i ng her bags. She was weari ng her lab
coat and l ooked even mor e graceful in it. She
mus t have deci ded to shift to t he r oom soon
aft er her classes were over. Tears of happi ness
rol l ed down my cheeks as I wat ched her movi ng
ar ound ri ght in f r ont of me, in my r oom, not as
my bri de, as I had dr eamt once, but as a f riend,
one I had always cheri shed. I coul d hear a bird' s
har sh cries comi ng f r om inside the r oom. I
saw Shaili pi cki ng up a cage f r om the floor. A
paradi se flycatcher fl apped its wings inside,
squawki ng at t he new sur r oundi ngs. Shaili came
across t he r oom and put t he cage on the wi ndow
sill. She was onl y a few i nches away f r om me.
And just as a puff of wi nd blew, I raised my hand
and ran my fingers down her curls. A smile
flickered on her face as she gently tucked the
curl s back behi nd her ear.
Aft er years of sol i t ude, I was doomed to
r emai n s us pended bet ween heaven and eart h,
I t hought . But finally, I had my little share of
paradi se, of family. I t hought I under st ood
too, why my ascent to anot her world had been
i nt er r upt ed. It was because t here is no heaven or
hell, but t he one right here on this eart h.
*
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3
41
ESSAY
The Gambi a
s ar ah r and
Sarah is a practising psychiatrist living in the
USA. She enjoys travel, nature-watching arid
documenti ng new experiences.
T
he Nat i onal Au d u b o n Soci et y is n a me d
af t er John James Au d u b o n ( 1785 t o 1851),
t he Fr ench art i st who d o c u me n t e d and pai nt ed
t he Birds of Amer i ca. The Mi ssi on s t at ement
of t he Audubon Soci et y is: To cons er ve and
rest ore nat ur al ecosyst ems, f ocus i ng on bi r ds,
ot her wildlife, and t hei r habi t at s f or t he benef i t
of huma ni t y and t he Earth' s bi ol ogi cal i nt egri t y.
'I her e are 2500 Au d u b o n ' nat ur al areas' ,
desi gnat ed ecosyst ems wher e bi r d habi t at s
are pr eser ved and cons er vat i on pr ogr a ms ar e
under way.
In 1900, an Audubon Soci et y me mbe r , Fr a nk
Cha pma n, suggest ed a Chr i s t ma s Day Bi rd
Count to repl ace t he ol d Engl i sh pr act i ce of
an X' mas Day Hunt when t he goal was t o kill
as many bi r ds and ma mma l s as possi bl e. Si nce
t hen, t he annual Chr i s t ma s bi r d count is a
huge move me nt t hat t hous a nds of bi r d l overs
par t i ci pat e in ever y year. In addi t i on t o Life
Lists, peopl e mai nt ai n dai l y count s , mont hl y
count s, and annual count s , in t he backyar d, city,
count y, st at e or t he ent i r e Uni t ed States. A Big
Year is when a count of t he bi r d speci es seen in
t he Uni t ed States in one cal endar year is done;
it is ext r emel y compet i t i ve, can i ncur cost s of
$1 ()(),()()() or mor e, and par t i ci pant s t ravel over
60, 000 mi l es dur i ng t hat year.
Mai nt ai ni ng t hese lists and cl ai mi ng br aggi ng
ri ght s has be c ome very sophi st i cat ed in t he
I nt er net era and has be c ome a s ome wha t
c ons umi ng act i vi t y f or s ome bi r d l overs.
Goi ng to t he Ga mbi a wi t h t he Au d u b o n
peopl e was a par adi gm shi ft f or me, f r o m t ravel
f or l ei sure t o t ravel wi t h a pur pos e ! In a gr oup
of avi d bi r d wat cher s f r o m Or egon, Mont a na ,
I ndi ana a nd Canada, I was t he l east exper i enced,
except f or one ot her wo ma n on her ver y first
bi r di ng t ri p.
Admi t t edl y, whi l e pl a nni ng f or it, I wasn' t
sur e if bi r di ng ever y day, all day, f or 2 weeks,
in t he c o mp a n y of ser i ous exper t s woul d pr ove
one r ous f or me. Wi t h a cer t ai n me a s ur e of
mi sgi vi ng, I set off on my 5t h visit t o t he Af r i can
cont i nent . Fi rst t o London, t o me e t t he gr oup
a nd get acquai nt ed over di nner , t he n t o fly
London- Banj ul , s mack i nt o s ub- Sahar an Af r i ca.
Banj ul is t he capi t al of t hi s t i ny i nde pe nde nt
count r y, t he Gambi a, a f or me r Bri t i sh col ony.
I was qui t e pr epar ed f or f ami l i ar col oni al si ght s
like a gover nor ' s ma ns i on, wi de boul evar ds f or
cor t eges, bungal ows wi t h t r opi cal vi nes and
fl owers, offi cers cl ubs, golf cour ses and pe r ha ps
a pol o gr ound, i nt er s per s ed wi t h t he dust , t he
noi se, t he cr owds and t he chaos of l ocal s. It was
t he bi r der s, t he chaser s a nd listers, t he seeki ng
of l i fers a nd t he pur s ui t of speci fi c t ar get speci es
t hat was causi ng me s ome appr ehens i on, unt i l
we l anded in t he ai r por t . Then, t her e was a
s udde n shi ft f r o m t he expect ed. The ai r por t
was smal l and cl aust r ophobi c; I coul dn' t tell
staff f r o m l ayabout s; t her e wer e no s mar t ,
st ar ched cot t on uni f or ms t hat are so r eas s ur i ng
t o a st r anger ; i nst ead, ever ywher e was a casual
i nf or mal i t y t hat was ver y conf us i ng. As we
wal ked out , s war t hy young me n c r owde d cl oser
t ha n neces s ar y a nd nonc ha l a nt l y th r ew in hi ghl y
per s onal c omme nt s . I, an ol d bat , was bei ng
appr ai s ed by t hese young st uds, of all t he. . . . ! ! It
42 Reading Hour
Clockwise from t op l eft :
Male red-bellied fire finch
Female Cordon Blue
Long-tailed ni ght j ar on her nest
Beaut i ful Gambian women
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3 43
Blue-bellied Rollei
44 Reading Hour
Huddle of Black-rumped Waxbills
Giant Kingfisher at Abuko
Egyptian Plover
Western Reef Egret
dawned on me later t hat t hi s pl ace mus t be t he
haunt of well heel ed ' cougars' f r om t he west, and
per haps every woma n of mat ur e years was fai r
game unt i l pr oven ot her wi se!
The city, if it can be called t hat , is a r amshackl e
col l ect i on of some ni ce bui l di ngs, a few
mansi ons, ma ny mor e ver y modes t homes wi t h
cor r ugat ed t i n roofs, and smal l ki t chen gar dens
wi t h a coupl e of ma ngo and papaya trees. Most
of t he c ommuni t y dwel l i ngs were out r i ght sl ums
wi t h mi ni mal comf or t s. Few had electricity,
even fewer had r unni ng wat er and toilets. Bits of
cor r ugat ed t i n t i ed t oget her wi t h t wi ne or rust y
nails and hel d in pl ace wi t h rocks and bricks.
There is no rai l way syst em anywher e i n t he
Gambi a. A negl ect ed st ep-chi l d of t he mi ght y
Raj, I mused. It was 1965 when t he Gambi a
got i ndependence, so it puzzl ed me t hat t he
col oni al power s had not done muc h as regards
i nf r ast r uct ur e unt i l t hen. Since i ndependence,
t her e has been consi derabl e t ur moi l and change;
possi bl y now, t hese issues are bei ng addr essed,
albeit at t hei r own pace.
The Kombo Beach Hot el boast ed pal m,
hi bi scus and l ant ana, a ni ce beach, a great pool ,
good f ood and great service, combi ned wi t h
unpr edi ct abl e Wifi, and anci ent comput er s.
Day one began wi t h 4 V2 hour s of uni nt er r upt ed
bi rdi ng. At l unch, we exper i enced t he separ at i on
of ' t he me n f r om t he boys'. I peel ed off my
bi nocul ar s, washed my hands and sat down for
l unch as di d 2 ot hers. Ever yone else kept t hei r
bi nocul ar s on, even as t hey ate. It st r uck me
l oud and clear, bi r der s stay ever ready, onl y r ank
amat eur s t ake l unch breaks!
Day one est abl i shed t he pat t er n for t he rest
of our trip. Dai l y vent ur es i nt o near by coastal
areas, nat ur e preserves, and bi r d sanct uari es
f r om 7 a. m. t o 6 or 7 p. m. led t o one of t he casual
bi r der s calling our excur si ons forced mar ches!
The pace was unr el ent i ng and puni shi ng. Af t er
7 p. m. , we had t o meet , go over t he day' s list
and t hen gr ab a meal . Forget leisurely s umme r
eveni ngs wi t h elegant gi n and t oni cs, a game
of br i dge and s ome mout h- wat er i ng spicy
chi cken cur r y; or a l ong stroll on t he beach,
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3
by t he l appi ng of wat ers of t he At l ant i c sliding
back and f or t h, ceaselessly caressi ng t he soft
whi t e sands; or l ooki ng up at clear skies with
t he const el l at i ons of t he Sout her n Hemi spher e
hangi ng so l ow t hat one coul d reach up and grab
t he Big Di pper. It was eat, t hi nk and sleep birds.
All t he t i me. We were racki ng up new species
wi t h di zzyi ng speed.
Then it was off up river to t he i nt eri or of t he
Gambi a. Rai n pocked roads, red i ron-ri ch dust
swi rl i ng about us, l ush agri cul t ural l ands wi t h a
large gr oundnut harvest , dense mango trees, a
lot of ci t rus, papaya, bananas, mel ons, aubergi ne,
pot at o, cucumber and wat er mel on. Tradi t i onal
f ar mi ng, regul ar power cut s, unrel i abl e r unni ng
water, smal l modes t homes but clearly plenty
t o eat. Pal m nut trees ever ywher e and pal m oil
and pal m wi ne were everywhere. Al t hough very
poor in mat eri al possessi ons, t her e was pl ent y
in f ood, fami l y ties and st rong faith. 95% of t he
Gambi a is Musl i m. Men are per mi t t ed to have
up t o 4 wives. Tribal t r adi t i ons are practiced
al ongsi de t he Isl ami c faith and marri age t ends
t o be wi t hi n t ri bes.
The guest houses up-ri ver were part i cul arl y
modest , and t he 3 days in Janj anbureh in a
r oom wi t h a bed, a mos qui t o net, sporadi c
electricity and r unni ng water, no st ands for
cl ot hes or toiletries and no mi rror, were a first
for me. I managed t o keep pace wi t h t he bi rdi ng
schedul e. We wer e still racki ng up new bi rds
and get t i ng past 200 species for t he t ri p whi l e in
Janj anbur eh.
We l ear ned mor e about Jufurreh where
Al ex Haley' s ancest ors hai l ed f r om. We saw
a slave t r adi ng post , and a slave hol di ng site,
all i n r ui ns but still power f ul l y evocative of
a dr eadf ul chapt er in h u ma n history, of t he
i nhumani t y of ma n t o fellow man. The bur den
of bl ame is shar ed by t he local chi eft ai ns who
t r aded slaves for pr oduce and pr oduct s, and
r apaci ous Eur opeans who r ounded up, shackl ed
and t r ans por t ed t hous ands upon t hous ands
t o t he ne w wor l d t o wor k on pl ant at i ons. A
t er r i f yi ng t ri angl e of slaves moved f r om Afri ca
t o t he new worl d, r aw mat eri al s f r om t he new
45
wor l d t o Europe, fi ni shed pr oduct s t o Af r i ca for
mor e slaves. . . t he statistics are t er r i f yi ng and
appalling: f r om t he 16th t o t he 19th cent uri es, a
total of 20 mi l l i on Af r i cans wer e t r ans por t ed as
slaves, 50% di ed en r out e and of t he 10 mi l l i on
t hat reached t he New Wor l d 50% wer e dead in
2 years. It was har r owi ng t o l ear n t hese facts.
Our own physical chal l enges i n Janj anbur eh felt
utterly trivial.
Later, shoppi ng for fabri c, and get t i ng a
Gambi an out fi t t ai l ored in Geor get own hel ped
compl et e t he stay. A lovely boat ri de, s omewhat
remi ni scent of t he Af r i can Queen
1
, al ong t he
per i met er of t he island was del i ght ful .
We drove t o Ti ndaba Nat ur e Preserve and a
nice resort managed t hunder i ngl y badly, wi t h
yelling bosses and scur r yi ng staff rai si ng a lot
of sound and f ur y wi t h no act i on what soever!
No towels, no toilet paper, j ust mor e and mor e
creative excuses. But t he next mor ni ng, a
marvel l ous pi r ogue ri de i nt o t he backwat er s of
t he mangr ove s wamp compl et el y erased t hese
mi nor annoyances. The setting, t he fl ut t er of
bi rds and but t erfl i es, and t he t ranqui l l i t y of
our sur r oundi ngs made t he river excursi ons
utterly del i ght ful . Meanwhi l e, our list gr ew -
pi nk backed pelicans, cr owned bl ack storks,
ibises, cor mor ant s, egrets, her ons, bl ue and grey
ki ngfi shers and mor e were added t o t he list.
Afri ca is always ut t er magi c and myst ery; it is
a spiritual and t r anscendent exper i ence every
time.
Back in Banjul, we wr apped up chasi ng a few
elusive target species. By now, I was i ncl i ned t o
believe t hat t hi s sort of bi r di ng was exhaust i ng,
and no cel ebrat i on of nat ur e or wor shi p at t he
altar of wondr ous out door life; it was a f ocused,
si ngl e- mi nded search for t he still unseen species,
wi t hout even cur sor y at t ent i on pai d t o why
t hese are i ndeed elusive, and becomi ng mor e
and mor e so. It was a quest wi t h t he si ght i ng
as t he desi red end, not a means t o addi ng t o
one' s knowl edgebase of habi t at , ecosyst ems,
mi gr at or y pat hs and pressures t her ei n, or
possi bl e strategies t o i mpr ove mat t ers; t he
search and t he si ght i ng were all t her e was. I felt
t ot al l y out of my dept h at t hese moment s , also
possi bl y a little uncomf or t abl e.
And so, a t ot al of 301 new species wer e si ght ed
i n all, and cr acki ng t he 300 ma r k was vi ewed
as a bi g success and I cel ebrat ed wi t h t he rest.
If bi r di ng be a sport , t hen it makes sense, as
not chi ng up r uns does t o a basebal l player. I
coul d under s t and t he spor t anal ogy well. In t i me,
I t hought , I woul d get a bet t er under s t andi ng of
' listing' and ' chasing' .
Ret ur ni ng h o me late on December 18th t o
t he hol i day r ush ma de me deci de t o pos t pone
t he fami l y Xmas / New Year vacat i on unt i l later.
For t he next 4 weeks, I woul d al l ow my mi nd
t o wander back t o t he sights and scenes of t he
Gambi a. A s t unni ng l and wi t h its l ush fertility,
st ri ki ngl y ha nds ome me n and women, sweet
and gent l e nat ur ed, agai nst t he ri ch t apest r y of
t ri bal t r adi t i on t hat pl ayed i nt o t he slave t rade,
col oni al rul e, and a chaot i c pos t - i ndependence
state of Gambi a, t hen Senegambi a and t hen
spl i nt eri ng i nt o t wo and bei ng t he Gambi a
agai n.
Our gui de, Sol omon (t he gr andf at her of
bi rd gui des of t he Gambi a) , has t r ai ned 21
bi r d gui des in t he Gambi a and 6 of t he m have
mar r i ed Engl i sh wome n visitors and moved
t o t he Uni t ed Ki ngdom. That di d cl ari fy my
exper i ence at Banj ul ai r por t consi derabl y!
I wonder what t he f ut ur e hol ds for t hi s sliver
of a count ry, pr i mar i l y a r i par i an f l ood zone
t o t he River Gambi a. I hope it is a f ut ur e t hat
t he Gambi ans can f ashi on f or t hemsel ves based
on t hei r own val ues and wi shes and not as a
pl ayt hi ng of t he ri ch and power f ul of t he worl d.
' The African Queen was bui l t in Engl and in 1912. I t was
s hi pped t o Africa t o t he British East Africa Railways Co
t o ply The River Nile and Lake Al bert ar ea. In 1982 an
Ameri can bought t he boa t and i t is now in Key Largo,
Florida and is used for river cr ui ses in t h e ar ea.
*
46 Reading Hour
POETRY
A Tattoo And A Cat
vijayalakshmi harish
A learning & development professional, Vijayalakshmi's
interests include literature and mythology. She is also a
writer and poet.
Walking Down Taboot Street
1
snehith kumbla
Snehith enjoys wri ti ng poetry and short fiction. He
lives in Pune.
at t went y eight
i want a tattoo,
i want my skin t o speak
to t he worl d
for at t went y eight I' m t i red
of t al ki ng t o it.
i want to feel t he pai n
as t he i nk punct ur es me
(t he nape of t he neck is a good place yes)
for at t went y eight i need
to know t hat i can still feel
somet hi ng
anyt hi ng
is bet t er (t han not hi ng yes)
and i want a cat
gol den fur, green eyes
and a heal t hy di sregard for me.
all i want is t o be want ed
and left alone.
(i want t he pol es yes)
for at t went y eight
i' m still sixteen at heart
but feel sixty at mi nd.
i wasn' t five at five
or t hi r t een at t hi rt een
and i' m not t went y eight at t went y eight
i' m sixteen and sixty
and i wonder how my t at t oo
will l ook when i have wri nkl es
and i don' t want
to be t he
crazy cat lady
so i get neither.
in t he leap and heap of things,
sombreness t hat eveni ng brings
chocol at e sandwi ch whiff in the air,
i rani cafe tangle, rickety chairs
pausi ng at amar soda shop,
plastic glassed flavoured pop
bur p vent i ng air bubbles,
fingers over five day stubble,
wal ki ng down t aboot street
bi ker zigzag on road,
cheap cloth seller horde
bell cart, bhol enat h ice cream
cr unchy chips, spiced namkeen
dance class wi ndow shaded
gunny bagged, heat -faded,
wal ki ng down t aboot street
old r udy of t he guitar class,
st ri ngs a wi zened silent pause,
itching, parki ng ticket man
boys r unni ng ragtag gang
t he shops wi t h wooden planks,
rust y locks, shutters' clang
beggars drag up empt y stairs,
dog fights si mmer, sink, flare
somewher e in a hazy dr eam
still wal ki ng down t aboot street
S t r e e t par al l el t o M G Road, Pune
*
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3 47
REVIEWS
Are you reading this?
Invi si bl e Monsters
Chuck Palahnuik
Review: Manj ushree Hegde
Ext reme characters
and plots are Chuck
Palahniuk' s t rademark,
and Invisible Monsters
is no exception; it is a
very bizarre read.
Shannon McFarland,
our protagonist, has had a difficult chi l dhood.
Neglected, and jealous of t he attention her older
brother, Shane, garners, she takes to a career as a
fashion model. In this worl di n t he limelight, in
front of the camerashe has all the attention she
needs. In time, she finds success, a best fri end,
Evie Cortell, a perfect boyfri end, Manus Kelly,
and all is well.
But what happens when she gets shot, and is
left with "a face without a jaw, with its t hroat just
ending in a sort of hole, with t he t ongue hangi ng
out"?
Shannon admi t s herself into a hospital, and
there, she meets Brandy Alexander, a transvestite.
While Shannon must learn to speak wi t hout a
jaw, Brandy must learn to speak like a woman,
and the two bond well. Soon, a road trip is
planned, and the two hit the road. On this crazy
trip, we find t he real, dark details of Shannons
and Brandy' s livesthe carefully const ruct ed
facade begins to rupt ure and uneart hs a world
where no one and not hi ng is as it seems.
We find out that Evie Cortell, Shannon' s ' best
friend', was a man, and is now a woman. We
find out that Evie slept with Shannon' s perfect'
boyfriend, Manus. We find out that Manus had
sexually abused Shannon' s older brother, Shane,
and we find out that Shane was also abused by his
own father. We find out Shannon' s older brot her
is none ot her t han Brandy Alexander, and we also
48
find out that Shannon herself shot off her face!
The novel is wri t t en in an extremely non-
linear sequenceit opens on t he weddi ng day
of Evie, whose house is bur ni ng to t he ground,
and Evie has just shot Brandy Alexander. She
"is st andi ng halfway down t he big staircase in
the manor house foyer, naked inside what' s left
of her weddi ng dress, still hol di ng her rifle.
Brandy Alexander, t he l ong-st emmed latte queen
supreme of t he t op-drawer part y girls, Brandy is
gushi ng her insides out t hr ough a bullet hole in
her amazi ng suit jacket... and my first instinct is
maybe it's not t oo late to dab club soda on t he
bloodstain." From there, in t rue Pal ahni uk style,
the book j umps all over t he placeto before
Shannon' s 'accident', to her issues wi t h Shane,
to the hospital, to Brandyand each t i me she
revisits these scenes f r om her past, mor e details
are added until, inevitably, everyt hi ng becomes
clear.
But t he quest i on remai nswhy did Shannon
shoot off her face? To answer this, we must take
a step back.
In today' s world, women live under a
compul si on to attain a beaut y that is mor e
beaut i ful t han beautya beaut y peddl ed and
tyrannically beami ng f r om every magazi ne cover,
highway billboard, TV ad, sit-com, and movie.
To be beaut i ful beyond even what is naturally
allowed to human beingsa beaut y that cannot
be grant ed by nature, and whi ch compels us to
erase, overcome, and suppl ant nat ure itselfputs
people under enor mous strain, and Shannon is
such a person. In Evie Cortell' s words, "I hate
how I don' t feel real enough unless people are
watching", and this is t rue for Shannon too.
"Beauty is power t he same way money is power
t he same way a gun is power", and Shannon is
addicted to bei ng beautiful; she has spent her life
taking ext reme measures to mai nt ai n her beauty.
And now, she is truly and thoroughly, sick of it.
"I was tired of staying a lower life f or m just
Reading Hour
SMHSNOH 318ISHNI
CHUCK PALAHNIUK
11 /'W? C;SJ m mini
because of my looks. Trading on t hem. Cheating.
Never getting anyt hi ng real accomplished, but
getting t he at t ent i on and recognition anyway.
Trapped in a beaut y ghetto is how I felt.
Stereotyped. Robbed of my mot i vat i on. . . This is
the biggest mi st ake I could t hi nk woul d save me.
I want ed to give up the idea I had any control.
Shake t hi ngs up. To be saved by chaos. To see if
I could cope, I want ed to force myself to grow
again. To explode my comf or t zone."
Our real discoveries come f r om chaos. Like
Chri st opher Col umbus sailing t oward disaster at
the edge of the world. Like Fl emi ng and his bread
mold. So, Shannon finds her chaos.
For Shane, too, t he decision to be a transvestite
is a chaos. "I' m not straight, and I' m not gay,"
The Myst eri ous Ai l ment Of
Rupi Baskey
Hansda Sowvendra Shekhar
Review: Rumj hum Biswas
Rupi Baskey, t he strongest
woman in Kadamdi hi ,
is sick. So sick t hat her
husband, and t hen her sons,
her home, her very life are
now in Gurubari' s hands. But Gur ubar i is not
the only woman endowed with Dahni -bi di ya in
that Santhal village, t hough she may well be the
most powerful . Rupi's ai l ment is just the tip of t he
iceberg in Hansda Sowvendra Shekhar' s debut
novel, and even when one has done reading it,
quest i ons remai n.
Nevertheless, The Mysterious Ailment of Rupi
Baskey is a special book on two counts. Firstly,
it is t he first novel about Santhals wri t t en by a
Santhal in t he English language. As far as I know,
this has not been done before, even in the regional
languages, t hough I could be wrong there. I have
come across Santhals as cameo characters in the
works of emi nent Bengali writers, stories with
Marxist leanings, however slight, but never as
leading characters i nhabi t i ng t hei r own world.
Secondly, Sowvendra, while provi di ng us with
a vivid description and lucid insights into t he
ways of his people, has not tried to justify or
he/ she says. "I' m not bisexual. I want out of the
labels. I don' t want my whole life crammed into
a single word. A story. I want to find somet hi ng
else, unknowabl e, some place to be that's not on
t he map. A real adventure."
Invisible Monsters is a venomous satire of
Ameri can culture, t he fashion world, shallow
image worship, the const ruct ed nature of
identity, and bl i nd social conformity. In an age
when Amer i can culture' has become the United
States' number one export, Chuck Palahniuk
dissects this gargant uan, fragment ed culture
to show us its ugly parts. A disturbing, superb
bi l dungsroman of a mast erpi ece f r om literature's
mast er of macabre, Invisible Monsters is a must
read!
pontificate or defend or even explain. There is
no political agenda, nor any activist message.
I need to poi nt this out right at the begi nni ng
because Indi ans at large are vastly ignorant about
the i ndi genous people of this sprawling country,
oft en denigrating t hem to labels of ' scheduled
tribe'. The Santhals are t he largest ethnic people
among t he many in t he subcont i nent , and trace
t hei r ancestry and language to the Austro-
asiatic family. Few also know that the proud and
upri ght Santhals, yet a peace-loving people, rose
up in arms against t he British and their Bengali
cohort s between 1855 and 1856. However,
Sowvendra' s novel does not dwell upon the
political involvement and the economi c and
social exploitation of t he Santhals; he ment i ons
these in passing, brief sentences that tell us that
he is aware. Instead, he unfol ds a brief history
of a place, over a relatively short time span, and
with a large cast of characters, which may make
it difficult for a casual reader to remember and
connect t hi ngs up accurately. What the reader
takes away in the end is a celebration of life, its
joys, heart aches and yearnings.
The story revolves ar ound t he lives of three
generat i ons of Baskeys, played out in full view of
their communi t y. There are witches galore in the
book, traipsing across fields and forests, saluting
dark Gods, danci ng naked, feeding off the living,
t aki ng over t he lives of hi t hert o strong women,
like Rupi. But t he story doesn' t come from her.
M>
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3 49
For, in t he begi nni ng, t her e were t wo car ef r ee and
gut sy wome n wi t h lust in t hei r t hi ghs and l aught er
filling t hei r heart s. Put ki and Del i a, t he vi l l age
Nai key' s rebel l i ous daught er . Put ki and Del i a,
best f r i ends, daredevi l wome n who l i ved life on
t hei r own t er ms. E- dul ar Reyar - Baha, bel oved
wi nt er flower, t hi s was how t hey addr es s ed each
ot her, "Delicately. As if t hey wer e nymphs f r o m
heaven." They s eemed dest i ned t o do ever yt hi ng
t oget her. But Del i a mar r i es her par amour , Ti ra,
and Put ki , aft er her abor t i ve r el at i onshi p wi t h
Sal khu, t he ma n Delia r e c omme nde d, ends up
wi t h t he gr oom wi t h one shor t l egKhor da
Baskey. It does not t ur n out t o be a ba d deal aft er
all; except t hat her life has al r eady been ma r ke d
by t he Naikey' s wi fe and daught er - i n- l aw, bot h
wi t ches. The effect of st r ong bl ack magi c does
not inflict physi cal i nj ur y upon Put ki , but it di gs
i nt o her life. The one whos e life al most cracks
beneat h t he spells of wi t ches is Put ki ' s daught er -
in-law, Rupi . And despi t e her hus ba nd Sido' s
effort s to get her cur ed, t he doct or s' medi ci nes
fail t o wor k. The last resort is t he village oj ha, but
t he wi t ch still proves t o be t oo power f ul . In t he
end t hough, all is not lost. For Sowvendra' s book
is not onl y about t he dar k art s. Ther e are whi t e
wi t ches as well. The first and mos t power f ul of
t h e m is Put ki ' s c hi l dhood f r i end, Del i a. Earl i er
i n t he book, Delia' s mot her , t he Nai key' s wife, a
power f ul wi t ch hersel f t ri es t o ma ke her daught er
one. But even t he appear ance of t he Dh o n k u n d r a
bhoot , t he wi t ches' God, fails t o cow her down.
Del i a ki cks t he d e mo n away. Anot he r t i me,
a har assed ol d ma n f i nds hi s lost cow, t hanks
t o her. But mos t of all, "Del i a spoke her mi nd,
never lied about her wher eabout s , bel i eved in t he
good Gods , and was al ways r eady t o hel p t hose
i n need. At t i mes, it was j ust Delia' s beni gn smi l e
whi ch t ook away t he wor r i es of ma ny people. " All
t hese qual i t i es i ndeed ma ke her a whi t e wi t ch.
But Del i a mar r i es her Ti r a and goes away, onl y
appear i ng once agai n, briefly, in t he book. But
i n Sowvendra' s l and of good and bad spi ri t s and
r obust wome n, t her e is space f or mor e good.
Ther e is hope f or good t i mes t o come whe n t he
br i de of Rupi' s s econd son, Bi shu, ent er s t hei r
h o me and her life. An d t he book ends wi t h a
pr omi s e, one t hat I hope Sowvendr a will keep
wi t h hi s next .
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50 Reading Hour
FICTION
Leave Behind A Whisper
sita mami di pudi
Sita is a student in Delhi, India. Her fiction has been published in Rose Red Review and
Helter Skelter and long-listed for the Toto Awards 2014.
F
alling in love wi t h a woman is not hi ng like
falling in love wi t h a man.
The first t i me I fell in love wi t h a girl, real love,
not t he nonsense you see in Hi ndi films, she
was wi pi ng t he mayonnai se off her lips. Short
Hai red She, sitting in a cafe, readi ng a wor n out
copy of Fifth Elephant, whi ch was my favorite
Pratchett. Or may be it became my favorite in
t hat i nst ant . I don' t know really, linearity has
never been my st rong poi nt . She sat across f r om
me for as l ong as I sat t here, her sandwi ch half-
eaten, giggling at t i mes, hardl y l ooki ng up f r om
her book, cert ai nl y not at me.
Her, with her tall glass of iced tea, put t i ng
t he ice cubes in her mout h and rolling t hem
ar ound wi t h her t ongue. She cocked her head
occasionally at some song. 'I can' t live Wi t h or
Wi t hout You, but its a Beaut i ful Day, let's not let
it get away'. Stupid Bono and his chari t y antics,
always char mi ng all t he beaut i ful women.
Her, wi t h her dangl i ng green earri ngs shaped
like butterflies. Laughi ng to non-exi st ent
el ephant s and Sam Vimes.
Then, abruptly, she shut her book, finished
her sandwi ch, l ooked at her wat ch and left. The
met aphysi cal el ephant crashed my party.
The End.
The next t i me I saw her was t hree years later.
She was wai t i ng for t he lift in t he bui l di ng I
wor ked in. I said hello and made some small t al k
about t he cr umbl i ng bui l di ng and its unreliable
lifts. We l aughed, got i nt o t he lift and went to
our respective floors.
It was six weeks after t hat when she first
kissed me. We wor ked in t he same bui l di ng,
had similar t i mi ngs and caught t he same met ro
every day. Ar ound t he end of t he first week,
we di scovered t hat t he t wo of us were reading
t he same book. We st art ed discussing it duri ng
l unch, exchanged not es and pl anned what we'd
read next. In t he second week, we went out for
coffee. We sat in t he Barista at Connaught Place
for six hours, just talking. I had never made a
f r i end this easily before.
We didn' t have all t hat much in common. She
had very well-off parent s, mi ne lived in a small
t own t wo- bedr oom flat; she had an i mmense
love for art and literature, had been to t he Musee
d' Orsay, t he MoMA and t he Met; I hadn' t even
seen t he Nat i onal Gallery of Moder n Art. I was
a sucker for science fiction and fantasy, and had
wri t t en my Master' s di ssert at i on on the history
of t he Graphi c Novel, she di dn' t know DC f r om
Marvel. She had t he body of a supermodel , was
engaged to t he love of her life, and woul d be
mar r i ed in a coupl e of years. I was fat, quite sure
I was ugly and all my boyf r i ends had been as
geeky and awkward as me.
I invited her home for t he first t i me in the
t hi rd week. I was t oo broke to afford Barista
regularly, so I t ol d her t hat I had a coffee filter
at home and t he best coffee powder my mot her
coul d pr ocur e f r om my homet own. She said she
had never t ri ed t he f amous Sout h Indi an filter
coffee, so I br ought her to my hal f-an-apart ment .
I met i cul ousl y made some decoct i on: I mi xed
half of t he previ ous r ound with two spoons of
coffee powder, pour ed in some boiling water
and wai t ed for it to drip. She wat ched me do
this, and t hen we sl unk i nt o my hal f - a- r oom and
chat t ed away on my bed (t hankful l y whole).
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3 51
By t he fifth week, it became s omet hi ng of a
ritual. We woul d come home, make coffee and
sit on my bed for hour s. We woul d listen t o
musi c and talk about ever yt hi ng t hat crossed
our mi nds. She slept over a few t i mes on my bed.
We woul d t ouch each ot her' s hands somet i mes,
or link our ar ms when we were wal ki ng, or j ust
smell each other' s hair. We di d t hese t hi ngs out
of a newf ound physi cal i nt i macy.
So when she kissed me in t he si xt h week,
when I was maki ng coffee in my apar t ment , I
wasn' t t aken aback or shocked or sur pr i sed or
anyt hi ng. We l aughed at t he end of t hat kiss.
Her lips t ast ed exactly like t hey shoul d have:
of cher r y l i p-bal m, bl ack coffee and s ome
expensive lipstick. To me, it felt like ever yt hi ng
had finally fallen i nt o place; like it had always
been a par t of us.
coul d feel it, I di dn' t under s t and it.
Eventually, we are all bogged down by details
and def i ni t i onsby who we are and what we
me a n t o each ot her. We l i ewe t hi nk t hat our
lives are bound t o t hose we bi nd our bodi es to;
we t hi nk t hat love can be wi t hhel d. Naively, we
hope t hat our bodi es can give us t he answers.
How do you know t hat your body is your own?
How do you lay cl ai m t o it, i dent i f y wi t h it, and
ma p its scars and i mper f ect i ons, an ent husi ast i c
car t ogr apher const ant l y r e- dr awi ng t he
cont our s of your self? Learn t o use your fingers:
Tie a knot in your shoel aces, l oop t hem, and
knot t he l oops. Make mi st akes when you' re six
years old. Make mi st akes when you' re 15. Learn
t o use your hi ps: Dance t he samba, dance t he
salsa, dance t he Bhangr a, do s ome Yoga. Bend
all you want . But how is your body your body?
Wha t of your heart , and your large i nt est i ne,
and your t hi gh muscl es? How
muc h do you really know? Is
your body your own, or are
you a servant of your body?
Ar e you its story, or is it
yours?
She is si t t i ng across f r om me
on a bl ue couch, a cushi on across
her l ap and t he r emot e i n her hand.
She is wat chi ng t el evi si on wi t h no appar ent
at t ent i on, fl i ppi ng channel s. She pul l s her hai r
back wi t h her hand, and finally swi t ches off t he
television. She l ooks t o me and says, "Let's have
sex." She says it wi t h her eyebrows rai sed and a
smal l shr ug, as if it wer e t he logical al t ernat i ve
to not hi ng on television. I s hr ug back and begi n
t o kiss her. She tastes of appl es and ci garet t es
and smel l s of my s hampoo. Ther e is no ot her
conversat i on.
An hour and si xt een mi nut es later, she wal ks
t o t he wi ndow in her college t - shi r t and my bl ue
size t en ki t t en heels. She lights a ci garet t e but
doesn' t smoke any of it. I wat ch her for some
t i me, st ari ng i nt o t he wor l d out si de as if t r yi ng
t o pi ece s ome puzzl e t oget her. She has a slight
f r own on her brow, like a chi l d wi t h a new game.
"I'd like to wri t e a st ory
about you," I r emember
saying to her once.
She l aughed.
And t hen she said, wi t h
a wi st ful l ook on her face,
"Will you hol d up a mi r r or
to my life, make me younger t han I
really am? Wait, I' m sure I' ll be qui r ki er and
stranger. And I must have some st range way of
pi cki ng my ears, because I know that' s t he sort
of detail you like to notice."
I bl ushed a bit before I said, "No. No ears."
I was t oo young t o know t hat she was
par aphr asi ng a favori t e poet of hers. Now, I a m
t oo old to fi nd it significant.
"I' m engaged, " she r emi nded me at anot her
t i me, pointlessly. It di dn' t mat t er t o me, and I
hoped it di dn' t mat t er t o her.
"It doesn' t matter," I told her in response, but I
was onl y speaki ng for myself.
I was al most living wi t h her in her apar t ment
by this poi nt I had a set of under gar ment s at
her house and a t oot hbr us h in her ba t hr oom t o
prove a poi nt . But she seemed t r oubl ed by it, as
if it were a dual i t y t hat was forced upon her. The
guilt was wei ghi ng in on her, and even t hough I
52 Reading Hour
"There is a Japanese wor d to descri be t he
mome nt of falling in love," she says, al most as if
she is t al ki ng t o herself. She t ur ns t o me and asks,
"Can you i magi ne it? A wor d. As if ever yone can
feel t he same way when t hey fall in love."
I can' t i magi ne. If ever yone coul d feel t he
same way, ever yone woul d have t o be in love
wi t h her. They' d have t o have been t her e when
it was happeni ng t o me. They' d have t o have
been dr awn i nt o our first conversat i on, bot h
of us fidgeting and eager. They' d have to have
l i st ened t o our l ongest phone conversat i on, all
f our t een hour s of it. They' d have t o have ki ssed
our first kiss, felt t he sun on t hei r t oes and t he
fear in t hei r st omachs. They' d have to have seen
her t r y t o put a f or k t hr ough a pea, and wat ch
her wai t till a pi ece of chocol at e mel t ed on her
t ongue bef or e she ate it all. They' d have t o have
seen her dr unk, and danci ng t o a song onl y she
coul d hear, or hear d her sing, wi t h a t oot hbr us h
in her mout h, j ust bef or e a shower. How can a
wor d tell you all t hat in j ust a wor d?
Her cigarette bur ns out , and she fl ops back
on t he couch. She is restless, I can tell. In fact,
I know what she want s t o t al k about . I have
known since I ki ssed her an hour and t went y
t hr ee mi nut es ago. It's not s omet hi ng I don' t
know has been comi ng. I wai t for her t o br i ng
it up anyway.
"I don' t t hi nk I can do t hi s anymore, " she says.
"I know," I want t o say, as if I under s t and.
But I don' t. My eyes t ear up even t hough I am
willing t he m not to. I don' t under s t and. I hol d
her ha nd hopi ng she doesn' t let me let go. I say
it, even t hough I don' t believe it. Even t hough
ever yt hi ng is telling me not to. "I know."
"We can still be fri ends, " she says. I' m pret t y
sure she doesn' t bel i eve it either. "We can't," I say.
I don' t want to be f r i ends. Not wi t h her.
I r e me mbe r an ar gument I had wi t h her a
whi l e ago. We had just wat ched a r omant i c
film. We ki ssed every t i me t he coupl e on
screen kissed. We ate lots of popc or n and
l aughed i ndi scri mi nat el y. Wh e n we came out ,
she said wi t h a si mi l ar intensity, " Whe n lovers
aren' t f un, t hey shoul dn' t be lovers anymore. " I
di sagreed. Love isn' t j ust f un, I ar gued t hen. We
had s hawar ma for di nner and phi l osophy for
dessert . Our ar gument s panned t he ages f r om
Gr eek t o pos t - moder n love. It ended abrupt l y
whe n we saw a post er for a kung fu movie.
"Kung f u t r umps romance, " she said, so we
qui ckl y bought cheap tickets for t he late ni ght
show.
"Don' t call me," I tell her. Whe n lovers aren' t
f un, t hey shoul dn' t be lovers anymor e.
I want t o hur t her, but if she is hur t , I can' t tell.
There isn' t anyt hi ng else for us to say. I take my
t oot hbr us h, pack my under wear and leave.
Lovi ng can make you comf or t abl e in your own
skin: not enough t o make you love yourself, but
enough t o find your body reflected in anot her
enough t o find love for t he same t hi ngs you hate
in yoursel f. Bodi es lie like mi r r or s do; but lies
aren' t absolute, as t he t r ut h isn't absolute. In t he
end, t her e are onl y st ori es you can tellstories
of coffee, el ephant s, love and hear t br eak. Stories
about wor ds, stories about rai n, stories about
sex on couches and hal ves of apar t ment s.
On my way home, I t r y to i magi ne what t he
wor d mus t feel like. The mome nt of falling in
love.
It mus t s ound like t wo t r ai ns passi ng, must
feel like but t erfl i es in t he st omach, like j umpi ng
off a cliff and like a wa r m cup of cocoa, like t he
qui et of home and t he song you' re st ruggl i ng
t o r emember ; all at once. This wor d is probabl y
a qui et wor d, like l aught er or cheer, a frizzy
wor d, a wor d t hat will make you want to hol d
someone' s ha nd and share someone' s bl anket .
It mus t s ound like her and me on a sun-fi l l ed
mor ni ng, r eadi ng opposi t e pages of t he same
newspaper , eat i ng f r om t he same bowl of cereal,
l eavi ng t he mar s hmal l ows for each other.
All mome nt s pass, some in such a rush t hat
t hey leave you wi t h your ears ri ngi ng and spot s
in your eyes; di sor i ent ed and st randed. If t here
wer e wor ds for everyt hi ng, t here woul d be a
wor d for t hi s t oo.
All mome nt s end.
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3 53
POETRY
The Least Count Of A Ruler
somendra singh kharola
Somendra studies Physics at USER, Pune and enjoys
wri ti ng poetry.
When I was a t oddl er I could under st and infinity,
as if it were hardwi red as an instinct
in my conscience, somet hi ng as indescribable as
t he emot i on one feels when he sees a solitary whal e
in t he spindle eyes of a veiled Persian
at a crowded marketplace. I used to fit
in bet ween t he faded pencil mar ks
on the wall in t he backyard; I r emember t he steel cold
graze of a ruler against my scalp, it was t hen t hat
I l earned about the ri gour of objectivity, t hat I, like
my ancestors, am destined to be grooved bet ween two
inexorable numbers: 5 and 6. Aft er I was educated,
ironically, I lost the ability to count infinity:
I realized t here could always be t hat anot her zero.
And now as I age and shrivel, exposed to decimals
like a fresh wound to humi d air, I under st and a
newer infinity: one of seven billion divisions
bet ween zero and one. Wi t h each added division, I
only become smaller: That infinity of mediocrity.
Recommend Reading Hour to friends overseas!
Di gi t al versi on for Appl e, Andr oi d, Web, Amazon
on magzt er . com
Crossword s ol ut i on: Across: 1 Bel l hop, 5 Dot , 7 Baa, 9 Lei, 10 Rawer, 11 Se a nc e s , 12 Dit, 13 Pr une, 14
Desi st s, 16 I n t e mp e r a t e n e s s , 19 Over s i mpl i f yi ng, 24 Tens i on, 27 Sha f t , 28 Engl i sh. 29 Evict, 30 Emu, 32 Lit,
33 Mrs, 34 St e r num
Down: 1 Bar, 2 Lawsui t , 3 Hor deum, 4 Pl a t yhe l mi nt he s , 5 Di s a dva nt a ge ous , 6 Tears, 7 Backs, 8 Assi st s, 13
Phi, 15 I on, 17 NAV, 18 Sun, 19 Oat meal , 20 Res. 21 Fi sheye, 22 I r a ni a n, 23 Get , 25 Ni ght , 26 I di om, 31 Turn
54
Reading Hour
FICTION
A Doctor's Dharma
padma prasad
Padma is a writer and painter. Her work has appeared in Eclectica and A Thousand
Worlds - An Anthol ogy of Indian Women Writers. She is currently working on a
collection of short stories, tentatively titled Al l Except One.
I
n t he new clinic t hat Dr. Sibi opened at
Numbe r 44, Kamar aj Street, hi s hour s wer e
Monday t o Friday, 6 t o 8 p. m. He t hought he
woul d still do mor ni ngs at t he old clinic, at least
unt i l most , if not all hi s pat i ent s got used t o t he
new one. It was really qui t e conveni ent because
t he clinics wer e wi t hi n t wo mi l es of each ot her.
On t he verge of sixty t hree, Dr. Sibi l ooked
at least t en years younger. The t op of hi s head
was al most bare; he t r i ed t o cover t he nudi t y by
gr owi ng out t he r emai ni ng hai r and pl ast eri ng
it all t he way across hi s pat e f r om t he left t o
t he ri ght . He had a s moot h, r ound face wi t h
clean, r adi ant ski n and st r ong facial muscl es,
st r engt hened by a l i fet i me of smi l i ng char m.
Hi s young pat i ent s knew all about t hi s f amous
char m. Babies woul d fall under t he spell of hi s
benevol ent gaze, and t ake t hei r shot s wi t hout
a whi mper . Feveri sh little girls wer e cur ed of
t hei r col ds or st rep t hr oat s or st omach aches or
what ever, t he mome nt he st et hoscoped t hem;
and little boys wi t h gr owi ng pai ns onl y gr ew
and forgot t he pai n when t hei r mot her s br ought
t hem t o hi m.
Dr. Sibi had done pi oneer i ng research on
i nci pi ent r espi r at or y i nf ect i ons in i nf ant s aged
one year and below. He had gi ven pr esent at i ons
on t hi s subj ect in Eur ope and Amer i ca. About
f our years ago, he ret i red f r om hi s post of l ead
paedi at r i ci an at t he Gover nment Chi l dren' s
Hospi t al . Somet i mes, he t hought about compl et e
r et i r ement but real i zed t hat he was not r eady for
it. Maybe, like hi s f at her and gr andf at her bef or e
hi m, he woul d j ust go on unt i l t he ver y end.
Dr. Sibi had a wife, Shant ha. He was mar r i ed
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3
t o her whe n he was t went y f our years old. Since
she was bor n t o be a wife, t he house and clinic
were always spotlessly clean, t he meal s were
always hot and r eady and on t i me, his clothes
were l aunder ed beautifully, his shoes shone,
and hi s belly st uck out wi t h dignity. Whe n her
chores were done, Shant ha wat ched TV.
Every day, aft er an hour' s nap in t he af t er noon,
Dr. Sibi woul d wake up, have a wash, a st rong
cup of filter coffee and s ome light snack that
hi s wi fe pr epar ed for hi m. Then, he woul d don
hi s cri sp whi t e shirt, bl ue tie, grey or navy blue
t r ouser s and whi t e doct or' s coat, wi pe his gold
r i mme d r ound spect acl es t horoughl y, and read
t he eveni ng Tami l paper. At t he st roke of six, he
woul d ent er hi s clinic f r om i nsi de t he house and
open t he door for hi s first pat i ent to come in. His
pat i ent s woul d st art arri vi ng somet i mes as early
as 5.00 p. m. , and t he boy in t he clinic woul d
usher t hem i nt o an adj oi ni ng r oom wher e t hey
coul d flip t hr ough out dat ed magazi nes or ot her
r eadi ng mat t er whi ch doct or s t hought f ul l y put
out for t hei r pat i ent s.
That Fri day in December , ar ound 4.30 p.m., t he
door bel l rang. Dr. Sibi, who was wai t i ng for his
coffee, opened t he door. A ma n and a young girl
st ood out si de, bot h of t he m wi t h t he same air of
i nt ensi t y and al ert ner vousness. The girl l ooked
ext r emel y t hi n and weak, wi t h large, wet eyes
and t he ma n r esembl ed her in hi s post ure. Dr.
Sibi t hought t hey l ooked somewhat fami l i ar and
yet he coul dn' t say why. Hi s eyes moved to her
mout h; he felt hypnot i zed by t he soft, virginal
spr ead of labial t i ssue and hear d t he man say, as
if f r om a great di st ance, "Doct or, I was hopi ng
55
you were available. My daught er, she j ust fell
unconsci ous. I was wonder i ng wher e t o t ake
her, when my wife r emember ed your clinic. We
used to br i ng t hem t o you, do you r emember ,
her and her sister, when t hey wer e little. Will
you please see her?"
Dr. Sibi's eyes sl i pped down f ur t her and rest ed
on t he t wo t i ny poi nt s on her chest . She was
weari ng a l ong kur t a of r ough s pun whi t e cot t on
material. He i mmedi at el y r et ur ned his gaze to
t he fat her and said, "How old is she?"
"Eighteen."
"I don' t usual l y see chi l dren above twelve,
ma xi mum f our t een. It's been qui t e a whi l e si nce
I saw anyone ol der t han t hat . Plus, I st art seei ng
pat i ent s onl y f r om 6 p.m." He l ooked agai n at
her face. She st art ed a smi l e t hat stole i nt o t he
wet ness of her eyes. He said, "So you smi l e and
cry at t he same t i me. Tell me, that' s a bit st range,
don' t you agree?"
She hung her head, smi l ed some mor e
and replied pertly, "It's not nor mal t hat I
fai nt ed, so I cri ed because I f ai nt ed
and now I am smi l i ng because I
finished fainting."
He nodde d hi s head
t hought f ul l y and led t he way
i nt o his clinic.
The fat her said she had been
unabl e to keep any f ood down
for t he past
t wo days, and
had st art ed
to feel dizzy
t hat mor ni ng.
About a coupl e of hour s ago,
she was si t t i ng wi t h her mot her
on t he sofa and had swooned
away wi t hout any war ni ng. By
t he t i me t hey cont act ed hi m
at wor k and by t he t i me he
reached home, she had come
out of it and was sobbi ng. Then
when she saw hi m, she had
l aughed wi t h relief.
They had not visited a doct or
for so ma ny years. He was t he last doct or she
had ever seen. Hi s wi fe knew about hi s new
clinic and t hat was why t hey had come t o hi m.
"So when you saw her, she was cryi ng and t hen
she st art ed l aughi ng?" Dr. Sibi said, t i l t i ng hi s
face as he st udi ed her. " Umm. . . mmm, that' s
ver y interesting. "
He checked her wi t h hi s st et hoscope. Then he
gest ured t o t he bed, "Let's check your t ummy,
and make sure."
She was qui t e exhaust ed and lay back wi t h
a sense of relief. First, he checked her bl ood
pressure. Her f at her st ood near t he door, hi s
face showi ng hi s relief when t he doct or said,
"It's good, qui t e normal . "
He rol l ed up t he bl ood pr essur e cuff and st uck
it i nt o its case on t he wall. Then he pushed up
hi s sleeves and gent l y i nser t ed hi s hands under
her kur t a and felt her st omach. "Any pai n here?
No? Good. Now, you shoul d tell me at once if
you feel any di scomf or t , ok?"
She smi l ed agai n. Her f at her
st ood wi t h avert ed gaze, l ooki ng
at a post er of t he h u ma n ner vous
syst em. Dr. Sibi di d not feel any
har dnes s or any abnor mal i t y
in her abdomen. He pressed
har der ar ound her navel and
still she di d not say anyt hi ng.
Hi s head nodde d as he
r eached a concl usi on
and he was about t o
wi t hdr aw hi s hands.
But hi s hands
appear ed t o have
anot her pl an.
They had got
magnet i zed. They
wer e dr awn t o
her chest, t o
t hose t i ny poi nt s
t hat t hr ust so
p e r s i s t e n t l y
t hr ough t he
kur t a. In a
mome nt of silent
56 Reading Hour
and per haps, i nvol unt ar y dar i ng, yet wi t h a
casual ness t hat shoul d have caught her off guar d,
he r eached upwar ds, still under her kur t a.
Maybe, hi s nod had t ol d her t hat he was
done, and she had expect ed hi m t o wal k away
f r om her. Or, maybe it is a woman' s i nt ui t i ve
under s t andi ng of how such mome nt s happen.
However, i n t hat bri ef mome nt when he
was maki ng hi s deci si on t o reach for her, she
pr epar ed herself. Her ar m cl amped down across
her chest, fi rml y f or bi ddi ng all access.
Dr. Sibi's fi ngers recoi l ed in surpri se. Still, t hey
woul d not give up. Hi s left ha nd gr oped al ong
t he l engt h of her f or ear m for a mome nt a r y
l ooseni ng, an unguar ded por t of ent ry. Her
t eet h cl enched down on her l ower lip, her face
pi nched and r eddened wi t h effort , and all t he
muscl es in her little body gr ew rigid, ri ght down
t o her feet, her st r ai ght ened toes, her every
ner ve in an ar r angement of stiffness.
For about five seconds, t hey st ood l ocked like
t hat .
Then, t he ha nd sl ackened and r et ur ned t o
her st omach regi on. Like t he exami nat i on was
fi ni shed.
Only, hi s ar m fl exed for one mor e strike. Still,
she was ready for t hi s cunni ng move, and was
f r ozen i nt o a bony shield.
Suddenl y, t he doct or felt a hellish pai n st art
f r om hi s left ha nd and go t hr ough t o hi s core,
a pai n so st r ong t hat he al most fai nt ed. He
wi t hdr ew hi s ha nd fearful l y and saw t hat hi s
fi ngers wer e all gonehi s ha nd ended bl unt l y
in a pal m and t her e wer e really no fingers, as if
hi s ha nd had always been ma de wi t hout fingers.
He l ooked wi l dl y ar ound; he wr ung hi s hands
as if it woul d br i ng t he fi ngers back. Fi ght i ng
t he angr y pai n, he t hought , how can I expl ai n
t hi s ha nd t o Shant ha, t o my colleagues, t o my
ot her pat i ent s, to t he worl d? He real i zed he was
br eat hi ng a little t oo l oudl y and cont rol l ed hi s
br eat h; slowly, he t ur ned t o l ook at t he father.
The f at her shuffl ed hi s gaze back t o t he doct or.
The doct or sent one last pi t i abl e l ook t owar ds
t he girl and t hen went t o t he wash basi n. He
washed hi s hands wi t h care, i nch by i nch. He
May-Jun 2014 Vol 4 Issue 3
saw t he wash basi n st reaked and filling up with
hi s bl ood. It woul dn' t stop. He careful l y wr apped
t he t owel ar ound hi s left hand and went to his
desk.
The girl sat up and swung her legs down t he
side of t he bed and pul l ed her kur t a carefully
over her knees. The f at her st ood besi de her with
a t ender, concer ned face. He s moot hed her hair
down her back and whi sper ed, "Are you feeling
a little easier now? Your face l ooks better." His
ki ndness ma de her weepy again and t hen,
because she wor r i ed t hat t hat woul d upset hi m,
she smi l ed.
The doct or sat at hi s desk. The fat her sat in
f r ont ; t he girl j umpe d down f r om t he bed and
st ood l eani ng against her father' s chair. The
doct or said wi t h a quaver i ng voice, "There' s
not hi ng wr ong, ever yt hi ng l ooks qui t e normal .
I don' t see anyt hi ng now. Di d she have a fall? Or
has s omet hi ng di st ur bed her? Do you know if
anyt hi ng mi ght have upset her recently?"
The f at her l ooked at hi s daught er and shook
hi s head. "She has st art ed goi ng to college and
she is doi ng ver y well. I can' t t hi nk of anyt hi ng,
or maybe she is wor r i ed about her mot her. Her
mot he r hasn' t been doi ng well for some time.
Her mot her has never been sick before. We are
all a bit di st ur bed by this."
The doct or eval uat ed t hi s i nf or mat i on. "But
she is cryi ng and l aughi ng at t he same time.
That is not a nor ma l react i on. Has she had any
seri ous illness before?"
The father' s eyes wi dened. "Yes, yes, she had
di pht her i a whe n she was eleven. We brought
her t o you and you saved her life, sir. You don' t
r emember ?"
Dr. Sibi r emember ed. She was one of the only
t wo cases he had ever t reat ed for di pht heri a. He
r e me mbe r e d t hat pani c st ri cken summer ' s day,
when he l ooked down her t hr oat and saw t he
whi t e cl umps l i ni ng bot h sides of it, seemi ng
t o gr ow even as he st ared. Though how she had
ever got such an i nf ect i on was beyond hi m. Her
mot he r said it must be t he paaya t hey had eat en
at t he r est aur ant t he previ ous eveni ng. Maybe
it was not cooked properl y; wi t h goat's leg, t hat
57
was always a risk you faced, t he mot he r said,
t hough how it had onl y affect ed her and not
her sister was a myst er y but t hi s girl was such a
weak child anyway.
Dr. Sibi l ooked at t he ' weak' chi l d now and
wonder ed how he had failed t o recogni ze her.
She and her sister had been hi s pat i ent s for a
long t i me, f r om when he was known as t he
' lake area' doct or. At t he t i me, Nunga mba kka m,
where his old clinic was, used t o be known as
lake area.
Dr. Sibi's left ha nd j er ked violently; he felt t he
phant om t wi t ch of his lost fingers. He st ared at
his not epad and said wi t h a deep breat h, "Yes,
yes, I r emember . But she has not had any ot her
i nj ury recently, no? Yet s omet hi ng has di st ur bed
her mi nd. We can j ust obser ve how she feels. I
will prescri be some mi l d t ranqui l l i zer, j ust for
t wo or t hr ee days, and t hen, aft er a week, we' ll
see. If needed, we can do a scan. But t hat may
not be necessary. Somet i mes, t eenagers are
over-sensitive and get t r oubl ed t oo easily." He
avoi ded l ooki ng at her and kept hi s face t ur ned
t oward her father. "How about her sleeping,
does she have any pr obl ems sl eepi ng?" he asked.
No, she was blessed t hat she had never had
t roubl e sleeping, t he fat her said.
"Also, maybe aft er a week, she coul d see a
psychi at ri st or a counsellor, j ust as a precaut i on, "
t he doct or said, as he t ore t he not e f r om
his prescri pt i on pad and went t hr ough t he
medi cat i on and t he dosage i nst r uct i ons wi t h
t he fat her; t hen he repl aced hi s pen careful l y in
its hol der.
They st epped out si de. The doct or' s wi fe
was buyi ng flowers, st ri ngs of j asmi ne and
chr ys ant hemum. The next day was t he first day
of t he Tamil mont h of Maargazhi . For Shant ha,
it was t he most magi cal mont h of t he whol e
year. She wai t ed for it like a chi l d waits f or t he
s umme r vacat i on. She loved t he chill, dark,
foggy mor ni ngs, she loved waki ng up t o t he
sound of hol y musi c and t empl e bells. For t he
next t hi r t y days, she woul d buy several st ri ngs
of flowers t o decor at e her pi ct ures of var i ous
deities. She woul d read each verse of Andal ' s
58
Thi r upavai and listen t o all t he comment ar i es
on t he radi o; she relived wi t h ext r aor di nar y
intensity, t he great r omance of Andal ' s love for
Lord Vi shnu, as if t hey wer e her ver y own, ver y
close relatives. In t he eveni ngs, Shant ha woul d
wai t for t hat pr eci ous hour when t hey woul d
telecast sel ect i ons f r om t he classical musi c
festival t hat r an for t wo whol e weeks. On t he
t hi r t i et h day, whe n Andal mar r i es Lord Vi shnu,
Shant ha even conduct ed a t i ny little weddi ng
cer emony for t he m in her own pr ayer r oom. She
woul d make s ome t r adi t i onal weddi ng sweet s
t hat day and give t he m t o all who came t o t he
house, pat i ent s i ncl uded.
Already, t he air had a f r ost y bite t o it, and t he
power f ul Tami l sun had become gent l e and
pl ayful like a child. The t oot hl ess flower woma n
meas ur ed out t he st ri ngs of flowers agai nst t he
bony l engt h of her ar m and smar t l y wr apped it
in a banana leaf. Shant ha pai d her and t ur ned to
see her hus band, t he f at her and daught er. Her
eyes nar r owed and she said, "Ni vedi t a! It is you,
isn' t it? How muc h you have gr own! How are
you, aft er all t hese years, my dear child? How
is your sister? And your mot her ?" She l ooked at
t he f at her and smi l ed.
"She hasn' t been doi ng well, s ome hear t
pr obl em has started," t he f at her said.
They t al ked of t he l ake area days for a whi l e.
The f at her s hook hands wi t h t he doct or. "I
onl y ment i oned t he psychi at ri st because she
was l aughi ng and cr yi ng at t he same time," t he
doct or repeat ed. "Maybe it won' t be necessary.
Let's see how she does over t he next few days."
The doct or wat ched t he m wal k t o t he gate. As
if she knew he was wat chi ng, t he girl t ur ned and
gave hi m a l ook of compl et e t r i umph; t hen she
st uck out her t ongue and waggl ed her head at
hi m. The doct or felt weak and lost, hi s ner ves
choki ng hi m wi t h t he myr i ad sensat i ons t hey
rel eased i nt o hi s brai n.
Shant ha st ood hol di ng her preci ous flowers.
"They wer e such sweet chi l dren, so well behaved
and neat . I used t o see t hei r mot he r s omet i mes
in t he t empl e, but not f or a l ong t i me now." Then
she saw hi s left ha nd wi t h t he t owel wr apped
Reading Hour
ar ound it. "Oh, what happened t o your hand?
Here, let me see."
"It's not hi ng, j ust a scrat ch, a mi st ake, that' s
all. I have al ready t reat ed it," Dr. Sibi said as he
moved hur r i edl y t owar ds t he clinic.
But she fol l owed wi t h great concer n. He was
t oo weak t o escape as she t ender l y unwound
t he towel. He wai t ed t o hear her scream, or
cry, "Kri shna, Rama! " Inst ead he hear d, "It's
not hi ng, not hi ng aft er all." He opened hi s eyes
t o see t he clean ski n of hi s left ha nd wi t h t he
careful l y cl i pped shi ni ng nails, t he fi ngers all in
t hei r pl ace as always.
The next day at about t hr ee o' clock, Dr. Sibi
put up a sign t hat t he clinic was cl osed for t hat
eveni ng. Hi s wi fe was as usual in t he ki t chen;
she was h u mmi n g a popul ar fol k song about
Lord Kr i shna. Wh e n Dr. Sibi l ooked t hr ough
t he ki t chen door way, she had just finished
st acki ng up t he dr y dishes. She l ooked at hi m
wi t h surpri se. " Wher e di d you go?" she asked.
Wi t hout answeri ng, he hel d out a little
envel ope to her. She wi ped her hands on her sari
end and t ook it f r om hi m. Insi de t her e were t wo
tickets for t he first concer t of t he musi c season
t hat eveni ng.
Dr. Sibi wat ched t he qui ck shi ft of expressi ons
on her face unt i l it finally lit up wi t h wonder. He
said, "I have closed t he clinic for t he eveni ng. If
we can leave by five, we shoul d be in good time."
She r ead t he ticket i nf or mat i on careful l y
again. "I can wear t he new silk sari you bought
for me f or Deepavalli." She l ooked up at hi m,
quest i oni ngl y.
He st ood bef or e her wi t h hi s hands clasped as
if in prayer. "Yes, yes, pl ease do, t hat will be very
good, " he replied.
*
POETRY
Government Office Lullaby
snehith kumbla
Snehi th is a poet based in Pune.
lull me t o sleep,
o anci ent ceiling fan,
let t he pi geon chicks
over t he def unct
ai r-condi t i oner
sing a chorus,
t ap out a t une,
wi t h t hy feet
o rat,
who scamper s
among l eani ng file towers,
come,
cr oon me a song,
a song
of
sl umber
May- Jun 2014 Vol 4 I ssue 3 59
In 1803, Coleridge visited the Falls of Clyde with
1
his friend, William Wordsworth. After gazing at the
Falls for some time, Coleridge began to think of an
adjective to capture most precisely the impression
he had received. Grand? Majestic? After some
consideration, he came to the conclusion that the
correct word was 'sublime.' just then, a couple
arrived, and, standing by him, looked in silence at
the spectacle. Then, to Coleridge's high satisfaction,
the gentleman exclaimed, "It is sublime." To which
the lady responded, "Yes, it is the prettiest thing I
ever saw."
Imagine Coleridge's exasperation. Sublimity
and prettiness are qualities separated by so great a
distance that the lady's comment was ludicrous. But
it makes us think, what is sublime, exactly? Often,
this word conjures up images of immeasurable
magnitudethe expanse of blue sky, the dark
night sky, studded with countless distant stars,
the sea that stretches to the horizon and beyond
ita surface smooth as glass or breaking into
innumerable waves; time, to which we can imagine
no beginning and no end. In other words, the
sublime reminds us of an overwhelming greatness.
For centuries, this question, "What is sublime?"
has sparked heated discussions among scholars
and aestheticians.
Cassius Longinus, of Greek origin, was the first
aesthetician to discuss this concept in lucid terms.
In the first century C. E., he wrote Peri Hupsous
or ' On the sublime', and in it, he focused on the
sublime in rhetoric. He argued that "sublimity is
a certain distinction and excellence in expression",
and this quality will, "with a strength irresistible,
strike home, and triumph over every hearer..."
"For, as if instinctively, our soul is uplifted by the
true sublime." Longinus focused on figurative
language as a vehicle for such a flight, and argued
that both the writer/orator and the audience are
transported by sublimity.
Edmund Burke, the Irish philosopher, refuted
Longinusin 1764, he wrote a treatise, A
Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of
the Sublime and Beautiful, and in it, he argued that
sublimity could not be limited to rhetoric. Burke
associated the concept of the sublime with the terror
invoked before the immense power of Nature, the
instinctive "delight" that human beings felt in their
subordination before God; he called this "proud
60
l a s t p a g e
On The Sublime
manjushree hegde
Manjushree is based in Bangalore. She reads, writes,
travels and enjoys learning Sanskrit.
submission", "dignified obedience", or "ennobled
freedom". "We shrink into the minuteness of our
own nature, and are, in a manner annihilated before
Hi m. . . If we rejoice, we rejoice with trembling."
This "salutary fear" is, Burke writes, the essence of
all "true religion," and is also the hallmark of the
Burkean sublime.
Immanuel Kant took it a step ahead. In his
Critique of Judgment (1790), he argued that the
sublime did not belong to the realm of objects
but to the realm of ideas. So, it was not the violent
storm or the towering mount ai n or the immense
ocean that was sublime, but the comprehension
of the magnificence of the power that created it,
that was sublime. So, for Kant, the star-studded
sky would not be more sublime than the babe on
the arm of the Madonna. Kant's argument is well
illustrated in TourgeniefFs prose-poem, The Quail.
In his poem, Tourgenieff describes how his dog
happens upon a fallen fledgeling, but before it can
do anything, the mot her sparrow drops from a tree
and sacrifices herself to save her baby
"My dog stood still, and then slunk back
disconcerted. Plainly he too had to recognise that
power. I called him to me; and a feeling of reverence
came over me as I passed on...
Love, I thought, is verily stronger than death
and the terror of death. By love, only by love, is life
sustained and moved."
Sparrow or a mountain, when they are sublime,
they are all the same, for then, each becomes
infinite. It is the comprehension of sublimity that
makes life delightful, worthwhile. In the words of
Anne Morrow Lindbergh, ".. .after the smallness of
the day, of work, of details, of intimacyeven of
communication, one thirsts for the magnitude and
universality of a night full of stars, pouring into
one like a fresh tide."
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