Blowfish Read online

  I wasn’t writing a book but I was writing. I was happy I was getting somewhere.

  Out of Tears

  My happiness was short-lived.

  One evening a short, stocky old man with a white wavy mane peeped into my room. He looked like a stubby white elephant. I was taken aback, cigarette ash fell on my keyboard. I said, ‘Oh fuck!’ and turned the machine upside down. He gave me an understanding smile, he said, ‘Carry on, carry on’ and rushed to Chaddha’s room. He had left but the cologne he wore stayed on, making the room stuffy.

  A couple of hours later, cheer and camaraderie took over Chaddha’s chamber. I tried to hear what they were saying.

  ‘That’s a fantastic story Brigadier Uncle! ‘Chaddha said.

  ‘There’s so much to tell boy, there’s so much to tell. We could sit here for years and my stories still won’t finish. Ha ha ha ha,’ his laugh was a trumpet-y wheeze—like an elephant sneezing.

  ‘We can sit as long as you like Uncle. Ah, let me get you another one,’ Chaddha got up to get the bottle.

  ‘Well … why not? I’ll have one more. Ha ha ha ha ha,’ then in a muffled tone, ‘Accha, tell me, does that boy drink?’

  ‘Only if he did Uncle, only if he did, he wouldn’t have been in this state.’

  ‘So doesn’t drink, just smokes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Drugs?’

  ‘No, no.’

  ‘That is sad. Shouldn’t we ask him to join us? Should I ask him?’

  ‘I’m not sure uncle … very fragile mental state. Let sleeping dogs lie is what I can say.’

  ‘Hmmm … ok, you’re right … right!’

  ‘Bumbum, Bumbum,’ Chaddha screamed, ‘Fry some chicken beta.’

  ‘Oh, is that your servant? I didn’t hear good things about him from Colonel Harpal.’

  ‘Yes, yes, he’s leaving soon. He makes terrific fried chicken though, you must try.’

  ‘Ok, all right, if you insist.’

  I cast a glance at Chaddha’s room while going to the loo. A bottle of Glenlivet 18 was on the table. We had pooled in to buy that whiskey thinking we’ll drink it someday in celebration and the fucker had opened it without even asking me! I felt like going in and strangling them. I was the lunatic who loved his Scotch. I was sure the judge would pardon me and send me to an orthopaedic surgeon for further treatment.

  I went to the kitchen. Bumbum was marinating the chicken. I asked him, ‘Bumbum beta, kya haal chaal?’

  ‘Ok Bhaiyya,’ he smiled, ‘I’m making fried chicken Bhaiyya. Would you like to have some green chutney with it?’

  ‘Yes, I would like that. Thank you! How’s your friend Fulki?’

  ‘She’s ok bhaiyya,’ he smiled shyly.

  ‘Do you meet her?’

  ‘Yes bhaiyya.’

  ‘Where do you meet her? Are you still doing that boundary wall thing?’

  ‘No bhaiyya, not anymore,’ he smiled. He began washing the mint leaves. I watched him. I didn’t read much into that smile that day. I should have.

  ‘They think I’m crazy?’ I said after a while.

  ‘Who thinks that bhaiyya?’

  ‘The society people—Harpal and this chap, his name is Brigadier Hoshiar. Chaddha has told them I’m crazy.’

  ‘Why bhaiyya?’

  ‘Because Chaddha shot the bird and he blamed me for it and he then explained to them that I’m mad and I kill birds.’

  ‘That’s bad.’

  ‘Yes, it is. And now Chaddha is drinking with this uncle who thinks I’m insane.’

  ‘Who’s this uncle bhaiyya?’

  ‘He’s the society president, Harpal is the society secretary; my guess is he’s a bigger lunatic than Harpal.’

  Bumbum grinned.

  I went back to my room. I could hear loud guffaws from Chaddha’s. That night, I felt truly alone. It was as if the world had abandoned me and the last refuge—Chaddha’s room was closed forever. I switched off the light and lit a cigarette. I fiddled with my iPod and tried to find a song that would make things better. I couldn’t. I picked up my phone. I thought of talking to somone but I couldn’t think of anyone to call. I thought of the people I had met at the wedding. I thought of Suman. I thought of finding her on Facebook. What if I did find her? Will I message her like I email Nisha? My letters to a blackhole.

  I had become a complete no one. When I had my job at least I was making money to buy single malts and fancy headphones, people didn’t think of me as a crazy idiot, but now? Now I had nothing. I was fucked like Dhingra had predicted. I didn’t see any hope. I impulsively picked up the laptop and went through the folder that had all my stories. I opened them, read a few lines; I felt no one will give a fuck about them. Who published short stories anyway? Why was I writing? There was nothing I could prove with this folder full of crazy stories.

  I right clicked on the folder and went to properties. All the stories I had written came to 343 KB (not even close to an MB) and what had I given up for this crap? I had given up everything.

  I slumped on my bed. I had to get a job. I had to start applying again. All this shit, this writing, this learning guitar nonsense, all this didn’t matter. I had to become someone again and then I could do all that. It didn’t ring true but it made sense. Living a life that’s true is not meant for everyone. I wasn’t going to make it.

  Dear Nisha,

  I’m planning to re-apply. I’ll find myself a job and be the man I was meant to become: a man with bad dandruff, a small car and even smaller dreams. This is what I am. I have found my purpose, yay!

  And by the way, we met, you may know this, but your spam folder doesn’t, and I need to tell someone. I got the closure I so desperately needed. It was good we met.

  Over and out.

  Love,

  Mukund

  They were still at it in Chaddha’s room. I walked out to get some water. Hoshiar was holding Chaddha by the shoulder and whispering something in his ear. I heard them giggling. Hoshiar’s perfume lingered in the air.

  I updated my resume and uploaded it on job sites. Then I bolted the door and went to sleep.

  My Father’s Real

  Address

  Chaddha sauntered into my room next morning. He stretched, picked up the Delhi Times that lay on the floor and pointed at Mila Kunis. ‘See, look here, here’s my kind of woman.’

  ‘Fuck you Chaddha! Why did you finish our Glenlivet 18? That was an expensive bottle.’

  ‘Sorry yaar, I have a bit of a thing with elderly people. I can’t say no to them. He told me he likes single malts, what could I say? I had to offer him something.’

  ‘Sounds logical. Next time, let me know, I’ll make arrangements for an anti-aircraft machine gun and some leaf camouflage for him. It’ll help him enact his stories better!’

  ‘Come on man. Don’t be grouchy, it’s all for a good cause.’

  ‘I wanted to drink that Scotch.’

  ‘Yes, I know, you wanted to. Look, I’m sorry, I can’t say no to uncle and aunty jis yaar, it’s like saying no to my father.’

  ‘Fuck you Chaddha.’

  ‘Anyway, he is like a missionary nun hellbent on converting me. If he had his way, he would ordain me into the Army, I’m telling you …’ he shook his head and burped.

  ‘He regaled you with stories about the valiant Indian Army and then you two discussed my madness, I don’t need to know Chaddha.’

  ‘Yes,’ he grinned, ‘I also got to know stuff about Harpal and other random people in the society.’

  ‘What’s there to know about Harpal?’

  ‘Guess?’

  ‘He beats his wife?’

  ‘No, his wife is dead.’

  ‘I didn’t know. What else? Don’t tell me.’

  ‘He is really sick. Hoshiar feels he doesn’t have too many years left in him.’

  ‘What’s his sickness?’

  ‘Diabetes and some neurological problem—he called it something, I can’t seem to remember now. Ah yes,
stroke, it’s called a stroke. He had a paralytic stroke last year and his right leg doesn’t work well.’

  I remembered Harpal’s limp.

  ‘The stroke and diabetes combination hasn’t helped. His only son lives in Singapore and seems to have forgotten him … doesn’t come home or call. He lives alone. It seems he went a bit crazy last year. Hoshiar didn’t tell me more but it must’ve been bad. Sad, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How’s the writing going?’

  ‘All right. I’ve decided to go back.’

  ‘Go back? Where?’

  ‘Nowhere, I mean go back, back.’

  ‘You mean find a new job?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you’re done with your purpose-wurpose thing?’

  ‘Yes, sort of,’ I said curtly. I didn’t want to be the butt of jokes right that moment. Chaddha would laugh about it for a long time to come, I was hoping he would spare me this time.

  He didn’t even smile.

  ‘I can help you with your Naukri account. Just because I don’t have a job yet doesn’t mean I am not an expert in this,’ he offered.

  ‘Thank you. I’ve made my resume.’

  ‘Ok, let me know if you want me to review.’

  ‘Yes, I will. How’s your stalking going?’

  Chaddha was now doing it twice a day. He was going to her office every morning just to see her get in and then waiting for her in the evenings to watch her leave.

  ‘But I’m not drinking that much anymore. Just a pint in the evening. She has blacked out everything bad in my life,’ he said.

  He was going crazy. I nodded in silence.

  ‘You’re mistaken,’ he smiled ‘I’m not going crazy. I’m moving on. Love makes you move on.’

  ‘That sounds crazy Chaddha.’

  ‘Yes, I’m in love and I feel good about it.’

  ‘So stop this cat and mouse shit and do something about it.’

  ‘I know. I need to,’ he said. He looked worried now.

  ‘Does she know you’re stalking her? Does she know it’s you?’

  ‘No, I keep my distance but then, maybe she does.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Sometimes it seems that way. Sometimes she looks around, notices me and then looks away.’

  ‘Do you know you’re very close to being arrested Chaddha? You are in the wrong; you must stop stalking her!’

  ‘I know. I must. Can you talk to her?’

  ‘What will I say?’

  ‘You can apologise to her on my behalf.’

  ‘How many times will I do that?’

  ‘One last time, please, please.’

  Ok, I will call her.’

  ‘You will?’

  ‘Yes, I will,’ I said.

  ‘Ok. Thank you man! Now, let’s go back to helping you find a job. Have you gotten in touch with Rangoo?’

  ‘Yes,’ I lied. I knew Rangoo had moved to a boutique consulting firm. I didn’t feel like asking him. I had kept it as the last resort.

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘No vacancies in his new company. He’ll try.’

  ‘Ok, great.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll take you back in Gibbons Moore?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ I said. My phone rang. It was Papa.

  ‘Hello Papa,’ I said. Chaddha went out to look for Bumbum.

  ‘Hello Mukund.’

  ‘Yes, Papa, how are you?’

  ‘I’m good Mukund, I’m Ok. I got a letter from your society, some person, his name is …’ he was reading from the notice, ‘Colonel Harpal. Do you know him?’

  How the hell did he get my father’s address?

  ‘What does it say Papa?’ I asked.

  ‘Intimidation, mental illness, guns, dead birds, derogatory language,’ ‘I could see him bending over the letter to read the words. ‘Is everything okay Mukund?’

  ‘Yes, yes, everything is okay. This man Harpal has gone crazy,’ I was angry, at Harpal and at my father, ‘You don’t need to worry, nothing can go wrong in my life that you’ll ever need to solve.’

  He didn’t reply. I didn’t expect him to. He had always chosen to look the other way when I was hurt, when I had complaints, when I had tears in my eyes … it kept him happy, it avoided unpleasantness.

  After so many years, I did not think he had the inclination to make up for lost time, he didn’t want to make me his own, he wanted me to adopt him—no questions asked, he wanted me to accept him because he was my father.

  ‘Papa, you don’t have to do anything about it. The man is crazy. I will deal with it. I’ll call you later,’ I said.

  I grabbed a paperpad and a pen and walked out.

  I found out where he lived. A guard told me. I rang the bell and waited. No one came. I pressed the bell again. This time I heard someone move inside.

  The door opened, ‘Yes, can I help you?’ he asked. Harpal was leaning on his stick. He looked thin, bent and tired in his grey thermal inners. He must have been sleeping.

  ‘I’m sorry, did I disturb you?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ he stiffened when he saw me looking at him, ‘Wait here,’ he said. A minute later, he stepped out of his house wearing a black dressing gown. Now he looked like an old oil painting. He saw the pen, ‘You plan to kill me with that,’ he smiled and asked.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ I said. I put the pen in my pocket.

  ‘So how can I help you?’ he asked again.

  I said, ‘Mr Singh, you sent the Show Cause Notice to the wrong address.’

  ‘I sent it to the right address. It was on the rent agreement Colonel Saini had submitted to the society office.’

  ‘No, it’s not the right address,’ I shook my head.

  ‘You are not ok mentally, Brigadier Hoshiar says so, your father needs to know what’s happening, doesn’t he?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, maybe my father needs to know Mr Singh, but you have the wrong address,’ I took out the pen and pad and wrote my mother’s name and address on it. I tore the paper and gave it to him, ‘This is my father’s real address. My mother raised me and she is the only one who has the right to be called my father. Next time you have to send a notice, send it here,’ I said. I didn’t wait for him to respond and hurried down the stairs. I didn’t look up when I got out of the building. I knew he would be standing there watching me.

  I was so angry I couldn’t even talk to myself. I took a walk. I lit a cigarette. It didn’t help. I called my father.

  ‘Yes, Mukund,’ he said.

  ‘Papa, do you remember Ajaiyya?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘He was the boy you didn’t help when he needed your help.’

  ‘When was this Mukund? I don’t remember,’ he said. He sounded weak and tired.

  ‘I was four. I ran up to you and I told you he was tied to a tree and they had beaten him and they were going to arrest him and I asked you to do something about it but you didn’t, you didn’t, you didn’t, you didn’t,’ I disconnected. I was an idiot.

  PART FOUR

  Habeas Corpus

  Being

  Chaddha’s Friend

  I had promised Chaddha that I would call her.

  ‘Am I talking to Ms Vanya Nene?’

  ‘Yes, this is Vanya.’

  ‘Hey, hi Vanya, this is Mukund Bhandari, Rohit Chaddha’s friend, remember me?’ I was already sounding crazy. With Chaddha, you’re never far from being mad.

  ‘Um … yes Mukund, hi, how are you?’

  ‘I’m good. I need some help.’

  ‘Sure, tell me.’

  ‘Would you know of some good consulting openings? I mean something for my profile. I can send you my CV and you can let me know.’ It was flimsy but the best I could come up with.

  ‘Sure, sure.’

  We talked a little more. I gave her an idea about my profile and what I was looking for. I told her I was on a break and was desperate to get back. She asked me why I had taken a break. I told her the reason
was personal and then for some strange reason I said, ‘Anyway, if I didn’t resign, they would’ve fired me just like Chaddha.’

  I felt bad immediately after saying it. This was the girl Chaddha was trying to woo.

  ‘Has Rohit got a job?’ she asked.

  ‘No, not yet but he’ll get one soon. That’s one more thing I wanted to talk to you about. You know he feels really bad about how he behaved with you.’

  ‘Oh, that was such a long time back and he apologized. No hard feelings. I understand he must have been under a lot of pressure.’

  ‘Yes, yes, that’s exactly the point.’

  ‘Hmmm … yes, I know.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ the conversation was drying up.

  ‘Ok, why don’t you send me your profile and I’ll get back ASAP,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I will, thank you. Also, I wanted to talk to you about something else,’ I said.

  ‘Sure, tell me,’ she sounded a little awkward.

  ‘Rohit would like to take you out for coffee.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, he’s very shy and I know he won’t talk to you on his own.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’

  ‘Don’t say no please. Just think about it. Please, please.’

  ‘Mukund, can you tell me something truthfully?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you call me to discuss job openings or…?’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ I lied.

  ‘Does your friend come to my office every morning and evening?’ she asked.

  It was abrupt, I wasn’t ready. ‘He means no harm Vanya,’ I blurted out.

  ‘You know I thought he had joined a company in my office building.’

  What could I say to that? There was a long silence and then a click. She had disconnected. I had given Chaddha away. I had played Judas to Chaddha’s Jesus. What if she reports him to the police? He’ll be beaten up and what was worse, I would be in jail too for what do they call it, yes “aiding and abetting”.

  I called her again. She picked up, ‘Yes Mukund.’

  ‘I’m sorry about this Vanya. He is harmless.’