Bastard

“You’re a bastard,” she said that again. Perhaps, this time stressed more on the word – bastard – may be her tongue pushed against her teeth a little more. For this time, it sounded distant...erotic and then simply like bastard. Abusing is a funny business, sometimes you just do it for the fun of it, and at times you mean it. I guess here she was trying to manage both.

She looked at me, perhaps, trying to gauge if any sense of guilt has loomed on my face. I remained quiet. In fact, I was thinking how to hide my malnourished frame. I guess I was trying to pull the bed sheet, which somehow got stuck under our state of undress.

It was early morning, more than four hours, when the exchange of limited body fluids would’ve happened. Limited because I knew this was to happen and bought what need to be bought. Anyhow, I had managed to catch a wink and had completely forgotten that I was sleeping next to a unclothed woman.

Believe me; yours truly, have been extremely unlucky in matters such as these and at some point of time was almost going to renunciate the means to genesis. Naturally, I was disappointed with myself when I realised I had wasted such precious time sleeping. But this has always been the case with me and sleep has taken precedence over various important tasks of mine.

Adding to my disappointment was the berating behaviour of my object of desire. And, here i was trying to hide myself both from her gaze and her verbal volleys, shielding my uncovered display of skinniness with the crumpled bed sheet and fighting her barbed remarks with supersonic silence.

“Light up a smoke,” she ordered. I promptly did. I don’t know what possible conversation was apt for the moment. I mean what do you ask – was it good? Or hope you enjoyed! Or can we do it again? Or simply say it was fun – but somehow none of this seemed to be fit, and I kept silent.

As the smell of nicotine burnt my nostrils, I started questioning myself. Did she like it? I guess she did. She even counted my ribs, six of them, the first five were too obvious...gawking out of my sparsely distributed flesh, but the sixth one...she traced it too. Or did she just enjoy it, perversely. You know, the way, people enjoy watching poverty struck children. Slum Dogs, Poverty Tourism.

May be she did. For she compared our wrists, length of my shoulder, bony fingers and the non-availability of flesh around my stomach. But then why we went this far? Did she took pity on me? Pity, that i was deprived. Pity, that am so pitiable or was it some “motherly” instinct that my pities aroused. And as when i tried to dechipher this unnatural behaviour displayed during a natural act, i started feeling that may be, and mind you, dear reader, that may be, she offered her as a mother to a child. And if it was so, it’s a pity.

“Here,” she broke my chain of thoughts, with rings of smoke blown on my face, as she passed on the cigarette. Perched on her elbow, staring at my face, she continued, “You know, you ruined it all for me. I would never be normal. Friends we were. It was so good. “Bastard,” she said that again.

I maintained silence. And sucked on the cigarette bud, which nearly burnt my lips... “You would keep it to yourself, right?” she was looking intently at me, perhaps for an answer. I guess here was my chance to retort. “You won’t?” She asked again. I was trying to think fast. But only managed to utter, “I don’t take myself seriously.”

She stared at me, for a full minute. I stared back. “I can see that,” she said. Pointing towards perhaps my only body organ, where there are some muscles, which were already flexing. I don’t know, at that moment, i tried to look – ashamed, proud, confused or just relaxed – but I remained silent.

Some days back, I saw her with another friend. They looked happy. I smiled, and so did they. As they moved ahead, she turned back. Her lips made a non-audible “bastard”. I smiled. I guess she’s wrong. I’m only unsuccessful...

Bye, Bye Summer

This has been an uneventful summer. Well, I don’t have any data to prove that if the past 26 summers in my life have been exceptional or eventful, but this summer somehow stands out from the previous 26.

People like me need no introduction. And it will be a waste of time, if I go back into history and start narrating that how I became what I’m. But if you look around, you’ll find many people who you can conveniently say – would be like me.

In a nutshell, I’m one of those silent, non-descript, unnoticed guy in your office, who sometimes appear lecherous. I mean if you would’ve been my colleague, you would have not once spoken about me. I’m surely not that important to figure in office gossip and somehow I never am a part of those who gossip.

Before the summer came, many people somehow had left our organization. I never knew, why and I always thought that may be they’re advancing their summer vacations.
Since, I was made to sit just below the air conditioning duct; I somehow forgot to take a vacation. So, every second day, people taking their stuff, walking out from office and I would peep from my desk, watching them and wondering why they leaving so soon.

If you think I’m an idiot like that guy in your office. Hold on. I’m not. I read newspapers, I watch business channels and I surf the web too. I know people are losing their jobs but not in our organization, because my salary always came on time. First day of each month, month by month.

And then came summer. All of a sudden the air conditioning vent died. I heard people complain about it. In fact, I should tell you that it was really funny, the way it died. It made a large sound…like someone taking deep breaths, it whizzed and then it died.

And when it died, the office became alive. I was scared for a while, that may be they’ll notice me and perhaps…ask me something or the other. But they never did and I guess I was the only one, who was happy that the duct died.

I’ve never met my boss. It’s a male name and it’s a window on my computer. He orders through chats and I answer through mails. I don’t know where he sits and when the other day a new window opened on my screen telling me that she is the new boss…I wasn’t surprised. It was all the same…

Yesterday, the window told me to go on a vacation. Well, I thought good for I never took one. I’ve been told that I’m in some virtual pool, which is very good. I’ll get 60% of my salary and I don’t have to come to office. Plus, if I find a new job I can do that too. I’m writing this from home, I bought an air conditioner yesterday. I sit below it all day. As I said this has been an uneventful summer…

Leaders & Voters

This was his second visit to Delhi. But this time it was more colourful than what it was last time. After all there was much to cover, absorb and make-up for what he had missed on last time.

It was a quick tourney in the capital when he was there some five years ago, a shorter version of even those cheap packaged tours, but even with lack of both time and money he had managed to visit...Lal Qila, Kutub Minar, India Gate, Jantar Mantar, Purana Qila, Sansad Bhawan...and what was that last juncture...aah dargah of Nizamuddin.

“Arrey Pankha Babu...you should go to Nizamuddin...the place smell of roses. Roses! And the dargah...aah, Pankha Babu it’s such a beauty....but crowded if you go in afternoon,” he sighed as he recalled his last trip.

Pankha Babu...for whom this was his first visit to the capital was already amazed at the speed and emptiness of this phoenix city.
“What are you thinking Pankha babu?” he asked when Pankha showed no interest in his praise of the dargah.
“Nothing. When do you think the rally will start? he questioned while feeling the emptiness of the large space, located bang in the heart of the otherwise densely populated city.

“Pankha babu you’re very restless. All day I know you’ve been dreaming of that TV madam who came here and took your interview and now all of a sudden you want to be in the rally,” he said and then laughed and patted his back in continuity.
“Arrey nahi nahi...when did i say anything about that madam...you know why we are here,”...and he left the sentence hanging.

Sitting at the party office, it had been six hours. Among the chaos, till now they had made only two acquaintances, the tree under which they were and sitting and the squirrel who came every now and then to feast on peanuts which they had been munching all the way from Tirkitpur.
Back in town, this time, they would not have been alone...especially during elections.

After all they were the renowned and as their peers will say, emoting the style of a television show on absconding criminals, ‘Most Wanted’ singers. Rawat&Pankha Musical was an essential for all rallies in Tirkitpur and villages in and around the district. Some 500kms away they were stars who shine, sing and play.

Rawatji...do girls here wear these perfumes and cinema clothes?” asked Pankha...who in Khan market yesterday, had accidentally brushed against two girls and had to walk the rest of the evening with visible embarrassment in his desi cotton pyjama.

“Pankha babu...Delhi is the capital. Big big personality come here. For these people its normal. Not Tirkitpur kind,” he said.
And as Rawatji was intending to tell him of his exploits, siren sounds filled the compound. The neta had arrived. Leader of the masses. The future of the country. The one to vote for.

Rawatji...lets start....1, 2, 3
And Rawat and pankha started their most renowned song for this particular party....at the peak of their voice. A few faces in the crowd surrounding the leader looked towards them...and so did leader.

The leader took a garland from one of his supporters and walked towards them. The crowd followed. Rawat and Pankha were screaming at the top of their lungs, eulogizing the party, its symbol and the leader. The leader smiled and garlanded both of them. “You’re visionary,” he said and turned towards the hoard of television reporters.

“They are the grassroot people. They know we’ll win. They are visionary and they truly are,” he repeated as he emphasised the point to the good looking female reporter on his left.

As he embraced both of them, Rawat managed to utter, “Netaji, a school in our village. Music teachers. All will sing your praise, please look.”

“Of course, after elections. First thing. Make sure you give your name to my assistant. Ok. Anything else?”
Pankha and Rawatji bowed their head in reverence. They had done the same in 10 party offices in the last two days. After all someone will win.

“Let’s go Pankha babu. Work is done,” said Rawat as the leader moved away and with him the crowd of sycophants, leaders and reporters.
“where will you go now?” asked the leader’s assistant’s, assistant’s, assistant as he diligently noted their names and the village address.

“We’ve to visit some places. This is Pankha Babu’s first trip to capital na,” replied Rawat.
As they moved towards the gate, the assistant’s, assistant’s, assistants asked his assistant.

“Our netaji is great. These guys are blind. And he calls them visionary!”
“Yes sir, visionary he is. Visionary they are and you too sir...you had this vision to understand netaji’s vision,” he affirmed.

Quickie

Wasn't intending, no meaning, plain words, jumbled up....


She says' play with words
search reason to existing none,
invite, entice and excite
each letter missing or spoken;

Shuffle, twist and turn
few in order, most for fun,
strip, part and push
every sequence in the book;

Near when master the art
remember play is only what i asked....

NewS

There are two things that I would love to escape from, watching news channels and reading newspapers. Or if I can shorten this sentence, I’d say – I want to run away from news.

But this was one of those days, when there was no escape. Sharma called up from nowhere. Funny, that I don’t even remember his first name. Since I’ve known him, I’ve called him and heard of only his last name – Sharma. There may be a million other Sharmas’ in the globe but for me and many others there is only one Sharma. Loser Sharma. Sucker Sharma and now jobless Sharma.

Anyhow, he called from nowhere. I mean it had been weeks and we had supposedly gone underground, since we lost our job. Or Pink slips as pink, white, and blue papers said. Pink slip is a strange shock. Strange because, it’s first rude and then pleasant.

For the first day when you wake up, you suddenly realize that you’ve so much time. You are shocked; you don’t know what to do. No Office, no traffic worries, no Monday blues, No Saturday binges and no more sucking up. It’s like staying clean – if you understand what I mean.

And slowly, you start feeling good about it. It’s like, your lungs breathe in more air, you sleep sound and you suddenly realize that your maid, is actually better than the girl, who perhaps still sit next to your…err…the old cabin where you used to sit. So I stopped recharging my cell (thanks to free incoming), no more cable TV or newspapers, started smoking bidis. But continued with the maid. Besides being good looking she had stories to tell.

This was one of those many days, when I was finally starting to hit off with my maid. My girlfriend had dumped me exactly after a week when I told her, I was not interested in any job. She had tried her best to circulate my CV. I guess we broke, because I told her she can sleep with her boss to get me a job. I thought she was already doing that to save hers and ouch!

Anyhow, Tara (my maid), was telling the story of another maid who ran with her employer and I was lustily looking in her eyes, when phone rang. Sharma, the sucker, who lost his job with me, was calling. Loser, I mumbled to myself as I motioned Tara to stop.

Oye Sharma, aren’t we underground?

“Not me, not anymore,” he chirped

“Oh…you got a job?” I asked disdainfully

“Yes. And they’re paying me 7k plus transport allowance. But this is not why I called you,” he continued

“Ok. So what is it then?” I blurted. Sometimes people can be mean.

“They want another salesman. Preferably MBA, but I told them you are experienced. They’ll take you too. 7k isn’t bad, and then we can share your apartment and your maid,” he said it as a matter of fact.

Lecherous bastard, I thought and then looked at Tara…She was playing with her thumb. Her hair was messed up. Wrapped in a dirty saree, she looked like a goddess from Kamasutra tales. 7k was not worth her.

“Nah…Sharma…I think, I’ll wait. I read in papers yesterday, market will surge and then my stock picks are getting me enough money. I’ve got clients. (I winked to Tara…as I emphasized on clients, I was getting good at lying). She smiled back.

“OK,” loser Sharma grumbled. More than getting me a job, he was interested in my apartment and Tara. Son of a bitch Sharma, sucker Sharma, I mumbled.

“So you got a job friend?” asked Tara. Two days ago we had graduated to address each other as friend; my next step was calling each other by names. By now she had told me about her old mother, and me about my bad girlfriend who left me once I lost my job.

“Nah Ta..Friend. (I was still struggling with not calling her name). He was trying to sell me some insurance,” I replied.

She looked at me, as if I knowing that I lied. “Need to go. Three more houses and I’ve told you about that bitch in second floor. She wants every corner clean, it takes me 2 hours at her place only,” she complained.

“Yeah, carry on with your job. If you get time after you’ve finished, come over, I’ll make you some tea friend,” I said while ushering her out. She turned back and smiled as I eneterd the lift. Needed to buy some bidi packets.

AFTER 15 DAYS

I was smoking the leftover bidis from ashtray. I have not gone out since last 14 days. That was also the day I last saw Tara. There was no money in phone…. I couldn’t have called her. First three days, I thought she was ill. A week later may be severely ill. And today I had lost hope. I raised myself somehow and went to the second floor. The bitch may know, her house would be a garbage dump by now…I laughed to myself as I knocked her door.

“Yes,” a middle-aged lady opened door through a latch.

“Tara…the house maid. She used to come at my place for sweeping….hasn’t come since last two weeks,” I said, while trying to peek inside, as if this old hag has caged my Tara.

“Yes Tara… oh she ran away with a salesman,” she said, closing the door further.

“Salesman?” I put my fingers on the door

“Yeah….Rupa will know better. Did she owe you money?,” and then she turn around and called Rupa…a teenaged girl.

“Jee Memsahab, arrey tell him about that Tara?” the old hag asked the teenaged girl. “That small time maid is a celebrity now, tell him,” she coaxed the girl.

“Sahab, she ran with some salesman. The news even came in a local daily. Some guy who was earlier rich. Someone named S…Sh..,”

“Sharma?” I blurted out.

Yes Sir, the teenage girl recalled with surprise. Some say he was with some big company before.

The old hag was staring me, the teenaged girl was saying something about some TV channel, coming to their wedding planned next week. Tara & Sharma were already a celebrity.

I just happened to miss the news…

Valentine Day Special:

“Fast love in times of slowdown. Recession hit stock broker marries maid”