Suffering from NaMonia – Night Farts of A Drunken Lord

‘What the ****!!’

3AM in the morning - Lightning struck! The music in my ears stopped. I pulled out my ear phones.

‘I will drink to that!’ I told myself, enlightened; sat up on the bed and drank a glass of water, bottoms-up.

The writing was on the wall. I started staring at it like a lunatic.

‘What happened?’ my wife asked, worried; her left eye painfully open.

‘Nothing...nothing! Sleep...sleep...’ I whispered tapping her forehead, caressing her back to sleep like a puppy.

‘What is that smell? Did you drink and come again?’ she shouted opening her second eye. They were wide open, glowing in the dark, staring up and down at me.

‘No...no!’ I stammered taking my hand off her head in a flash.

‘Don’t lie to me!?!’ she thundered.

‘What..No..I am not...Promise!’

She slammed shut her big-bulging eyes, turned her back on me and rolled far away in disgust. I heaved a huge sigh of relief.

‘Great...’

I lived to die another day; stealthily slipped out of bed, turned on my laptop, and sat down gently; my butt kissing the soft cushion of the squeaky chair.

‘I hope the light stays...’ I prayed opening up the task manager window.

I had seen the silver lining; the angry, midnight-blue clouds were howling; scolding me with a fluorescent stick to fall asleep. But I was determined, in no mood to listen to anyone. Drunk to the gills, struck by lightning I decided to have it down in writing.

‘I can also become PM…’ I announced quietly; my voice quivering. ‘Yes, yes, why not...?’ I gave it a confident second thought. ‘No wait! Hang on... I am drunk!’

Realization struck. I was under the influence of alcohol. It was not the best time to stand for the post of Prime Minister.

‘If not me then who else?’ I asked myself. ‘Rahul Gandhi?’

‘No! You are better than him!’ pat came the reply in unison. My heart and mind were unanimous in their decision. Sir Sri Pappu was out of the question and equation. ‘Then…in that case it leaves just one person…’

‘But will he be able to change everything? Something? Anything??’my heart screamed in pain.

Silence followed. The clouds roared. Droplets of rain started to pour. I was itching to break the silence, ask more.

‘Will…will there be no scams once he becomes PM?’ my heart dared to ask.

‘Have you ever bribed a government employee to get your work done?’ my mind shot back.

‘What?’

‘Yes or No!’

‘Yes, but I was forced to…’

‘No excuses!!’

I hung my head in shame.

‘What is the matter? Go on…ask!’

‘What about terrorist attacks? Can he stop them, if he becomes PM?’ my heart attacked, pumping alcohol adulterated blood in full force into my nerves. I could smell it at the back of my tongue.

‘Have you ever been vigilant enough to report an unidentified object? Have you ever tried stopping a crime from happening in-front of your eyes? Have you ever reported a crime, filed a FIR, helped someone in distress or called 100?’ my mind counter-attacked. There was nowhere to hide.

‘This is no answer…’ my heart choked flooded with questions. ‘I need answers not questions!!’ drowning, gasping, it cried for help.

My mind kept quiet. There was no help in sight. Yet, my heart had not given up the fight.

‘Okay…Riots…? What about them? Everyone blames him for Gujrat riots…Godhra kand! Am I to blame for that too?’

‘Good question! But when did I blame you for anything?’

‘What… Are you… Nothing! Forget it! Please answer.’ my heart requested.

‘Answer? What answer?’

My mind was playing games. My heart did not mind.

                ‘Godh…’

‘Do you believe in God? Have you ever worshipped idols? Have you ever discriminated people on religion? Have you ever mocked a person on the basis of religion? Do you ever…’

‘Stop! Stop!! Mercy! Have mercy on me please!!’ my heart begged; on it’s knees, trying desperately to stop the heartburning queries. My mind was on the attack. I had to stop the charge. ‘Why are you not giving me a straight answer?’ my heart asked, harassed.

‘The answer lies in the question… my dear friend! How crystal, clear, transparent or vivid do you want it to be? Tell me!’

My heart missed a beat. The blood in my veins froze. I was silenced into submission; shut my eyes in pain, trying hard to envision.

                ‘Okay, I get it! But if everything is to remain the same then why should I vote for him?’ my heart asked, promptly skipping the irresistible rape and the million dollar rupee question, saving itself from further humiliation.

                ‘Don’t vote! Vote for the hand! Rahul Gandhi will become PM and show you his middle finger!’ my mind mocked.

                ‘Non-sense! I will show him mine after voting his rival!’ my heart righteously rejected.

                ‘Good! But anything else you would like to do?’ my mind probed peeping into my soul.

                ‘I…I will change… change for the better! And do my bit to help change the society and the nation.’ my heart resolved taking a deep breath. The blood in my veins started to flow. My mind was gung-ho.

                ‘Great! Now we are talking!’

‘But what about the party members and ministers? Will they be as corrupt as the Congress and it’s allies? Will they support him to bring about change?’

                ‘Your guess is as good as mine! Everyone is free to do what they feel like…’

                ‘Rubbish! What kind of an answer is this?’ my heart cried out.

                ‘What is this change, change, change…? If you do not change anything, why do you expect others to bring about change?’ my mind

                ‘Because he is the leader...’

                ‘So are you! Every one of us is a leader, every one of us is a citizen of India, every one of us is responsible to change ourselves and the nation!! Don’t we?'

It dawned on me. I slammed shut the window. It was raining outside. I was sweating inside.

                ‘Errr…yes…’

As the clamour for Narendra Modi as the Prime Minister of India reaches a crescendo I rag my soul with these questions time and again. Change is certain. Time has come for a revolution. We have to fight for our next generation. It’s now or never.

                ‘What… What are you doing?’

                ‘Huh…nothing…nothing…’ I replied startled, shaking my head, wiping the beads of sweat off my forehead. My wife was up and awake. The tête-à-tête was interrupted.

                ‘Nothing…?’ she probed.

‘I mean just surfing…’ I said stretching, throwing my head backwards.

‘Is it raining?’

‘Yes…’

                ‘It is already 6 AM! When are you going to sleep?’ she interrogated, glaring at me.

                ‘I will… in…’

‘What is wrong with you? Have you gone mad? Don’t you have office tomorrow? Aren’t you planning to go to office today?’

                ‘Yes, I will… You go back to sleep. Leave me alone please!’ I pleaded, much to contemplate.

                ‘Do whatever you want to…’ she uttered jumping out of bed. Her hairs askew like a crow’s nest.

                ‘What? Where are you going?’ I asked.

                ‘None of your business!’ she retorted, storming out.

                ‘What the ****!!’ 

PS: I am no Tiger Boods. Juts went to bra and drinked.

Mind over Matter

Preface:

Once upon a time when I was a small-little boy I remember reading a short passage from the epic Mahabharata; the story of Yaksha Prashna. The mighty Pandavas were serving twelve years of exile in a forest and at the end of their exile period the Pandava princes came across a Brahmin who complained that a deer has taken his Arani (The pair of wooden blocks to generate fire by friction) on its antlers and therefore he was not able to light the fire for performance of Vedic rituals. The valiant Pandava princes set out to retrieve the Brahmin's Arani and followed the hoov-marks of the deer.

In the quest of the mysterious deer, Yudhisthir, became exhausted and thirsty. Therefore, Sahadeva, the youngest, ventured to fetch water and found a beautiful lake. The lake was devoid of any living creature except a crane (Baka). When Sahadeva attempted to take water from the lake, the crane spoke, "O Sahadeva! The water of this lake will turn into poison if you take it without satisfactorily answering my questions."

Sahadeva, in arrogance, did not pay heed and hurriedly took water from the lake. Upon drinking the water which appeared crystal clear, Sahadeva died instantly of poisoning. The next Pandava, Nakula followed Sahadeva, found the same lake, saw dead Sahadeva, and was also warned by the crane. But Nakula also ridiculed the baka and died after drinking the water. In the same manner, both valiant Arjuna, and powerful Bheema, met the same fate.

Since none of the brothers returned with water, Yudhisthir embarked in search of his younger brothers and water. Upon following the same path, Yudhisthir came across the lake and found all his brothers lying dead. Before searching for the killer of his brothers, Yudhisthir decided to drink some water from the lake. But when the crane warned him, Yudhisthir harked back and listened intently. He instantly realised that the crane holds the answer to the turn of events. In virtuosity that Yudhisthir represented, he proceeded to answer the questions put forth by the crane.

But before putting the questions to Yudhisthir, the crane revealed itself as a Yaksha (nature-spirit). The Yaksha asked 18 questions with philosophical and meta-physical ramifications.

I am a chapter:

While reading the wicked questions to my utter surprise I came across a very innocuous one : What is faster than the wind? I read it carefully one more time, twice to be absolutely sure, thrice to lock the answer for Amitabh Bachchan's sake. Having studied science and the speed of light my lightening quick answer was: Light! "EUREKA! EUREKA!!" (No! I did not run around naked. Please keep your fantasies reserved for late nights. This is a family blog.) I just looked around expecting for a round of thunderous applause, few soothing pats on the back and lively Derek O' Brien to jump out of the TV with a trophy and declaring me the undisputed winner of the national quiz championship. But there was none to be. Poor me! Amitabh Bachchan and Derek O' Brien were too busy. Even my grandmother and grandfather did not oblige. They kept staring at me through their ten inch photo-frames. I was all-alone, left to study more.

Anyway, I did not care; cheered myself up and decided to cross-check my answer...just for the sake of it. But even before I did so, the tube-light in my mind suddenly flickered on. A new question arose, enough to make Einstein proud; If light is faster than the wind then what is faster than light?

It was a tough one. I put myself in Yudhisthir's shoes and could very well understand the trauma he was going through. "What could be faster than light? Einstein?" I asked myself seeking for help. I gave up after thinking for a while. Einstein was dead. He did not reply back. Nothing came to my mind except for a minute of imposed silence and the new movie of a young-suave Salman Khan with Madhuri Dixit wearing a red-hot saree posed beside him for the ultimate showdown.

I started drooling. The whistle of the pressure cooker brought me back to life. I glanced at the book with squinty eyes as if cheating in an exam. Read the answer, slapped myself and observed two minutes of stunned silence.

Light was out of the question; it was no where near the correct answer. The witty reply given by a nonchalant Yudhisthir was: MIND.

The question stuck with me forever and so did the answer; my mind was never the same as before and neither was I.

Letter to the Prime Minister

To,

The Honourable Prime Minister of India,

South Block, Raisina Hill,

New Delhi.

India-110011.

What is it that I shall bring to your notice? What is that one thing to which I can point out and say, yes, India is free, India is safe; India means peace, India means justice; India means business, India means growth; India is well-fed, India is highly-rated; and above all India, my dear mother is great! I may have gone a bit over-board given the opportunity presented to me but I come back to my point. So, what is it? What is that one thing? I keep the questions safely to myself, for I cannot simply hurl them at you sir, for I know the answer is not simple and straight-forward, for I fear they will bounce off your stony face and hit me flush on the forehead.

They say, our Government is a thug! I simply close my eyes and murmur; it is just our bad luck. They ask, why don’t you vote? I explode, for what shall I vote? For whom shall I vote? You chant young India, prosperous India, independent India, incredible India. I simply pray, God help India. My dear sir, I do not know what do you see in India, what do you feel for India, what do you think about India; but for once if you get even the slightest of chance to slip out of your security blanket, you will come across a river called young India; it’s blood piping hot, bubbling with anger, oozing with confidence, gushing forth in full force with a mind of its own. You will see them, marching forward, surging ahead aspiring to change the course of India at every step with their sharp ideas and a mere snap of their fingers. My dear sir, young India today knows no boundaries, young India today lives on a different planet, young India today is raring to gallop at a breathtaking speed but your abrasive, barbed system makes them recede. Your promises are like the wind blows. They come and go leaving behind a trail of perpetual sorrow. Your goal is to land on Mars, ours is to buy a small piece of land on this beautiful earth. You hold rallies, you talk big, you talk long; always shouting the same old song of a better India with a certain future; constantly harping on catapulting India forward but your actions fail to catch-up with your words. My dear sir, your intentions are right, your words fail to excite and your actions, leave a lot to be desired.

I visit any office of yours seeking prompt service and all your men do is play yoyo with me? Am I an object of ridicule or a big-fat joke only meant to cast my precious vote? For how much more long will this age-old problem live in our country? Does it have an expiry? Or is it that bitter pill which I have to swallow every-time I walk-in? Or is it that bickering bill which will never have a seal? I notice the landmark of democracy, I sometimes pause and peep inside the institution of democracy but all I get to see season after season, session after session is people of cattle class howling like stray cats and dogs. My dear sir, I am sorry to say but the institution that you call parliament resembles a mental asylum. My remarks are certain to draw your ire but I don’t care, for its high-time I throw myself into the line of fire.

Who am I? Where do I stand? I am not a politician, no saint; no economist, no scientist, not even a social activist. Not a person of any pedigree but a young Indian with a Bachelor’s degree; hanging on; stranded in the midst of a fierce political storm; whose only prayer at the start of the day is that the day ends in peace and harmony. My dear sir, in simple words I am just another common man being pickled in the daily run, lost in the daily hum-drum.

I hear you are eager on Aadhaar but I would request you not to stop there, as for once I do not want to believe that it is a mere political stunt but a positive step to empower the poor. I wish you do not prove me wrong. I wish my age gets added to your’s and you live for many more years. I wish you all the very best in your future endeavours.

Enough said, enough puffed, enough coughed I will let you have the last laugh.

                                                                      Your’s sincerely,

                                                                       Ranjan Dhar

Published in http://theviewspaper.net/ranjan-dhar-writes-a-letter-to-the-prime-minister/

New Found Land

The little stars had aligned. They were twinkling in the night sky. My dear friend had something special for me in-store. I sat quietly on the backseat, wondering, watching the lunatic hunter high above. The alien was stealthily following, keeping a keen eye on us through his antic binocular.

‘Wow! Ow...ow...’

                ‘Yes! And you know what the best part is?’

                ‘What?’

                ‘All the shopping malls, Big bazaar, multiplexes are right around the corner!’

                ‘Ow...Wow, really!’

The star-studded hunter had made his first move. The WOW signal had hit me. I was on the receiving end.

                ‘Yes, yes! Didn’t you see them all on the way?’

                ‘Errr...yea...ow...Wow!’

The hostile road was hitting us hard. My beaming friend Bulbeer was driving, leading the way. I was relying on him heavily.

                ‘Ow…ow…ouch! Slow Bullu...Slow down!!’

                ‘This road is the only problem...’ he lamented, manoeuvring his motorbike through the unending bumps.

It was edge of the seat stuff. The action was rear-guard. The terrain was out-of-this-world; junglee, rocky, dusty; the path ahead heady and pitch-dark. Bulbeer had gone out-of-the-way. He had found an exotic place to live.

                ‘Hmmm…ow…ow…’

                ‘Otherwise everything else is good. You will like it! Believe me!!’ he exclaimed, his voice quaking.

                ‘Yeah…’ I grumbled. ‘Ow…Where…where is his house? How long will it take to reach? Ouch!’ I asked, clinging on, bouncing to his tunes.

                ‘Just round the corner.’ he assured.

The hunter was whipping us. The Bajaj discover had lost it. It was rearing up and down like an old Chetak.

                ‘This is the place I was talking about!’

                ‘Oh…ok…’ I mumbled, busy cursing the stars.

We had at-last found a booming civilization. The rays of hope eased the pressure on my back. The back-lashing road had finally ended.

                ‘The building is going to come up here!’ he demonstrated, zooming into the developing society.

                ‘Eh..eh..chokre! Ruko, ruko!! Kisse milna hai? (Hey..hey…boys! Stop, stop!! Whom do you want?)’ the undressed watchman demanded scampering behind our vehicle. He was in civilian clothes.

                ‘Kyun? Kya chahiye? (Why? What do you want?)’ my friend retorted, parking inside the building premises.

                ‘Aah...ah...’

They were not coming out. I fell short of words. Stepped down gently and limped away writhing in pain. My cute tail bone was fractured in several places.

                ‘Entry karo idhar paihle! (Make an entry here first!)’ the rude-old-man ordered pointing towards the register.

I picked it up and passed it on to Bullu.

‘Kisko milna hai? (Whom do you want to meet?)’ he probed again.

‘Errr…Maa..haat…ma, Mahatma? Mahatma-ji se!’ I exclaimed reading out loud.

‘Chairman saab!! (Chairman sir!)’ he cried out.

The ghost of the Mahatma seemed to be haunting him. The old man was shaken up. He let go of the human race; started seeing stars in the night sky.

‘Haa…Haan Mahatma!! (Ye…yes Mahatma!!)’ I howled; my eyes enlarged, my voice underwent a drastic change. I suddenly grew from a squeaky rat to a hairy monster.

‘Haan! (Yes!)’ Bullu roared.

‘Teesra mala! Jao! Jao! Lift se jao! (Third floor! Go! Go! Use the lift!)’ he directed immediately. The information was half. The star-struck guard snatched the copy from Bullu’s hands.

‘Isn’t he your uncle? Don’t you come here often?’ I probed pressing the button.

‘He is not my own or cousin uncle...’

‘Oh…’

‘I just know him through a friend of mine.’ my friend informed.

The door opened. We fitted ourselves in. The elevator cranked up. It could carry only three persons at one time. We were of the size of four.

                ‘Nice surname’ I remarked closing my eyes. ‘Hope he gives some discount...’

                ‘Will have to!’ Bullu guaranteed, taking it upon himself.

                ‘Let’s see…’          

The lift was quick. We had reached. The tiger was already loitering out. I was a sleeping duck. Opened my eyes hurriedly and scurried out of the three-by-four cage in the nick of time; my neck and limbs intact.

                ‘This way!’

Bulbeer was at it again. He was leading me.

                ‘D.D MAHATMA’

The name plate on the door rang a bell in me. I was feeling honoured. Bullu rang the bell. I took off my shoes.

                ‘Yes...’

The great man was coming; his voice overwhelming.

                ‘Namaste uncle.’ Bullu greeted.

                ‘Namaste’ I huffed bowing. My only chance went begging.

The gangly man dressed in shirt and baggy jeans was not a look-alike by any means; did not resemble Bapu from any mad angle.

                ‘Yes, what is your name?’

Disappointment writ large on my face I spotted the stark reality, eventually. The man was no Mahatma. He was not his great-son-in-law either; neither Bullu’s mama; just a mere chairman.

                ‘I am Bulbeer, uncle…I had come two days back…to enquire about the flat…’ my friend stuttered reminding over and over again.

                ‘Oh…yes, yes Bulbeer…’

                ‘This is my friend…’

                ‘Yes, yes come in! Come in!’ he welcomed grinning.

The living room was messed up. His wife was cheerfully away. We had to fill in. Gathered the clothes, newspaper supplements littered on the sofa and chucked them on the dining table.

                ‘Tell me! Have you guys decided to book?’ he asked facing us.

                ‘Uh…no uncle....’

                ‘Book it quickly otherwise the rates will go up!’ he opened fire. Bullu ducked, I leant back on the sofa.

‘Uh...yes...uncle, actually I brought my friend along to show him the area and get all the details.’

                ‘Ok, ok…but I have already provided you all the cost details.’ the smart-old chairman recollected.

                ‘Yes…but…can you give us the brochure?’

                ‘Book it quickly otherwise the rates will…’

                ‘Brochure...uncle?’ I reminded, interrupting.

                ‘I did not provide you the brochure?’ he enquired. I sensed it. The pesky-old-man was profitably and unarguably deaf.

                ‘No…’ I murmured. Bullu shook his head.

It was my first visit, his second. We were two-little innocent children. We had done our homework.

                ‘You sit here, I will bring it!’ the man groaned up from his plastic chair and headed inside. His own cushy sofa was occupied.

‘Come to the point Bullu!’ I whispered.

‘Yes, yes…don’t worry!’ the tiger winked.

‘Ask him to reduce the rate at-least by two-hundred!’ I challenged.

‘Yes, yes…’ Bullu nodded.

‘And also some from the parking amount…’

I was not afraid of him anymore. The money-spinning, uncooperative Mahatma had irked me. I was in the mood to bargain.

‘Yes…’

‘And also ask him about those two buildings…’

‘Yes, yes…’

Bullu carried on nodding vigorously. His brain was in danger of popping out. The risk was too high. He had work to do, things to say on my behalf. I was alert, ready to take the diving catch and throw it back in.

                ‘Here it is…Hold it!’ the chairman presented stepping out. He was holding it in-front of my friend. An unmindful Bullu stopped rocking his head. I seized the booklet from his wrinkled hand and began studying it.

                ‘When will the construction start uncle?’ Bullu queried.

                ‘What is the rate now uncle?’

The monster in me growled pouncing on him. I jumped straight to the point. The tiger was lurking behind the bush.

                ‘Thirty-one hundred.’ he informed plonking down on his plastic chair.

                ‘Whew! That would be around thirty-five lakhs…’ I whistled. My calculator beeped up.

                ‘So, when will you be providing the booking amount?’ the greedy Mahatma enquired again.

                ‘This looks small! Don’t you think so?’ I suggested pointing at the miniature layout printed on the brochure.

I had no prior experience. The plan seemed flawed to me.

                ‘No, no it’s fine!’ the tiger roared, silencing me. He stamped down the monster. I turned into a squeaky rat again; lost, unable to find my way out of the fallen hairs.

                ‘Pay up the booking amount by tomorrow…’

                ‘Yes uncle…’

                ‘Yes! What yes!!’ I screamed inside.

                ‘But if you could talk to the builder and make something le…sss…’ the tiger hissed.

                ‘Less?’ he asked reconfirming, turning his deaf ear towards my dear friend.

                ‘Ye...yes...’

                ‘In this area you will not get a flat at such low price!’ he refused, shaking his head.

                ‘Just see uncle if you can…some from the parking amount…at-least...if possible…’ the tiger stammered.

                ‘Pay the booking amount first, then only I can speak to the builder.’ D.D Mahatma conditionally agreed.

                ‘And what about the two buildings by the side? Is he going to…’

Bullu was following my orders. He was doing his job, alright. I kept quiet.

                ‘Oh those! He will be demolishing them soon.’ he rubbished, waving his hands. I instantly demolished them in my mind. ‘He has got the FSI increased after all, so he has to!’ he reasoned.

                ‘Oh, great!’ the tiger let out, smiling. ‘When will we be getting the possession, uncle?’

                ‘Problem? No, no, there will not be any problem!’ he reassured. His left ear too was not working. ‘He will have to demolish...’

                ‘Possession uncle... When will we be getting the possession?’ Bullu asked again; his voice loud and clear.

                ‘Possession? Eighteen months! Give me the booking amount cheque by tomorrow!’ he demanded again.

                ‘Yes uncle, let us talk to our families’ first, show them and then we will come to you in two-three days’ time!’

The smart cat was expert at beating around the bush.

                ‘But hurry up! Book it quickly! If the rates go up I will not be able to do anything!’ he yelled.

                ‘Ow...ow...’

We fled.

++++

                ‘Hello?’

I called him back; desperate to have a word with him.

                ‘Sign here...’

                ‘Hello! Simon? Simon!’

It was my lucky day. He picked up my call on the second try.

                ‘Yes, yes... give me the documents by tomorrow...’

He backed away talking nonsense.

                ‘I...’

                ‘Give me a minute sir!’ Simon commanded.

I obeyed, hung on.

‘Yes... tomorrow, tomorrow...Bye...Bye...’

                ‘Yes, tell sir!’ Simon belatedly answered; his tone harassing, harsh. He was my agent. I was his customer. ‘Hello? Hello!!’

                ‘Errr...yes...are you talking to me?’ I queried.

                ‘Yes sir! What’s the problem?’

                ‘When is the disbursement going to happen? My builder is calling me…’

                ‘You haven’t paid up the twenty-percent amount to the builder till now sir! What can I do?’ he paused backfiring.

                ‘Uh…Wh…ho…’

Tongue-tied, I froze, stopped breathing. The bomb dropped on my head. It detonated instantly. I started sweating profusely.  

                ‘When are you going to?’ he resumed, backfiring.

                ‘What...How? What do you mean?’ I spat out, finding myself lost in my own flat.

                ‘Come to my office, I will explain!’

My calculations went for a toss. I was praying throughout, had prepared well; spent nights on it lying flat on my back. The result was depressing. My confidence was shattered. I had failed miserably in my maths exam yet again. The banker flatly refused to clear my papers.

                ‘No! But how…I don’t understand!!’

                ‘Come to my office sir!!’ he invited me over, again, sternly.

I had hit a cracked-pot. The money was looted, delivered to the builder. I had nothing left in the bank.

                ‘Let me see…’

‘Moreover his property is not approved yet!’ he stated.

‘What!!?’

It was raining time bombs. The naughty Simon was dropping them on me at regular intervals. The demand letters were bombing my house weekly.

                ‘What is going on? What are you saying?’ I screamed.

The second one dropped near my feet. The brand new Reinforced-Cement-Concrete slab shook below. My sinking head quaked violently. The bomb fizzed out, failed to detonate itself completely.

                ‘No, no! Not there...sign here!’ he began talking to someone else. I was left gasping, drowning in dire straits.

                ‘Hello!!’ I recalled him back; my tone restless.

                ‘Yes! Pushkar properties na?’

                ‘Yes…’ I uttered gulping down my bouncing heart. It had made its way to my mouth.

                ‘It’s not approved!’ he announced.

                ‘But why?’

                ‘He hasn’t demolished some buildings, the on-site inspection report says!’

                ‘Some? There are just two!’ I blurted.

                ‘Whatever…but it’s not approved! His legal documents are also pending!’

The third bomb was the smallest. It was harmless. I caught it.

                ‘When is he going to then?’ I hollered, clenching my teeth, toying with the grenade. I was mulling to throw it back at him, send him up once and for all.

                ‘How will I know sir?’

I was not getting a favourable answer. The questions were haunting me. I was asking them to the wrong person.

                ‘Talk to him and tell him to provide the complete the legal documents! Nothing can happen till then! And you also pay up the twenty-percent!’

The line went dead. My brain pointed straight.

                ‘Hello! Mr. Jholkar?’

                ‘Hare Krishna…’

                ‘What is going on?’ I erupted.

                ‘Hare Krishna! What, yes tell me sir?  When will the disbursement happen?’ Jholkar demanded.

                ‘Your property is not approved Mr. Jholkar!!’

                ‘Not approved?’ he belched. The reply was abrupt, the builder was corrupt and I was bankrupt.

                ‘Yes, when will you demolish those two buildings?’ I roared. The agreement was signed. I had the fundamental right to question. Fifteen-percent of the lump sum was prepaid.

                ‘We will be starting soon…’

                ‘So until they are demolished the disbursement cannot happen!!’ I relayed. ‘That’s what my agent…’

                ‘Do one thing. You apply again and get your loan sanctioned from non-cooperation bank. This bank has approved our property.’ he directed.

                ‘How…? No! I cannot do that! Nothing is pending from my side. It’s your legal documents and demolition job that’s pending!’ I shot back, hurling the grenade at him.

                ‘Listen to me sir!! It will hardly take ten days for your loan to get sanctioned.’ he cajoled, coolly.

Mouth wide-open, I stood still, stunned. The bomb had no effect on him.

                ‘Apply there...’

‘No…’

‘I know an agent…’

                ‘No! I…’

                ‘Can he come today and collect the documents?’

                ‘No!!’

                ‘I will message you his number, contact him! Hare Krishna!’

What’s up, Mannu?

‘Grrr…grrr…’

‘Rahu! Get up, Rahu…Get up baba!’

‘Hmmm...No momma! Let me sleep for some more time...’

‘What does this boy do, staying up late nights I don’t get it?’

‘Grrr…grrr…’

‘Watches FTV, what else!! Idiot! Keeps me up as well…’ I cursed scampering under the tube-light plank; my long-slick tail wagging out.

‘Grrr…bow…wow…grrr…’

Moily was keeping a keen eye on me. Growling incessantly; threatening to pounce anytime on me with those dark-brown sullen look of his.

‘Madamji!’

The unmistakable frail voice of the humanoid broke through, early morning. He was fighting hard to sneak his head through the door; a sky-blue turban and a pair of eyes the only parts visible.

‘Mannu!! What’s up? So early! It’s not even seven...’ a pleasantly surprised Madam enquired. Hairs rolled up she was busy adjusting the pallu of her cotton sari.

‘Grrr…grr…’

‘Madamji, please catch Moily! Please strap him away in another room...’ he pleaded, his voice trembling.

‘Grrr…bow…wow…grrr…’

‘Down boy, down!’ Madam commanded. ‘Don’t worry! Come in. He won’t do anything. I am here.’

‘Come, come…’

Mannu instantly felt confident. Madam was there to protect him. Sibu, Chidu, Pornie and Tuna marched in behind him. The emergency cabinet meeting was on.

‘Your eyes are red Mannu! Didn’t you get to sleep last night?’

‘I couldn’t sleep all night, Madamji!!’

‘But why? Sit, you guys!’ she directed the gang.

‘I am feeling unsafe, Madamji! Will they also take me to Tihar?’

‘Don’t worry, Mannu…No one can touch you till I am alive!’ Madam assured.

Mannu heaved a sigh of relief. His pot-belly deflated, strange noises were leaking out from inside.

‘Why is Rohu baba sleeping on the sofa?’ Pornie enquired.

‘He is not a fish Pornie! Get over it! Rahu…Rahu is his name!’ Sibu corrected.

‘Badabadi hoche Sibu babu! (Don’t act too smart Sibbuji!)’ Pornie warned; his tone stern.

‘I am fed up of him! I don’t know what this boy does late nights!’ Madam mulled perching high on her bar stool.

Rahu was sprawled on the sofa. The rest had huddled intimately on the opposite one. Dear Madam had no place to sit in her own house.

‘He is a good boy Madam. Don’t worry.’ Chidu stated.

‘Well Mannu did you speak to Mr. Hazare? What do you think; will he call off his fast today?’

‘Well, Madam I…’

‘Aye, Tuna I gave you hajar taka (thousand rupees) na yesterday for Petrol, when will you be giving it back to me?’ Pornie demanded pointing his double-ringed index finger at him.

‘Don’t speak rubbish! When did I take money from you?’ Tuna retorted grabbing his lungi. He was ready for a fight, just in-case.

‘Aye! Faaltu kotha maat boko… (Aye! Don’t speak nonsense…)’

Squeezed between Chidu and Sibu a steaming Pornie tried getting up. He failed, his butt was stuck in-between.

‘Pornie! Stop the nonsense!! We are discussing on an important topic here!’ Madam scolded eyeballing him.

‘Sorry, Madom…’

‘Start lowering the prices I will return the money to you in instalments.’ Tuna mocked.

‘So, Mannu what do you think? What should we do with Mr. Anna Hazare?’ she asked again smiling.

‘Well, Madam I…’

‘We should put that rascal in jail Madam!’ a furious Sibu intervened.

‘What do you say Mannu?’

‘Well, Madam I…’

‘I agree with Sibu! He is destroying the law and order situation in our country.’ Chidu remarked.

‘Ohaat (What) about the Mumbai blast? Ohen (When) you will be catching the kaalprits (culprits)?’ Pornie challenged.

‘I have some leads…’ Chidu replied coolly. His eyes fluttering, head rocking.

‘And may I know Ohaat (What)?’

‘Before the blast they ate idly-sambar in a restaurant. I have sent the plates for DNA testing. Don’t worry we will nab them soon!’ he predicted.

‘Ok! Fine! But what about Baba Kamdev then? Mannu? What should we do with him?’

‘Well, Madam I…’

‘Just leave it to me Madam! I will take care of him. He is just a fly for me!’ Sibu assured, digging his nose.

‘Ok! Fine!’

‘Rahu baba get up! It’s eight o’clock. Remember, we had a deal on a basketball match…’ Tuna coaxed. Lungi folded up to his knees he was set to dribble.

‘So, Mannu! Whose turn is it to go to jail today?’

‘Well, Madam I…’

‘I think Moron is next!’ Chidu jumped in.

‘Dhurrr…moshayee!! From Ohen (When) is this case ranning (running) I don’t understand!’ a miffed Pornie denounced.

‘Don’t get hyper Pornie! It’s all because of that idiot Maja…’ Sibu cursed, patting his aroused colleague on the back.

‘Rahu baba get up…’ Tuna continued.

‘So, Mannu you will be coming with us to Raj Ghat tomorrow?’

‘Well, Madam I…’

‘I will not be able to make it Madom. I have to go to the phish (fish) market.’ Pornie interrupted excusing himself.

‘Rahu baba get up…’

‘Mother-promise until Maya is kicked out of UP I will not become PM…errr…any minister…’

His eyes shut, Rahu finally responded to Tuna’s calls.

‘Ok! That’s it then!’ Madam cried out jumping down from her bar stool. ‘Mannu, do you have something to say?’

‘Well, Madam I was trying to say that I needed to use your toilet…It’s an emergency!’ he begged.

‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Go, go! Hurry up!’ she cheered, giving him an immediate clearance.

Mannu tottered racing inside, unlacing. His Pajama wasn’t coming off.

‘Use the bathroom in the backyard!!’

I Deserve an Amrikan Ratna

Mind It: The views expressed here are mine and do not reflect the official opinion of my employer or my organization through which the Internet was accessed.

‘…..Awaiting your earnest reply, regards Chakit Gupta’

It was like any-other day in office.

‘What else do they want from me? What is this earnest thing anyways? Can’t they be a bit different?’ late in the morning, stirred up I asked myself reading the lingo mail. There was a deluge of them.

I moved on ‘Delete this one…delete this one…and all these…’

I was having fun. The mails irrelevant I enjoyed trashing them from the intricately designed folders created painstakingly in my mailbox. The hunt simplified I was going through my usual, every morning junk-mail-bulk-delete operation.

‘Phew! I am done for the day!’ I exclaimed within. ‘Except for that damn issue of-course...I am hundred percent sure that is also not an issue.’

The naughty orangutan hopped on me jabbing my sore back. ‘These In-Ox guys have a habit of making noise unnecessarily!’ I muttered jerking my lynchpin.

The scoundrel fell down. I kicked it aside.

‘Another mail? Now what?’

My eyeballs popped out. The dreaded thing had just taken place. The In-Ox folder had a fresh new mail.

‘Hi Ranjan, Any updates? Regards, Trilok Chand Gautam’

‘Are they insane? This Ox team has gone wild!’ I grumbled.

‘You there? Please call me!’

‘Give me a break!’ I told myself, replying half-heartedly on the instant messenger. ‘Yes. Ok’

It was Prannath; our technical director. The shared phone was three feet away. I had to dial in though.

‘Did you check the mail from In-Ox?’ he demanded; his tone intimidating.

‘Yeah…Yeah I did.’ I stuttered meekly. The hairs on my body spiked up. His loud voice had reduced me to a terrified cat.

‘What is the…?’ Prannath stopped-short investigating. The sudden outcry of his child muffled his words.

‘Papa, Daddy! Pick me up.’ his son pleaded.

‘What, Pran?’ I dared to ask.

‘No not now beta, I am on the phone na. Go play with mummy!’

‘What, Pran?’ I dared to ask the second time.

‘You are a big jerk dude!! Did you know that?’ the Americanized child screamed.

‘Hey!! Hey! Where did you learn that from?’ the father thundered in his rustic accent.

‘Booo…hooo…’

The shrieks were deafening, unbearable. I immediately held the receiver away from my ear, clenching my teeth.

‘Ritwik! Come out Beta! Daddy is working na? Don’t disturb him. Good boy, come to me, come, come…’ his wife cajoled.

‘Booo….Hooo….Hooo….Aaaa…Hooo…Hooo…’

The expat child’s wails were getting louder and longer. The receiver clutched in my palm was going far, far away.

‘Hello? Ranjan?’

‘Yeah…yeah Pran?’

The cries died down. ‘What, Pran?’ I dared to ask the third time.

‘Issue, issue!! Did you find out the root cause?’ he demanded.

‘Yeah…actually I have just come in. I will be looking into it in sometime’

My head throbbed with each word.

‘Ok! Find it out and mail me by the end of your day.’

‘Only to you…I mean shouldn’t I keep In-Ox guys in the loop?’

‘No! Only to me. I will cross-verify and mail them separately.’

Prannath was in good mood. He clarified for once.

‘I will also verify with Param Doshi and check if there is a problem from the Gateway end.’ I volunteered.

‘Yes! Please do that.’

‘Fine…fine, no issues. Will do, Goodnight, Bye.’

I felt relieved putting the receiver down.

‘Sir-ji! Hello!’ Trilok Chand Gautam greeted.

I swung my head around to find the orangutan standing behind me.  He kept a keen watch on me.

‘Yeah! What is it?’ taken aback I mouthed letting loose.

‘That Fee issue? Did you get a chance to look into it?’ he poked me in his soft tone.

‘No! I will but later.’ I retorted. ‘I have other work to do as well.’

‘But it’s urgent! Can you look into it right-away?’ eyebrows raised he gazed at me for a favorable answer.

‘Don’t you get it?’ I hollered glaring at him. ‘I will reply my findings to Prannath. He will update you! Now go back from where you came from!’

‘But please ask him to reply soon.’ he gazed at me.

‘I need a break…’

I got up shaking my head. The wicked sensation on my tongue made me uneasy. I just had to smoke.

++++

‘Are you mad? No! I cannot come now!!’ I shouted.

The Ox people were at it again. One o’ clock in the morning and they were calling me in.

‘Prannath is calling you! It’s urgent!’ the nocturnal Chakit stated.

‘What is this? I have already mailed him regarding the fix. Didn’t he mail you guys?’ I argued reluctant to get out of my warm cozy blanket.

‘Yes, he did but that did not resolve the problem.’

The line went silent for a few seconds. I was busy cursing him.

‘Are you coming or not? What should I tell him?’ he threatened.

‘Mtch! Yes, yes I am coming!’

I gave in hanging up. Leaped out of bed, grabbed my clothes and dashed towards office. The machine was taking time to boot up. Hands on head, elbow resting on the chair-arm I shut my eyes.

‘You there? Please call me!’

Prannath wrote the moment I logged into my machine.

‘I have to disable this auto login feature…’

I took it up as an immediate action item dialing his number.

‘Hello?’

‘Yes, Ranjan!’

‘Yeah…Hi Pran’ I uttered in a dopey tone.

‘Yeah! What did you debug man? The cache clearing did not work.’

‘But Prannath the issue is not reproducible on the UAT environment? I verified it several times it has to be a cache problem.’ I conveyed baffled by the revenant-nagging problem.

‘No! The problem must be somewhere else! Give me the UAT details I will check for myself.’

‘Wait a second!’ I said opening the crooked file to give him the details. ‘Here! Take it!’ I uttered hurling the message at him.

‘Hang up! I will call you in ten-fifteen minutes!’ he ordered.

‘Ok.’

‘Yeah! Call you? I bet.’ I mocked.

‘So many mails on the same issue…’ I told myself reading them one by one.

‘What the ****!!’

‘Pran, I have found the issue!’ I messaged him. ‘In-Ox guys have cleared the cache of the wrong machine. They have cleared cache of 9111 machine whereas they had to clear cache of the 9786 one.’ I typed hurriedly reading simultaneously one of their lousy mails.

‘Ask them to do it for that machine and check’ he replied.

I copy-pasted my Hitch-cocky observation to the Ox team immediately; unwilling to waste even a bit of my sleep-time.

‘Wait, we are doing it.’ the vampire replied.

The wait was tiring. I was dozing off intermittently. Prannath was away.

‘Hey! Good news!’

The much anticipated message finally broke through at the break of dawn.

‘What?’

‘The store manager did a transaction and it worked.’ he blurted, pinging me.

‘It worked Prannath!’

I relayed the heart-stopping message.

‘What is he typing so much?’

My heart pounded waiting for his spooky reply.

‘Yeah! I know. Great catch, Ranjan! Good job, keep it up. You can go home now.’