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  ‘Chaddha, finally your ancestors would be at peace now that you have become a refugee yourself,’ Sampu joked. Chaddha grinned and wiped the sweat off his face.

  We handed the keys to the society office. Harpal, Narender and Puran were nowhere to be seen. I was hoping to run into them. I went to Harpal’s flat and knocked. I could hear someone moving. He didn’t open the door. I could imagine him sitting on his sofa in his thermal inner-wear with his black dressing gown on his lap. I didn’t knock again.

  I came down and asked Chaddha for one last favour. Chaddha nodded unwillingly. He went to meet Hoshiar and came back with a copy of the book Chicken Soup for the Indian Armed Force’s Soul.

  ‘It’s a gift,’ he grinned, ‘Hoshiar likes me.’

  I was tempted to tell him about Harpal’s revelation about Hoshiar but I didn’t.

  ‘Did you get it?’ I asked.

  ‘I got it,’ he handed me a piece of paper.

  Sampu had put mattresses, blankets, pillows, an extension cord and a wi-fi router in the middle of the living room. What else could one ask for? Chaddha and I slept.

  I dreamt of a hot summer afternoon at my grandfather’s house. The crickets creaked, the bees buzzed, the dragonflies hovered around the small puddle in the backyard. In some time, a ripe bael fruit would drop from the tree, crash to pieces on the ground; and the orange fibrous splattered flesh of the bael will be pecked and eaten by the birds. I’m seven. My granny calls me from inside asking me to shut the kitchen door. ‘The cat is out and about,’ she says.

  We woke up late. Sampu had come back from work. They seemed happy to have us. Shweta moved slowly, a fragile round ball rolling around the kitchen. She made tea. It was nice. Hot dinner was waiting.

  We stayed there for a week. We searched for a flat and Chaddha appeared for the next round of interviews. He was close to getting it. He would know in a few days. I wrote a bit. I started from where I had left and I laboured my way through to part two. It wasn’t coming out as well as it was earlier but I knew I could always go back to it. I got to 25,000 words at the end of that week. We celebrated. Sampu got wine and Shweta made her special chicken curry.

  I shared what I had written with Sampu, Suman and Chaddha. I told them to give me honest feedback. Chaddha was too preoccupied to read anything but I knew Sampu and Suman would.

  Shweta liked having us around. She was talkative and Sampu was her pet topic. We didn’t mind, it gave us a lot of fodder to tease him later. Shweta told us about Sampu’s NCC Cadet days. Sepia-tinted photographs of Sampu in shorts and khakis with a thin pencil moustache looking like a complete idiot tumbled out of his old files. We took photos of Sampu the cadet. We laughed quite a bit just looking at his well-combed hair.

  ‘Those wavy things didn’t know they’d be gone soon,’ Chaddha said.

  One of the days, I took out the small piece of paper Chaddha had got for me from Hoshiar. Pintoo Singh’s email address was on it. I wrote a short note to him. I had created a mail address especially for the purpose.

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected]

  Subject: Colonel Harpal Singh aka Harpoon

  Dear Pintoo bhaiyya,

  Greetings from Gurgaon. We know how difficult your father is. There must be a good reason why you don’t come and see him. He’ll never admit it but he sorely misses you and Shontoo and would give his right arm and leg to see the both of you. Please forgive him. Please come visit him soon.

  P.S: A mad man shot your father in the hand. His index finger is bandaged and so is his heart. Please forgive him.

  P.P.S: Do bring Shontoo with you and get him to sit on Harpoon’s knee. Maybe he’ll forgive the world when that happens.

  I pressed the send button. It felt so much better than sending those mails to Nisha.

  Panama Filterless

  We moved to a two-bedroom flat. The society was close to where Sampu lived and not far from Srijan Vihar. I borrowed money from my mother. She chose not to grill me and gave what I asked for. It was enough to pay an advance and stay afloat for another month or so. I was getting nervous about the job scene. I had applied wherever there was a vacancy but no one had called till now.

  I suspected that news had spread about my crazy pursuit of purpose. It was the second week of February. Winter didn’t seem to be receding, it was horribly cold and I spent most of my time cooped up in the house writing. Sometimes, when the sun came out I would go to the balcony. At a distance, I could see the grey, mottled towers of Srijan Vihar.

  Bumbum and Fulki came in everyday. Fulki came because she wanted to hang out with Bumbum. We didn’t mind because she was the better cook. They were thinking of getting married. Bumbum had told his father and his father had abused him till Bumbum put the phone down. He had promised to kill Bumbum next time they met. Bumbum smiled when he told me this.

  They offered Chaddha a job in Mumbai. They had planned to offer Gurgaon but things changed and now they wanted him to move. He didn’t have an option but to say yes. I felt terrible. I would miss him and money-wise his moving to Mumbai was a disaster. I wouldn’t be able to afford that flat on my own. Chaddha promised to help me find a flatmate. He was supposed to join in about 10 days.

  I was in dire straits again. Money was running out faster than I had expected. I thought about selling my plasma TV. I put up a notice on the society noticeboard.

  I called Sampu.

  ‘You should’ve knocked some sense into me when I was quitting,’ I told him.

  ‘I did. We all did,’ he said, ‘but you know, now I think you were right, I mean if you do manage to write this book, it doesn’t matter what happens to it, just that you wrote a book is fantastic, isn’t it? I think it’s worth it. For these past few months you have lived a life that’s truer, more authentic than any of us could ever wish for.’

  ‘Yeah, is that why I’m looking for a job?’

  ‘No, that’s different, nothing wrong in going back Mukund, don’t see it as a defeat. It’s like that albino pigeon on my balcony, he will always remain different from the rest even if he’s with them.’

  That pigeon looked strange, but there was something beautiful about its strangeness. I took it as a compliment, ‘Thank you Sampu,’ I said.

  ‘You did what you were supposed to, didn’t you? You’ve worked hard and now you can do something that very few people can do—you can write! I read your stuff today in office. I liked it. I’m not saying that because I’m your friend, I mean it. It was decent. Someday you’ll write something really good.’

  ‘What someday? Isn’t this good? I thought this is my Catcher in the Rye.’

  ‘It’s good,’ he laughed. ‘This job thing, did you try your ex-boss Rangoo?’

  ‘No, but I think it’s time I called him. How’s Shweta?’

  ‘She’s fine. The baby is coming in the next few days. I can feel it. I’ll call you when it happens. Rush to the hospital the moment I call, okay?’

  ‘Ok,’ I said.

  He sounded calm and cheerful. Sampu had got mellower in the last few weeks. It must be Nature’s way of turning him into a father.

  Suman called me a few minutes later. She wanted me to message her my new address. ‘I have a surprise for you,’ she said.

  I asked her what it is but she refused to tell me. I told her not to send me blankets, medicine and food. ‘I’m not that poor,’ I said. She laughed.

  I called Rangoo after talking to her.

  ‘Ho gaya tera pagalpan khatam?’ he asked.

  ‘Haan, ho gaya,’ I said.

  ‘Ok, great! What have you been up to?’

  ‘I was writing. I mean, I learnt to write. I’m still terrible but I’m better than I used to be. I am trying to write a book.’

  ‘Non-fiction?’

  ‘No, fiction,’ I said.

  ‘Wonderful! You’re done with it or you’re still writing?’

  ‘Still writing. I think I should be done in a month or so.�
��

  ‘Is it about Gibbons Moore?’

  ‘No, no.’

  ‘Brilliant, brilliant! I’ll look forward to it.’

  ‘How’s your new job?’ I asked.

  ‘Not bad, this is a good place.’

  ‘How’s the new boss?’

  ‘He’s a nice guy. He likes going home, loves his family ... remember Joshi, I sometimes felt he was camping in office, I had never seen him leave.’

  ‘Yeah, I think he didn’t like going back home.’

  ‘Not one bit. Prashant is not like that. He is also a big Def Leppard fan, can you beat that?’ that was Rangoo’s favourite band.

  ‘That’s wonderful! Is he anything like Joshi?’

  ‘Yes, he has his stories. He has one about how he ate a poisonous fish in Japan and lived to tell the tale.’

  ‘Sounds better than the barber of Lima?’

  ‘Yes,’ he laughed, ‘it’s not that bad.’

  ‘Any chance I could fit in there?’ I asked.

  ‘You could. I’ll see if there are vacancies.’ he said.

  In the first week of March, I saw Harpal in the nearby supermarket. He looked bright and shiny. I hid behind the confectionary section. I didn’t want to bump into him.

  ‘Mr Mukundan.’ He was behind me.

  I turned around, smiled, and said, ‘Colonel Singh, how are you?’

  ‘I’m good, I’m good. Is your stomach fine?’

  ‘Yes, it was a scratch. It got better.’

  ‘Glad to know that. Should I tell you something?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  ‘I had aimed at your stomach.’

  This was new. I was sure there was more I didn’t know. I was sure if I talked to Narender and Puran, I would come to know of a pigeon called Lee Harvey Oswald who fired three shots from the balcony.

  ‘You had aimed at my stomach?’ I repeated mechanically.

  ‘Yes, I thought that’s the only place where you wouldn’t get hurt,’ he smiled. He pointed to my paunch. I smiled back.

  ‘How’s your finger?’ I asked.

  He shifted his stick to the left and showed his right hand to me. It seemed fine, ‘I’m a fit old man,’ he laughed.

  ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘That was a lucky shot,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, it was,’ I said.

  ‘Where do you live now?’

  ‘I shifted to a house nearby,’ I said.

  ‘That’s good to know.’

  We stood there for a while. It was terribly awkward. ‘I need to get back. Today I’m making fruit custard,’ he showed me a shopping bag with custard powder, grapes and apples. It also had potato chips and a bar of chocolate, ‘Young kids don’t eat anything but junk. I’ll start with the custard and if that doesn’t work then we have chips, if chips don’t work then we have the bar,’ he chuckled, ‘you have to keep several options.’

  I laughed awkwardly.

  ‘I’m trying out recipes for my son and grandson’s visit. Anyway, you people won’t understand. Take care Mukundan, all the best!’ he said.

  I came back home. Bumbum was helping Chaddha pack.

  ‘Hey Bumbum, you don’t have to help Chaddha bhaiyya, he’s a PhD in packing. He has done it twice this month, he can pack in his sleep,’ it was a lame joke but they both burst out laughing.

  Chaddha left next morning. I drove him to the airport. We told each other to get married soon and shook hands.

  ‘I wrote a short mail to Vanya a few days back. She replied. It’s all right now, I guess. She wrote “Keep in touch”, can you beat that?’ he was grinning.

  ‘What did you write in your mail?’

  ‘The truth. I told her I was stalking her. I said I was wrong, I said I was a jerk. I apologised. I told her I’m moving to Mumbai and I won’t bother her anymore.’

  ‘Hmm … and she said keep in touch, eh?’ I smiled.

  ‘Yeah! I don’t know what pretext I can use to be in touch. Maybe I’ll write an email to her every week like you used to.’

  ‘How the fuck do you know that?’

  ‘I’m a serial stalker. You check your gmail on my laptop. It logs in automatically,’ he grinned.

  ‘You’ve read all of them?’

  ‘A few, not all.’

  ‘I’ve stopped writing to Nisha. Please stop reading my emails,’ I said.

  ‘You change your password, I can’t stop, I’m a psycho. See, this is my Anthony Hopkins smile,’ he grinned his good-natured grin.

  ‘Take care man,’ I said. We hugged.

  ‘Ah, I almost forgot, here’s something for you,’ he took out a black zippouch from his bag and gave it to me.

  ‘Finish your book,’ he said before he left.

  Two Kilometre

  Marathon

  Sampu’s daughter was born five days after Chaddha left. Sampu called me from the hospital. It had happened very quickly. They rushed to the hospital late at night and she arrived early morning.

  ‘Congratulations man!’ I said, ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said.

  ‘How’s the baby?’

  ‘Good, good.’

  ‘Can I see her?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. I think we can go in in a few minutes,’ he said.

  ‘Why are you sounding low? How are you feeling?’ I asked. I hoped Sampu had not found something to feel bad about even on a happy occasion like this.

  ‘How am I feeling?’ he said, his voice was quiet, thoughtful. ‘They held her by the feet when she came out. I saw a glimpse of her. They said they needed to keep her under observation … to make sure the vital stats are fine. I ran after them trying to see her. They put her in a plastic cabin. They told me I couldn’t come in. She’s so small man, she’s tiny, she’s as big as my thumb. I’m not exaggerating. They say her birth weight is fine, they say she’s ok.

  Shweta slept off after I told her the baby is fine. I rushed out of the hospital. A dust storm was blowing outside. I began running. I didn’t know why I was running, then I found a reason, I wanted to buy mithai to distribute to the nurses and paramedics at the hospital. I was looking for a sweets shop. I ran to Super Mart 1, that’s about two kilometres from the hospital, imagine! I ran for two kilometres and the shop was closed, the entire market was closed. I looked at my watch. It was 7.30 am! I didn’t see the time before beginning this bloody useless marathon—that’s how happy I felt. She’s beautiful man. I held her hand. I promised her I would love her more than anything else in the world. Her little fingers gripped my thumb when I said this. Shweta tells me I’m imagining it but I’m telling you, I’m not. I think my baby loves me too. You should see her. Come, let’s go.’

  They named her Neeti. Sampu said it was short for Nietzsche. Shweta said it wasn’t short for any Nietzsche-Vietzsche. She said it meant the noble path. He said that meant she’ll win the Nobel one day.

  Chaddha had gifted me his bong before leaving. He had bought it in Hong Kong.

  I was sitting in the hall. I was about to light the bong when her head popped in through the door. ‘Hullooooo,’ she said.

  ‘Heyyyyyyy Suman!!’ I said, ‘Wait a sec!’ I ran to my room, hid the bong under the bed and hurried back to the door. I was not sure why I hid it, she knew I liked pot, but it just seemed like the right thing to do.

  ‘Sorry, there is no doorbell and your door was open,’ she said.

  ‘This is a pleasant surprise! When did you land?’

  ‘I got here this morning.’

  ‘Oh ok, come in, come in please,’ I said.

  She sat on a chair. She looked around. The room was empty except for a chair and a table.

  ‘It’s good to see you,’ she said.

  ‘It’s good to see you too,’ I nodded. We smiled at each other.

  ‘I’m here for an hour or so. Have a flight to catch in the evening. Appa-Amma complained quite a bit when I told them I have to sneak out to meet you,’ she said.

  ‘Where are you flying off to in the
evening?’

  ‘Back to HK, back to work. I was in Trivandrum yesterday, landed in Delhi this morning, I had applied for an internship at an institute in Trivandrum. They had called me for an interview. I got in!’

  ‘That’s nice. Congratulations. Internship? Which institute is this?’

  ‘The Laurie Baker Centre for Habitat Studies. I always wanted to do this.’

  ‘Ah, I remember that book on your shelf. It was Laurie Baker’s biography.’

  She smiled. I had let it slip that I had been nosying around her room the last time we met.

  ‘Yes, yes, I admit it, I went through your shelf,’ I said.

  ‘I would do that too, if I were left alone in your room. I’d like to know what books you’re reading. Anyway, so I kind of figured out what I want to do. I guess I should thank you for that. I’m no longer the confused and indecisive girl you used to know,’ she laughed. ‘I’ve always been a huge Laurie Baker fan. I’m into his kind of architecture—cost-effective, energy-efficient, locally-sourced materials. You know, like spaces that are prudent at utilizing resources and energy.’

  She talked about that at length. My eyes nearly glazed over, but I nodded vigorously and made it to the end of her monologue. In summary, she was a nerd but she didn’t know it yet. Also, she was coming back to India.

  ‘I highly recommend Gurgaon,’ I told her.

  ‘That’s your Stockholm syndrome speaking. I know you don’t like Gurgaon.’

  ‘Yes, but I like Trivandrum. I like fresh toddy, fat rice, fried fish and the drunk drug pushers at Kovalam beach.’

  ‘Then you must come visit. My project begins in May. Hey, did you book your train ticket? You were going to meet your father, right?’

  ‘Yes, I’m going next week,’ I said. After much cajoling, Papa had seen a doctor. The doctor suggested that he get tests done at a specialty hospital. I planned to bring him back with me and find him a good doctor in Delhi.

  ‘He’ll be very happy to see you. You must show him what you’ve written,’ she said, ‘Ah, that reminds me, I read your book on the flight. I liked it a lot. I really liked the female character, I could identify with her.’