Blowfish Page 18

  ‘What about good behaviour? Will they forgive you if you watered the plants and pressed the elders’ feet?’ Sampu was laughing.

  I lit a beedi. I said, ‘I think I know why Harpal hates me.’

  ‘Because you can irritate the fuck out of anyone,’ Sampu pointed out.

  ‘Yes, that’s true,’ I grinned. ‘I’m like Chaddha’s pigeons. Chaddha shoots the bird in the gut because nothing else would affect it, that’s how Harpal sees it too.’

  ‘Please elaborate,’ Sampu said.

  ‘Why are you comparing me with that old fucker?’ Chaddha protested.

  ‘See, why do you kill these birds—because they don’t fly away when you shoo them, because your presence doesn’t matter to them, because they don’t care two hoots about you … so the only way you can get back at them is by killing them. That’s what he’s doing. He’s firing at us with all he’s got. We’re young; we’ll move on; he’ll still be here waiting to die. This is just an unwanted distraction for us, for him it’s his reason to live.’

  ‘Hmmm … that means you may not have found your life’s purpose but you have given someone his. You should be proud of yourself behnchod Bhandari,’ Sampu said.

  ‘I am proud, bhenchod Pandey,’ Sampu and I laughed.

  ‘He has no point. Saala Albert Camus ki illegitimate aulaad … bakchod, bhenchod.’

  I looked at the two smart-asses who had both lit beedis and were grinning at the joke I had become. It was comforting. Chaddha hadn’t found a job yet and Sampu had always succeeded in finding something to screw himself up with. They looked old and haggard. Behind their grin was a sad, lonely smile and behind that smile was a dark, cold glum afternoon and behind that afternoon were two children who liked playing pithoo and petting street dogs. I was wrong when I said we could move on. Where could we go?

  ‘How are you?’ she called in the evening. It was good to hear her voice.

  ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘Are the police still looking for you?’

  ‘No, not anymore.’

  ‘Ok, that’s good.’ she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  ‘Come on, you should be a bit more concerned. I’m not kidding! They were looking for me,’ I said.

  She giggled, ‘No, I know. I believe you.’

  ‘How are you doing? I mean, the stuff that was bothering you, is that sorted?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, I moved out. I was living with someone but now I’m on my own. It took courage to go back and collect my stuff but I did it. I used your modus operandi.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I drank a bit before barging in. I said, “Hey man, I got to get my stuff”, he stepped aside and I took what I wanted. It was like a daylight robbery.’

  ‘We are a bit like Bunty and Babli.’

  ‘Yes, we are,’ she laughed, ‘since then, I’ve been good, more in control. It can only get better from here. How about you?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. I’m learning a lot of new things.’

  ‘What things?’

  I confided in her. I told her about my father and about Harpal and how I had squandered my chance to do something good with the time I had bought by quitting my job.

  ‘Hmmm. So you’re still a bit cross with him,’ her voice was soothing but a bit cross did seem like an understatement for how I felt about my father. I liked it. There was nothing about this girl that I couldn’t like.

  ‘Yes, I guess I’m still a bit cross and I feel guilty that I’m not looking after him,’ I said, ‘and this Harpal chap, he seems to have taken up my father’s cause. He is like a superhero hell bent on revenge.’

  ‘Yes, but I guess this should be the end of him now that you’re moving out.’

  ‘Yes, I hope so.’ I said, ‘Sorry Suman, I know this is all strange to you. I’m not even sure why I’m telling you all this.’

  ‘It’s good that you’re telling me. I’m a curious girl. I like to know stuff,’ she said playfully,’ and you should look at the positives, once you move out you can start learning the guitar again.’

  ‘No, I can’t. I mean not right now. To tell you the truth, I sort of can’t afford to buy a guitar.’

  ‘Ah, that’s ok, you can focus on writing then. I have a feeling you have a book in you. Don’t give up. You’ll regret it, if you do.’

  We talked for a long time that night. I was falling in love. I couldn’t see a reason why she shouldn’t be falling for me too—I was an unemployed, muddled, penniless pothead—what else could a perfect girl like that want?

  Elastic Plastic

  Sampu arranged for three prescriptions. He wrote some psychobabble along with the names of some of the common anti-depressants—Zoloft, Prozac and Luvox. To add a bit of flourish to the scheme he added a section called doctor’s notes to each prescription:

  Note 1: Making progress. Doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, and doesn’t smoke cannabis. Always helps others. Maybe one day he will help an old lady cross the street.

  Note 2: Long chat with M Bhandari today. Reaffirms my initial prognosis. Thinks SkyBalcony (TM) is a great idea. An intelligent man with ADHD and selective mutism.

  Note 3: Pressure from society administration bad for patient. Very bad. No one should read these prescriptions—client confidentiality is the most important thing in mental health issues. Hope people reading this will understand.

  Little Elephant Hoshiar went through the prescriptions, handed them to Harpal and said, ‘Harpal ji, I think you need to treat him nicely till they are around. Hope that’s understood.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Harpal said. ‘I will make a copy of this and give it back to you.’

  ‘One more thing sir,’ Chaddha said.

  ‘Yes?’ Hoshiar said.

  ‘The doctor would be furious if he finds out we shared this with you. He will drop Mukund as a patient. I hope you understand,’ I nodded. I was standing behind Chaddha and trying my best to look like a harmless mad man.

  ‘Oh, no, no, don’t worry. No one will come to know. It’s a promise,’ Hoshiar said.

  ‘Thank you, Brigadier uncle. Please do drop in anytime sir. We haven’t had our drinking session for quite a while now,’ Chaddha said.

  Hoshiar nodded and smiled, ‘Sure, sure. I will try to. I didn’t want you to leave Rohit but there is no alternative,’ he said. I hadn’t yet told Chaddha about the possibility that Hoshiar was gay. Harpal might be lying. Or maybe I should tell him. If it were true, then Chaddha was prostituting himself for my benefit.

  We were officially on notice now. They put a guard to stand outside our flat at night just in case I tried to escape. I talked to the guard. His name was Satyavaan Dubey and he had four children. He liked Bumbum’s tea and seemed like a nice guy. He was doing his job.

  Chaddha began looking for a new place. I stayed at home. Suman and I talked every evening. She made it a point to call me (she knew I couldn’t afford international calls). I felt bad about it and I told her so. But she wouldn’t hear any of it. She said I could pay her back with my book’s advance. She encouraged me to write. I began writing something that seemed like a book. I tried to target thousand words a day, I had read somewhere that if you cross the first 25,000 words your chances of finishing the book increase exponentially.

  This time it felt like I was getting somewhere. When I would sit with the laptop, my fingers would hit the keyboard and something would stir inside me. I was writing but it wasn’t me who was writing, it was something else. Letters oozed out of my punctured fingers and arranged themselves into words and sentences and paras. In the evenings, I would take a printout of what I had written that day and edit it. Sometimes I paced the room late at night trembling at the thought that I was writing a novel, that I was writing something readable.

  Two weeks later, I got to 17,700 words. I printed the draft and read it. It wasn’t bad. The title, ELASTIC MAN, popped out, and I wrote the name on the first page in large stencil font. I looked around my room. It shouldn’t be like this, I said to myself.
I stood up and walked around taking off the framed posters. I piled all the frames under my bed. The walls were bare now—large white space instead of Dr Strangelove, La Dolce Vita, Abbey Road and Paris, Texas. Those things, they had taunted me enough. Change was good. I felt warm and happy about 2010. Things had gone bad but there was hope that something good would come out of it. I could be a writer. Someone might publish my book. I’d have my name on something I created on my own.

  Crime Buster Rani

  Inspector Rani Devi knocked late in the evening. Chaddha went to the door.

  ‘Bumbum manservant?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, he lives here,’ Chaddha said.

  ‘Call him.’

  ‘He is not at home.’

  ‘So he’s not at home, eh? Can I come in and check?’ she asked.

  ‘Ma’am, what is this about?’ Chaddha asked.

  ‘I slapped you a few days back, didn’t I?’ she said.

  Chaddha stepped aside. She walked in. I could hear footsteps. She looked in my room, saw me on the bed and smiled knowingly. A worried looking Chaddha, a gutkha-chewing potbellied constable and the security guards, Narender and Satyavaan, followed her.

  ‘Did you find your laptop?’ she asked me.

  I got up and shook my head.

  ‘You are the mad one, aren’t you?’

  She didn’t wait for an answer. They moved to Chaddha’s room. Narender grinned at me as he passed by.

  ‘Call your manservant,’ she told Chaddha. He called on Bumbum’s mobile, ‘Hand me the phone,’ Chaddha gave it to her, she said to Bumbum ‘this is police. If you don’t come back here in ten minutes we will arrest you. Where are you anyway? Where are you hiding, eh? I know what you and your girlfriend have done? Married woman she claims to be. Thieves! She’s already at the station, now I am waiting here. Come fast or I’ll break your neck,’ She hung up and asked Chaddha, ‘Can I wait here?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said Chaddha. He drew a chair for her and the others, ‘Bumbum is not like that Madam ji …’

  ‘Not like what, eh? Thieving is like what? Next they’ll murder and people like you will keep defending he’s not like this, he’s not like that.’

  I made tea for them. Chaddha took more details from Rani Devi about the theft. It had happened in the afternoon. Someone had come to Fulki’s employer’s house at the time when only Fulki was at home with their baby. A neighbour had heard the bell ring. Fulki had let the thief in and a watch, a mobile and some money lying on the mantelpiece had been stolen.

  ‘Madam, Bumbum has been with us for four years now, never once has he stolen anything. Yesterday afternoon he was here, I can vouch for that,’ Chaddha said.

  ‘So what? Don’t think I know crime? You think I know crime? He must’ve told his friends to do this. I’ve seen a lot of such cases in my career. I’m not new you know, twenty years in the force and three children. The eldest is just finishing his MBA.’

  ‘That’s nice, from where Madam?’ Chaddha said.

  ‘SeeTee Management Instatute, Wazirabad Mandi.’

  ‘That’s a good college,’ I said, ‘I’ve heard good things about it.’ I placed the tea on the plastic table.

  She looked at Narender and asked (in an attempted whisper that was more like a donkey braying in pain), ‘Doesn’t seem mad to me?’

  ‘He is one hundred percent pagal madam,’ said Narender. He didn’t even try to whisper. He took a big sip and finished most of his tea.

  She nodded and looked at me, ‘Do you do a job?’

  ‘No madam,’ I said.

  ‘I do job Madam,’ Chaddha lied.

  ‘Can you get job for my son?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, I can try. What course is he doing madam?’

  ‘I just said, MBA from SeeTee.’

  ‘I mean in marketing or finance?’

  ‘That I don’t know. What’s the difference?’

  ‘There’s no difference. Not easy finding job madam nowadays,’ Chaddha had adapted his English to suit her distinct style.

  ‘Hmmm. Job is job. If you can get, tell me.’

  ‘Yes madam, I can try,’ Chadda said.

  ‘I know the manager in my security company madam. I can talk,’ Narender offered.

  The constable opened his mouth for the first time, it’s difficult to speak for long while holding a jugful of gutka spit in your mouth so he kept it short, ‘Your mind is garbaging. You want madam’s son to become security guard like you, eh?’

  Rani Devi glared at Narender. He got the hint and kept quiet.

  They sipped the tea for a while silently. Then Chaddha broke the silence, ‘Madam, can I talk to you for a minute?’

  She looked up, ‘What you have to say, say here.’

  ‘Madam, Bumbum wouldn’t have done this, that girl wouldn’t have done this madam, must be someone else,’ Chaddha said.

  ‘Yes, madam,’ I added.

  Chaddha scowled at me. He wanted me to shut up. He said to her, ‘Can’t we reach a compromise?’

  ‘What kind of compromise? Compromise means you have done something. The family has filed an FIR. And you and you,’ she pointed at Chaddha and me, ‘don’t think I don’t know what is happening here. Aren’t you the one I slapped sometime back? And you are the one who pointed a gun at the security guard? Don’t think I do not know. This is a house full of criminals.’

  What could we say? We were like a mafia family now. Chaddha complained later that the entire thing had started because I tried to be Che Guevara. ‘What was the point of protesting a single harmless slap?’ he lamented, ‘that is where it all started.’

  We stood there and waited for Bumbum to arrive. He came in with a procession of guards. Harpal was nowhere to be seen; maybe he didn’t want to demean his position by appearing before a “civilian” policewoman.

  ‘Here Madam,’ said a guard. He pointed at Bumbum. Bumbum was wearing an old pair of green cargos and a grey sweatshirt that had the words Show Me Some Lovin’ printed on it. He looked stunned. His thin neck jutted out of the loose-fitting sweatshirt. He looked at Chaddha and me and began crying, ‘I haven’t done anything. Fulki hasn’t done anything. Please. Please believe us.’

  I went up to him and was about to hold him when Rani Devi put her hand on my chest and said, ‘Move away’. She said to Bumbum, ‘This is not ten minutes! I’ve been waiting here for an hour now. Come to the station. I will teach you a proper lesson,’ she grabbed him by the scruff and took him out of the house. Chaddha snatched his car keys and ran to his room to put on a shirt. ‘Stay at home. Ask Sampu to call me when he can,’ he tucked his shirt in and was gone.

  Bumbum was crying loudly now. They were at the lift lobby. I heard her say ‘Stop crying or I’ll beat you bad.’

  I watched them from the balcony. Bumbum was sobbing as she dragged him to the waiting motorcycle. The constable drove, Rani sat in the middle and Bumbum was left dangling at the end. Chaddha ran up to them and said something to Rani. She nodded. He ran back to the parking lot and drove his car to the gate—Rani and Bumbum got into the car, the constable looked a bit miffed at this new arrangement. He followed them on the bike. The procession of guards stood and watched till Narender asked them all to leave. After a while Harpal sauntered to where Narender was standing. They talked for a while. I was on the balcony talking to Sampu on the phone. Harpal pointed at me and said something. I waved wildly and shook my head up and down and to the side, I danced a bit and I grinned like a mad man.

  Smoke Gets in

  Your Eyes

  Chaddha called after an hour, ‘Yaar, Bumbum fucked up.’

  ‘He stole?’ I asked.

  ‘He says he hasn’t but he had been visiting her place after his driving lessons. He enters their society pretending to be a home delivery guy. During the day, there’s no one home except their one-year-old baby and this maid Fulki. They are terrified that the baby was with a stranger that the maid let in. It’s fucking fucked up. You can’t blame them, can you? I d
on’t know what to do now.’

  ‘Bumbum shouldn’t have done this.’

  ‘Fuck yaar! If he only used his brain instead of his dick.’

  ‘Hmmm. Where’s Fulki?’

  ‘Don’t ask dumb questions Bhandari! Where would she be?She’s at the station. They are on the floor, sobbing and pleading. Rani Devi is slapping them around and I know how that stings. They can be bailed out when they appear in court. I don’t know when that’ll happen. Maybe a day, maybe more.’

  ‘We need to get them out Chaddha. We need to.’

  ‘How? For all you know, they would have stolen the stuff. Why do we need to save them then? Even if they didn’t steal, what they did was wrong, very wrong.’

  ‘Yes, it was wrong but I don’t think Bumbum would have stolen. He has this whole house to himself and he hasn’t taken anything ever.’

  ‘How do you know? These people …’ he paused and took a long breath. ‘these people are all the fucking same.’

  ‘No Chaddha.’

  ‘Don’t act like a socialist choot man. You know I’m right. We trusted him, didn’t we? And he knows we are already in so much trouble, but the ungrateful motherfucker didn’t give a fuck! These people are all bloody ungrateful, selfish fuckers.’

  ‘Come on Chaddha.’

  ‘Fuck you Bhandari. I’m the one at the station trying my best to avoid being slapped by that idiot policewoman.’

  ‘I’m sorry man, I want to be there. I called Sampu. He says he knows some IAS chap. He says he’ll find out if something can be done.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just that I’m not able to take it anymore. I’m super frustrated yaar and I feel sad all the time and there is no respite, something or the other has to keep happening to fuck things up. I have an important interview tomorrow—I think I have a good chance if I prep well but with this shit happening, who can do anything at all?’

  ‘Where’s Fulki’s employer?’

  ‘They must be at home.’

  ‘Ask Fulki for their contact number and name and message it to me.’