This is my entry for TOI Write India contest for Subramaniam's prompt.I did not win ofcourse, but putting it here for posterity

Futility of Human Relationships

By Somak Dutta

That man is a social beast is no secret; even Adam amidst all the nectar in the Garden of Eden still craved for a honey pot. We have had a lot of learnings from the Adam and Eve story, for example, the original sin. My favourite learning is this - when you are nude, and if future generations choose to tell your stories they would paint you with some very unflattering leaves around your play zones! My treatise is not about their fashion. In fact it is something far deeper and overlooked by everyone. The fact that god created a solo Adam is testament to the fact that he did not consider it necessary to provide companionship. According to God a beautiful garden with food in abundance and birds and animals abound was plentiful. God only conceded to creating an Eve when a naked Adam starting throwing a vinegar puss, howling and crying. However, I believe God had left a serious loophole. The manufacturing defect was not the decision of one or two and the manufacturing defect was not the creation of Eve. The huge defect was the creation of the urge inside us for another human being. And that urge my friend, is the cause of all our concerns and all our problems.

Most of you might argue that Eve was critical for the sustenance of the human race. To which I answer, who is to say that Adam was the final rolled out product. Maybe Adam was just a prototype out on a test drive. Maybe, just maybe, if Adam had shut up God would have been able to roll out a better version of human beings. One who is built to outsmart the weather, survive through hunger, and someone who feels no pain and is smart to a fault. In short, if Adam hadn’t thrown a sissy fit we would all be Rocky. Or maybe, just may be God would have made other reproductive innovations.

So the crucial learning from the Adam-Eve story is that, God didn’t think it was necessary to create a man and his companion. Adam’s partner was an afterthought. I am just saying that we are designed to be screwed over by our quest for companionship and all the tortures it brings forth once you have it. Adam was screwed because he cried for a partner, hell he gave a piece of his rib in search for a Facebook buddy. And once he had her, he (and every other forthcoming generation) got screwed when they lost the Garden of Eden.

In order to establish my point I would provide three evidential stories from real life. I do believe, after reading through the following three case studies you would also conclude that human relationships are futile.

Case Study #1: Bitch

What the hell is going on between my husband and that bitch?' Maya's patience was at its lowest ebb and she was ready to burst.

Sanjay knew that she was serious. 'Look, Maya. There is nothing going on between the two of them. Just a little bit of healthy flirting, I'd say.'

'Flirting? Healthy flirting? Really Sanjay . . .' she rolled her eyes in disgust. 'That's what you men call it? There is nothing healthy about flirting, Sanjay, not for a married man.

Healthy flirting is a term introduced by perverted men who want to lend legitimacy to their extramarital dalliances. Flirting invariably has a sexual connotation to it.' She got up from her seat and walked around the room gesticulating and muttering something to herself. Suddenly she stopped, turned back, looked at Sanjay and asked, 'Did my husband sleep with her? You are his friend. Did he ever tell you anything about it?'

Sanjay’s was nestled cosily in the leather couch. His eyes were following Maya. She was in the black lingerie he had always liked and yet he couldn’t focus on her body. Instead he noticed her every step, her agitated body language and he listened carefully to what she had to say, paid attention to her rising cadence. He knew he was not getting any sex tonight. He took in a deep breath and got up. As he was putting on his briefs Maya frowned at him and asked ‘What the hell are you doing? Why are you getting dressed?’

‘Maya, look, you are not yourself and frankly all the talk about your husband is not really helping here.’ Sanjay grabbed at his crotch and grinned sheepishly. Maya knew what he meant.

‘Argh! You men! You are as weak minded, ill resolved as the very thing that makes you a man.’

She crossed her arms across her chest, walked past him and stood by the window. She was looking at the well-lit and busy street below her apartment. Traffic was unusually light today and cars were wheezing past in good pace and in an orderly fashion. Maya could almost feel elation in the street below, in stark contrast to the chaos she felt inside. Sanjay came up to her and wrapped his arms around her hips. He nuzzled her neck and gave her a soft kiss right by her ear. She took his arms and placed them on her breasts, pushed her head towards him and brought her lips close to his. She felt his warmth on her body, his breath on her face and could see the surrender in his eyes. As they kissed, she could feel his crotch against her back. Maya forgot about her husband and his bitch on the side. She turned around, took off her bra and pushed Sanjay towards the bed. As she pulled away his briefs she heard Sanjay muttering in pleasure- ‘Oh you sexy fucking bitch!

 Case Study #2: Piss Party

Zoe had done it. She can now cross off an item from her bucket list. She had finally thrown a party where she had invited people she absolutely found despicable. To her immense surprise, a lot many had actually turned up. Some had come up to her, chatted with her and pretended as if it was a normal party. Some had come up to her and actually apologized for their actions since they misunderstood the party’s invitation as the first step towards reconciliation from Zoe. Some had refused to come and talk to her, instead sat in a corner, consumed free food and alcohol and gave her cold, nasty stares. Zoe did not mind, in fact she found this party to be quite therapeutic. The bile she had inside of her for these men and women was finally leaving her, and she did not have to be mean or vengeful. All she had to do was throw a party.

It was Zeb’s idea. She looked at him, arranging the food on the table, cleaning up the mess and making sure everyone was comfortable at her own piss party. He was his usual self – calm, funny, warm and mindful of everyone around him. She and Zeb had been friends since they were 5 years old. They had been to the same school, same class and grown up with same friends. Zeb was her first crush; to be sincere he was her first love. Unrequited, though. A few years into her pretend fantasy of being friends with him but imagining her entire life with only him, Zeb told her he was gay. She had reacted kindly, even feigning delight. However it took some months for them to retune their relationship in light of the truth. It was not easy. She had to mend her broken heart while at the same time try not to be angry at the one who broke it in the first place. She knew that Zeb was faultless. However the innocence of her dear friend provided her no comfort. She got out of it eventually, and they were in a good, a very good friendship.

Zoe and Zeb were inseparable. Zoe mattered to Zeb more than any man he had ever dated and the same could be said for Zoe. A few years into this new relationship, they both realised that each other was as good as it would ever get for the both of them. Even if Zoe got married, and Zeb found the love of his life, it would not compare with the relationship they had with each other. That is when they decided to come up with a bucket list. Many items matched – they both wanted to visit Machu Pichu, they both wanted to mend their relationship with their parents and they both wanted to see Aurora. One item in Zoe’s list was to provide comeuppance to all the people she hated. Zeb came up with the logical solution to throw a party, invite all those people and at the end give them a parting gift which would say in no uncertain terms, they were no longer welcome in her life. Zeb had picked out the parting gift, a pretty white candle and an accompanying card which said – ‘Sad to have known you. Please get out of my life. May this evening forever serve as a reminder not to get in touch.’ The card was signed – Love, Zoe. The entire paraphernalia was packed in a bright red wrapping paper with exquisite ribbons and curls. It was all Zeb, as always everything flawless in her life was Zeb.

As people left, Zoe handed over their parting gift at the door. People accepted it gracefully, said a few social banalities and departed in peace. Zoe said her final good byes to many annoyances. Her second cousin who never hid his intentions to sleep with her, her previous colleagues who had made her life hellish with constant office politics, her neighbour who persistently snooped and the men in her life she had attempted to date. One by one they all left and Zoe felt a lightness in her heart she had not felt in years. Finally it was only Zeb in her apartment. They looked at each, Zeb winked at her and walked towards her. They clutched each other’s hands and looked at each other.

‘Happy?’ Zeb inquired.

‘More than I could ever imagine.’ Zoe responded with a warm smile.

‘Ok sweetheart, I need to leave now. The remaining crumbs of the party’s mess are for you to clean up. See you tomorrow.’ Zeb kissed her on her cheek, took his jacket and proceeded towards the door.

‘Zeb, wait a moment please.’ Zoe called after him. She took the final red box and handed it over to Zeb.

Case Study #3: Tom

Tom sat surrounded by representatives from SEC, CFTC, US attorneys, and of course his own team of lawyers. And every single present was engaged in heated arguments. He had his head in his hands; he felt very warm even in the peak of UK winter and his gaze was fixed at the unending slab of files, papers and multiple recording devices strewn across the giant mahogany table. He tried very hard to revisit his dream wedding and his romantic honeymoon on beautiful, sunny Trinidad. However the cacophony in the room and the severe pressure he was under was making it impossible. Finally he snapped, slammed his fists on the table to an audible shock across the room and stormed out.

He locked himself in the men’s room.  He splashed some cold water on his face and sat down on the floor. He wished he had never given up smoking, he wished he had never wilfully manipulated the rates but mostly he wished he had never been caught. He had been performing this game for the last 15 years, amazing career defining fifteen years. He had moved from simply a trader to owning his own trading desk for the biggest firm at their Asia Pacific desk. The nasty people back at that room had chosen to prove to Tom as well as the entire world that the exponential rise in his career has been all due to multiple counts of bribery and frauds. He believed otherwise. It was simply guile. It was simply gumption. He had done what his employers had wanted him to do and he had done something that is an unspoken widespread practice across the industry. However now that the SEC and US Judiciary system were involved he knew he had no out. Huge penalties were the least of his worries. He was assured that criminal charges with serious jail time in a high security prison were imminent. And all he had to do in order to bring that sentence down to huge penalties and one year at a white collar holding facility was to give out the names of all the other parties involved with him along with evidence. All he had to do was to rat out some of his closest associates over the course of last fifteen years and his beloved brother in law.

His brother in law, Zhen, had been fresh out of MBA College learning the ropes among the most aggressive sharks in the Hong Kong exchange. Tom had singled him out for his purpose due to his innocence and palpable dumbness. Zhen was too green at the outset to understand that he was being used and later on when he figured it out he had protested vehemently. However, by that time Tom had learnt the valuable lesson in life on how to manipulate others into giving you exactly what he wanted. Two years of working Zhen, Tom had met his beautiful sister Jinchun. Tom fell in love and they embarked on a wonderful relationship. This year would have marked their 8^th anniversary, which means he had known Zhen for the last ten years. This means he had used Zhen for the last ten years.

When the deal was first presented to him Jinchun was beside him. She had burst in tears as she realized what it meant for her young brother. When Zhen had heard the details of the deal from Tom, he too had burst in tears. Tom had fought hard with everyone to try and get the sentence reduced for everyone he names and the response he had got was – Buddy, we need to show everyone we screwed someone. It is either you or them.

After about twenty minutes of being lost in his chain of thoughts he heard a knock on the door. He opened the door and found his lawyer standing there. He looked at Tom keenly. Tom did not meet his eyes; his sight was focussed at the floor. He whispered – It is not going to be me.

Failed Talk Show Host and Naked Man with Headphones

This was my entry for TOIWriteIndia contest for Ashwin Sanghvi. I did not win,of course, but placing it here for posterity.

Failed Talk Show Host and Naked Man with Headphones

The Failed Talk Show Host

If you google me, or wiki or even simply ask around - everyone will tell you I got done over by a nude man. My whole life was ruined by an unclad man choosing to shake, jive and jiggle. My legacy would never be all the good work I had done instead it will be a laughable story of my downfall. My wife keeps telling me the actual people at fault are the guardians at the censor board. My friends keep blaming the moral police and my assistant points her angry pout at the broadcasters. But I know best, I know it was all him. It was the naked man with headphones. To put things in perspective or may be to seek your sympathy, I will tell you of all the toil that that man had caused offence.

My father was a light technician at a local small time theatre. It had seats for only 40 people, it put on shows only twice a week, it had a stage that could fit all the actors only if they stood in two rows when they took a bow and it had only two focus lights. My father was in charge of those two stage lights. Every month we barely escaped living in squalor and the month my father brought news that the theatre might close down we all cried as a family contemplating a bleak destitute future. Then things changed. A new man joined as the lead and by sheer force of his magnificent performance the theatre started selling shows. I had opportunities to watch that man closely during his ascent. People felicitated him where ever he went, the press was always around asking questions and taking pictures and play writers, directors persistently sought his time. By year end, the theatre made so much money that it went in for a renovation and upgrade. By the time the new building was inaugurated my father was no longer in charge of just two stage lights, but in fact he was in charge of a team of technicians working with state of the art lighting equipment. By the time the new building was inaugurated we moved to a better house, we ate better and we no longer counted the days till stocks ran out and we had to buy food on credit. That man went on to achieve many remarkable career milestones however to me he was always the man who saved my family from poverty. That is when I decided to become an actor. I could think of no other profession which I had reason to celebrate.

I did not start with theatre. I started with a television commercial for an easy to make noodles product. I was not even the lead, I was just the guy at the end of the commercial eating noodles his wife mightily presented and went – ‘Yum’. I do not remember the name of the product nor do I remember how much I was paid for it but I do recall that Yum. That led to many other commercials and a long stint as a tele shopping host and I started considering myself a working actor. However I had ambitions for movie roles. I had wrongly assumed my comfort with cameras and all the other process would set me apart from the other inexperienced hopefuls. For years I could not get anybody interested in having me in their production.  Then finally a new director offered me the part of a comic side kick to a very masculine main character. The movie went on to become a commercial success and I became a household name. Directors started offering me comedy and I greedily lapped them up. The novelty of playing a comic paradox to the wisdom of the lead, the consequent fame and money soured inevitably. I wanted meatier roles and lost all credibility by playing the lead role of an edgy policeman. That movie failed brutally and I was dismissed. Literally, dismissed from the industry! I never acted in a movie ever again.

Years of addiction to nicotine and self-pity went by in humiliating, hurtful pace. Then finally like a saving grace this new job fell into my lap. It was a lead role nonetheless. Even better, they wanted nobody else but me to play the part. I was to be a host for my very own talk show. It was to be a mix of comic commentary on everyday life followed by insightful interviews with celebrities. I would be tasked with performing all the comedy and also all the interviewing. For one hour every Wednesday night from 9pm I would grace the television sets of every home in my country, with possibilities of reruns internationally. I felt like this was my theatre moment. I would become that man who changed the destiny of himself and many around him with his talent. Two months into the development process the broadcasters showed genuine faith in me by deciding to broadcast the show as live TV. Once that decision was made, sponsorship increased manifold. With all that money flowing in we could hire talented directors and technicians and my contract was renegotiated with prettier numbers and perks. We also got a swanky studio. It was on top of a building from where you could see the entire city and to aggressively demonstrate the “Live TV” concept, the full show’s background would be a floor to ceiling glass wall with a voyeur’s view of a living, breathing city. The first episode was aired and received positive reviews.

The show got cancelled after the second episode.

And that is why I am here. The nervous tapping of my feet was gone and I smell rancid due to all those cigarettes I smoked while I waited. But the wait is over. I knew where he stayed and I knew what he looked like. I had watched the video time and again, I had watched the YouTube videos as well and his face was etched in my memory. Finding the exact building proved tiresome, however after days of scoping around the same neighbourhood I am right where I should be.  I could see him walking towards his building and I softly patted my pocket to ensure that the gun was still present. I pulled the hoodie over my head and tugged it lower on to my face. It was late into the night and dark but I could not risk attention. I observed him carefully as he walked to the door. I knew that time was running out but suppressed the urge to check my watch. I took a deep breath and started counting in reverse under my breath. "Ten, nine, eight, seven..."

The Naked Man with Headphones

It is weird when the world doesn’t know your name but they do know what you look like naked. And the strangest fact is I am the only person responsible. It was meant to be a harmless prank. It wasn’t even meant to be a prank just a weird crazy idea that struck me while I was watching the show’s first episode. I noticed that you could see my building in the background. It was not really in focus or highlighted but yes, you could see my building if you paid attention. If you knew where I lived you could also point out my exact apartment – fourth floor, left wing. I immediately blasted all my friends with the information. None of them believed me and one of them asked me to wave a hand from the window to prove it. It was at that tragic moment, it came to me that I could do one better.

The next week when the show was about to start I was ready. I took my phone and plugged it to my huge headphones, which cover not only my ears but large portions of my head. One of my friends had named it my Minotaur headgear and I had painted it red for the occasion. On introspection I realize it seems like I had put in a lot of thought into the activity. I put on my headphones and stripped down to my boxers. When the show was about to start I turned on the show on my phone and stepped onto my balcony. The welcome music was on and the cameras were focussed on the live band. The host had not yet stepped into the studio as the upcoming attractions of the episode were being screamed with glee. Finally when the name was spoken with a rising cadence the host stepped into the light. Applause and drum beats died down as he greeted everyone. I could not see my building as he was blocking the view and performing his comic routine. I started dancing meekly pretending to be a guy listening to his favourite song on his phone. I didn’t know how much time the camera might focus on the area which covered my building and even if I had mere 2 second window I did not want to miss it. Twenty seconds went by and the guy did not move from his position. My building was still not visible and I had started to feel annoyed. I am not sure what prompted me to get naked. I promise you that was not the original idea. I stripped off my boxers and picked up the rhythm. I started doing all the crazy dance moves I had seen on TV and films. I did the chicken dance, I did the running man, I did the Gangnam style and I did the hump-whale. Finally when I started to feel tired, I just jumped up and down. By that time I was so involved that I did not even check on my phone if any of my antics are even visible on the show. After about 2minutes of my craziness I went inside, sweating and exhausted. And then I started getting calls.

I was visible on the show. I was on air for only about 10secs before the host stepped sideways to block the view. However my friends knew who it was as I had forewarned them of my plans. They started calling in, everyone screaming and shouting. We had a good laugh and for a while I was the most popular one in my group. I had later watched it on a YouTube channel – it wasn’t obscene, you couldn’t really see my face or genitals but yes it was obvious there was a naked man dancing in a building in the background. For a while it was a hilarious video being shared and commented on heavily in social media. I would be lying if I said I was not feeling proud.

This was before an official complaint was made.

Apparently one family was having dinner at that moment with the television on and their child was traumatised as a result of a tiny blot in the background! Things snowballed from there on. There was a huge outcry all over media about how unregulated television was and how someone should be held accountable in order to set order in the world again. People started complaining about things that were never really there – someone said they could make out a penis very clearly, another said if the censors ignored this the next episode there would be a couple having sex in the background and then another said it was a publicity stunt by the network to get more viewers. The show producers, the host and the network executives were brought in for questioning by the censor board. No amount of apologies from all the parties involved in making the show was satisfactory for the hounds. Just two days after the complaint was made, the sponsors started pulling out. On the same day the network cancelled the show, paid a huge fine and took out expensive ads in every form of media apologizing for offence caused. And still the hounds were not sated. Someone in censor board made a statement acknowledging the correct steps taken by the network and subtly suggested that the dancing, naked man with headphones should be criminally charged with indecency.

My life turned upside down. My friends were worried and everyone suggested I leave town for a while. The video clips on social media were all blocked and the papers started soliciting suggestions from the public to identify the culprit. The network had brought in investigators and handed over all the tapes they had of the show. News channel started tracking the investigation and interviews with the people involved suggested they have narrowed down the area of the building. That is when I left town and went back to my parents. My parents were surprised to see me and pretty soon figured out that something was amiss. When I told them everything everyone in my family was against me. My mother was horrified that her son could do something like that and for days refused to look into my eyes. My father was furious and was persistently screaming at me for bringing shame to the family name. I found the reactions unfair and was needlessly defensive. I felt like I had made a porn movie with my name displayed in magnified fonts on the poster. I got fired from my job for taking an unscheduled break of three weeks. My friends started avoiding me, as if they feared being guilty on account of association. It took one full month and another public scandal for the country to forget about my genitalia and my dance moves.

It has been two weeks since I returned. Attempts at getting my old job back or getting a new one was proving difficult. I was getting drunk every night and tonight was no different. Tonight I was at a local pub drinking alone well into the night. I was pretty high when I staggered towards the front door of my building. I turned around when I heard someone call out – Hey you!

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Hitchcock's Knife

This was my entry for TOIWriteIndia contest for Chetan Bhagat. I did not win,of course, but placing it here for posterity.

 Hitchcock's Knife

‘Now Ms.Javovich, we are willing to not report matters to the authorities or to the family. However you must come clean with us. I would ask you again, is the artefact stolen?’

She sat in the Starbucks cafe, sipping her coffee and staring out of the window. The blood stained knife lay next to her handbag, covered with her blue silk scarf. She put down her cup, wiped the lipstick smudge off the brim and started gently tapping the tip of her index finger on her cup. Her mouth was slightly opened, she was breathing calmly and her eyes betrayed no emotions. She appeared to be in control however close observation would give her away. Her left hand placed on her lap was twitching at a rapid pace, her heels were dug too deep into the carpet and her neck felt warm and moist. She was hoping the lawyer at the other end of the table was also as anxious. This disclosure had pissed on all her plans and preparations. However, being a smart woman, she figured out a self-serving strategy. She took the stray strands of hair off her face, placed them behind her ears and cupped her face. She looked directly at him and replied with conviction – ‘Yes, I accept. It is stolen.’

The lawyer took a deep breath and smiled.

‘So, what do we do now?’

‘That is completely up to you and your client Mr. Wagner. I, for one, am hoping I have not been wasting my time. ’

‘Well, I think it’s the other way around. In case the knife is stolen property, we are afraid we are unwilling to proceed. My client is a man of repute, you see. I don’t see him tarnishing his image at the cost of his connoisseurship.’

‘Mr.Wagner, I do not recall mentioning at any point that I am representing the family. I have not alluded to be representing any agency either. You and your client have never questioned the origin of the sale. I believe you already suspected the sale is not from the original owner. I further believe your client has been involved in such transactions in the past. This is our fifth meeting and I was hoping it to be our last. Either ways, I can assure we are never meeting each other. Threats of exposure do not worry me Mr. Wagner. You see, I too am a woman of repute. However, I do not shy away from tarnish. ’

‘Of repute you say! Ha! That would have sounded more sincere a minute ago Ms.Javovich.’

She did not react. She was prepared for negotiations and she knew not to pander to deliberate slights. She had not expected to be confronted with the truth, but she also knew that Mr.Wagner had been able to authenticate the artefact and was prepared to make an offer. Nobody wastes time and money on a lawyer for a transaction they are not willing to undertake. She was also ready to bolt if situation went further south. She could always reach out to Marko and he would be able to help her.

The tiny one minute of silence between them seemed like hours. Mr.Wagner was the first to break.

‘This is what we know so far Ms.Javovich. We believe that you are who you claimed to be. We have also run a background check and we are glad that your personal credentials are smirch free. However we also know that you worked as a member of cleaning staff in the holiday home of Mr.Brandt in Sun Valley. We have confirmed the same with your previous employment agency. We have also confirmed with the studio and remaining kin of Mr. Hitchcock that indeed, it was a gift from him to Ms.Leigh. We also have reason to believe that the artefact was never kept at the family’s Los Angeles home but resided in their Sun Valley house along with Ms. Leigh’s other awards and memorabilia. We believe you took opportunity of your employment and have stolen a prized possession and are now attempting to sell it off to the highest bidder. You yourself confessed a while back’

‘Mr. Wagner, this is what I know so far. Your client was the very first to respond online and he is the only one who has come this far. I also know that the authenticity of the item has been verified, you yourself gave away that information in our last meeting. I also believe that the children of Ms.Leigh are not interested in selling this knife and your client is very interested in having this as part of his prized collection. You will not report me to the authorities or to the family out of unsolicited generosity but because, doing so will bring you no benefits. ’

‘Yes, we do believe that the knife is authentic. Our experts have been able to date the artefact and we have also been able to authenticate that the blood on the knife is indeed Bosco chocolate syrup. You see, chocolate syrup appears more realistic than stage blood in black and white films. The material used is balsa wood and it is of the same category as the other shorter knife which is currently housed in the museum of Movie Madness. We have no doubts that this particular knife is indeed the butcher knife used in the shower scene of Psycho.’

‘Awesome, I am glad to know you have covered your bases. So what’s next?’

‘Like I said Ms.Javovich, we are not prepared to buy a stolen article.’

By the time negotiations completed, she was completely drained. She ached for a cigarette and right about then she could have also made use of some whiskey. She had always known she would never get the price that Marko had made her quote. Best case scenario, she would get maybe fifty percent. However she had to settle for $15k in cash up front and a post-dated cheque payment of remaining 25k. Before leaving, she handed over her scarf to Mr.Wagner. He took it and deftly placed it in his duffel bag. No one at the café would suspect a knife was being bought and sold. Let alone Hitchcock’s knife.

It was pretty late in the night and she was on her 16^th Marlboro of the day. The effects of the last coffee had withered away and she could feel her eyes getting heavy, her entire body felt sluggish. The cold breeze slapping at her face and the lights from incoming traffic was keeping her from falling asleep. She had been driving for 4 hours now; she needed to recharge her cell phone, she needed clean drinking water, she needed a shower, she needed some mouthwash and a deep sleep. She knew she had to wait till morning for all the things she needed. There was no stopping on the highway. She slapped her steering wheel and let out a loud cuss. She slapped her face twice and kept opening and closing her mouth at even pace. She had learned this trick to stay awake from her mother. Cheek exercises and reminders of life’s many irritations are the sure fire ways to stay awake. She kept regretting the decisions she had taken earlier in the day. She couldn’t shake off the thought that maybe she had been taken for a ride. There were so many things she could have done differently. There were so many things she wished she had done differently. She should have called up Marko and asked for his advice. She should have delayed the transaction. She should have lied and mentioned about all the other interested parties. She never should have confessed and she shouldn’t have accepted that pitiful amount. Nothing sucks as bad as twenty-twenty hindsight.

Maybe, just maybe she did the right thing. It is definitely not the money they had in mind but it is a start. Marko could make good use of it. He always knew how to make more money. She hated that the only problem between them was always money, or the lack of it. His marital status never posed a problem, her neediness never caused issues. All they wanted was to ditch their existing lives and run away together. And all that stopped them from doing so was money. Forty thousand dollars was a start. Yes, it’s a good start. Besides it had come cheap. She didn’t have to take any pains to steal. She knew it would be a long time before the family realized the original had been replaced by a normal stage prop. She never felt guilty about the theft, she figured this world had it coming. It isn’t fair that a wooden prop was valued so high in a world where she, and many others like her, had grown up and still lived in squalor.

The loud honk from the 16 wheeler woke her up. For no plausible reason she swerved wildly to her left and realizing her mistake she took a hard right. She did not crash but the car fishtailed for quite a distance before coming to a screeching halt. She should have pulled over but she knew she couldn’t. She could not afford cops. She picked up speed and drove away. Her heart was racing and her hands were shaky. That is when she realized she needed to sleep. If she rested the night and started the next day she could still reach Pennybrook by mid-afternoon.  She decided she would spend the night at the nearest motel. After driving for 5-6 miles she could see the tell-tale signs of a highway motel. She could read the words ‘Vacancy’ blinking in bright yellow. She drove up and parked her car. She walked up to the office and found it empty. She thumped at the call bell empathically and getting no immediate response she sat down at the lonely sofa opposite the reception desk. She stood up on hearing footsteps rushing towards the office door. A young man, skinny and tall stood at the door.

‘Hello Ma’am. Welcome to Crane Motel. How may I help you, are you looking for directions?’

She found him a little too endearing. A smile that was a little too broad, eyes which were a little too bright and a voice a little too reverential.  It was not the normal fake respect that the hospitality industry throws at their customers, it was something more. He was wearing a dark jacket and was helping himself to handfuls of candy from a brown bag.

‘Oh I am sorry Ma’am would you like some candy?’

‘Actually no, I would like a room for the night. The sign outside said vacancy available.’

‘Yes, yes we have rooms. Twelve rooms, twelve vacancies. They are always vacant. You see, the new highway really did me in. I have been struggling since. Anyways, would you mind signing the register?’

She signed a fake name. Marie Samuels. When she was asked for her id, she lied about leaving it in her glove compartment. He didn’t seem too concerned, she guessed he was simply glad to get a customer. He recommended the room right next to the office and she nodded. He led the way, walking with a steady pace and talking the entire time. As he was explaining the many facilities offered at the motel she asked him his name.

‘My name is David Ma’am.’

‘And do you own this motel David?’

‘No, my mother owns this motel. She and her ex had built this place with their life savings. I look after the place. My mother is too old and sickly, you see.’

‘Well you are a kind man David. Thank you for showing me to my room. I think I would like to sleep now.’

‘Yes, yes absolutely. I would leave you alone. If you need anything just pick up the phone and press hash. Goodnight Ma’am.’

‘Goodnight David.’

She locked the door after he left and took a look around. It was a very basic setup, one single room with a bed, a bedside drawer, a small bureau and a bathroom at the end of the room. Geometric patterned light blue wallpaper covered the room and a pair of rudimentary sconces on opposite walls completed the décor. The room smelt musty however she found the bedspread and bathroom to be clean. She took off her blouse and jeans and lit a cigarette. She sat at the end of the bed, inhaling long and deep. She looked at her cell phone, it was still dead. She threw it away in frustration and lay down on the bed. She tapped her cigarette against the side table, leaving clumps of ash on the carpet. She felt really tired and hungry. She decided to get a shower and then call David to ask for some food. She stripped and proceeded towards the bathroom. The bathroom mirror told her how haggard she looked. Her hair was sticking to her head, her eyes had deep angry circles around them and her lips were dry and cracked. She stubbed out her cigarette on the sink and let the butt drop down the drain. She turned on the shower and adjusted the mixer taps till she was satisfied with the temperature. She got in the tub and drew close the shower curtains behind her.

The water felt soothing on her skin. She rubbed the water around her eyes and across her cheeks. She bowed her head and let the water flow down her neck to her back. She rubbed her neck and massaged her strained shoulders. Her hair still felt sticky. She opened up the small motel provided bottle of shampoo and poured it all on her head. She stepped out of the shower and started scrubbing her hair. She took clumps of hair in her hand and applied the wash right till the ends. She dug her fingers in deep, massaged her scalp well before entering the shower.  She closed her eyes to prevent the foam from stinging her eyes. Had she not, she would have noticed the silhouette of a lady standing in her bathroom. Had she not, she would have noticed the knife coming at her.

Enlightened - My entry for Amish TOI Write India Initiative

Sometime in July i read about the Write India initiative undertaken by Times of India along with 11 prominent authors. In essence, its a short story writing competition running for a duration of 11 months, featuring a new author every month. The winner of the month gets selected by the ongoing author of the month with a promise to have the winning entries published in a book. So i decided to take part.And so i did. I didnt win though, however i would like to put it up as part of my blog. The reason: i dont want to lose the story, i would rather it stays in the internet for posturity.

Enlightened

Close to the city of Paithan, in a small village called Sauviragram, which lay along the banks of the great river Godavari, lived a woman named Ilaa. Being cotton farmers, her family was well to do, but not among the richest in their area. It was the harvest season, and cotton had to be picked from the plants. The wholesalers and traders from Paithan would be arriving in just a few weeks, carrying gold and goods for barter. They would exchange what they carried for the cotton that the farmers grew. The bales of cotton had to be ready in time! Work was at its peak!

But Ilaa was not to be found in the fields. She wasn't working. Instead, she was sitting by the banks of the great river Godavari.

'I am sick of this!' she grunted loudly.

She wiped the tears off her face and took a long deep breath. She had won, she wasn’t the one supposed to be crying. She didn’t even want to race in the first place. The boys had egged her on. They had ridiculed her and challenged her to a race. And if so, how is it fair that they get to be annoyed and how is it fair that her victory didn’t bring her elation.

 ‘Look, look there is Ilaa. Ilaa come race with us.’

‘Why can’t she? She is a boy! I mean look at her. She is darker than you Bhushan and she shouts louder than me. She is even taller than most of us here. I tell you, she is a boy. ‘

‘Look, look even her nostrils flare up like ours. Ilaa, Ilaa come race with us. Show us you are a boy.’

Normally Ilaa would ignore them; she knew they are being mean just because they can be mean. But today was different, today she was already annoyed. Today she didn’t feel like walking away. She decided she would race with the boys.

The race would start from the point where the water canals entered the fields of Samarth’s family and along the canals till it entered fields of Bhushan’s family. It was to be a 3 part race, the fastest three would move on to the next race, from where the fastest two would compete in the last. Ilaa knew the boys, she knew in order to win she had to defeat Bhushan.  And so it was, the last race was between Ilaa and Bhushan. He had been the fastest runner in the last two races. The boy had long legs, a straight sinewy body and the stamina of a horse. Even after the last two races, he wasn’t out of breath. Ilaa was drenched in her own sweat and close to gasping. At the starting line, they both stood with tensed muscles ready to pounce in action. She wiped the sweat of her brow and looked at Bhushan. He winked at her and said – ‘If you win, you get to pee standing up like us. Or maybe you already do!’

Ilaa doesn’t remember the details of the next 10 minutes. She remembers gasping loudly for air at regular intervals, she remembers screaming to fight the intense burn in her legs, she remembers hearing the other boys running after them, she remembers the rhythmic sound of feet on dry ground and she remembers when she reached the finish line she had to look back to see how far behind was Bhushan. Too tired to celebrate, she grasped her belly and doubled over taking long, hurtful breaths of air.

‘Ha ha! Bhushan, you lost to a girl, you lost to Ilaa. ’

‘May be Bhushan is a girl, Bhushan go wear a saree.’

‘Girl Bhushan, lady Bhushan, girl Bhushan!’

Ilaa was dumbstruck. She didn’t know Bhushan would lose, she didn’t know loss to a girl was worse. She saw Bhushan almost shaking in anger, his eyes getting misty before he ran away. The other boys started chasing him, hurling abuses at him. Why was Bhushan running away, why was he crying? Ilaa was the one insulted, her success wasn’t one of joy, it was an offence. Ilaa should be running away, she should be crying.

She snatched at the grass around her and threw it at the direction of the river. She got up, dusted her saree and turned around to head to the fields. She saw Bhushan standing there. His eyes were red. There were scratch marks on his neck and chest. Slight spots of blood were smeared across his upper lip and his hair was covered in dirt. She saw he had been fighting. He came up to her and before she could say anything he slapped her hard.

‘You whore! You wait, just you wait. I will destroy you and I will destroy your family!’

He slapped her again and walked away.

Ilaa stood there - the pain was throbbing, the insult was burning and the impunity was baffling.

The three days of trading in Sauviragram was important for every household. Sellers from other regions in Paithan were also encouraged to attend. Every year the crowd was different, the only regulars were the buyers from Paithan and Surat. The previous year there was a lot of excitement when buyers had come from Cassimbazar and Lucknow. Some years before there were buyers coming from Bombay, Golconda and even as far as Calicut. There are also urban legends of buyers coming from across the seas, all white skin, coloured hair and beard to trade with their copper, swords, lead and bullion. However recent changes by the Shah have enabled safer and shorter trading routes. The distant cities would trade with their closest nodal trading marts, and they in turn will trade with their closest till a swift, systematic network was formed. But, there were still buyers who liked to visit far flung places, be it with the intention of adventure or better deals. Sauviragram sold medium staple cotton bales, plain and painted calicoes and chintz. The items would be bartered for raw silk, taffetas from Bengal, lead/copper/gold bullion, food grains, indigo, wood and in very rare cases diamonds and pearls from Golconda.  This year, the overseers have promised the farmers of buyers from Punjab, Ahmedabad, Mysore and Bengal and may be even Persia or Dutch. The Rana family of Paithan would start sending overseers weeks before the actual trading- to monitor progress, to dictate ceiling of bales to trade, to fix prices and mostly to tally profit for each Sauviragram household after deduction of taxes and debt accrued. The overseers were also charged with performing the actual buying and selling, they would also decide the barter depending upon the needs of the Rana family. Each year the farmer anticipates the amount of silk, aromatic roots, musk and other luxury required by the Rana and farm accordingly. Not every other item bought is given to the farmers sometimes their equivalent price is paid in coins. Food grains and wood though, are given as is.

Like last year, Ilaa accompanied her father. Her father was anticipating better returns as the length, uniformity and strength of the fibre was satisfactory. It was essential to get better profits, the debt in their family was rising and last year was a disaster for them. They left early morning with their wagons of cotton and sustenance for the road. It was important for them to meet with the overseer as early as possible since each overseer took turns to trade for many sellers. At the mart, Ilaa found Bhushan setting up shop right beside them. Being the eldest in his family, he was considered to be capable of being alone. His father was visiting the Rana for some serious consultation. She found Bhushan to be cheerful, boisterous and completely dismissive of her. She still remembers the insult from a few weeks back even though it seemed that he had forgotten. However as the day progressed it became very clear to Ilaa that he, indeed, had not.

Bhushan and his overseer were snatching away the sellers from their counter with loud claims of the superiority of their product. They were ensuring faster sales by quoting low prices and lying about the ginning count. Ilaa’s father was helpless and his attempts at quoting low prices were swiftly quelled by their overseer. Each buyer snatched from them would mean a sneer from Bhushan directed at Ilaa. The entire day, Bhushan, in cahoots with their foul mouthed overseer targeted them and by day end Ilaa’s father had managed to sell only a meagre percentage. Before they closed, Ilaa’s father heard dire warnings from their overseer. That night Ilaa did not sleep well. That night, Ilaa’s father did not sleep at all.

The next morning, they purposefully set up their wares at a different location. The day started well and they were able to sell some more of their products at a good price. Things turned foul when Bhushan showed up. Like the day before, he set up right beside them. Like the day before, his unfair policies hurt. Complaints and threats from her father were suppressed after a quiet negotiation between Bhushan with his overseer and theirs. By day end, Ilaa was fuming and her father was completely beaten down. She knew the only thing holding back his tears was her presence. She decided something had to be done. Tomorrow was going to be different.

Her grandmother, Gauthami, had named her Ilaa.

At her first attempt to pronounce her grandmothers name, she could only manage the last syllable. It sounded so endearing that her grandmother taught her to address her as Meemai. For Ilaa Meemai was many things; she was her refuge when she got in trouble, she was her sole audience when she would sing or dance, she was her guru for all her myriad questions on life and she was her idol. Whenever Ilaa would get disciplined for her mischief or her disobedience she did only one thing. She would put on a sullen face, go to her Meemai and lay down on her lap. She never had to tell Meemai what had happened, she never had to explain her feeling. Meemai always knew. Meemai would gently caress her hair and proceed to tell Ilaa a story. Sometimes there were stories from her life, sometimes there were stories of divinity and mythology and sometimes there were simple flights of fantasies. Ilaa took more than comfort from all she heard cocooned within Meemai’s touch and her warm embracing thighs. She learnt, she deduced, she rebelled, she empathized and she grew. It was on one such day, Ilaa would come to know how she was named.

King Ila was renowned as a benevolent king, a great warrior, a nifty administrator and an admirer of the sport of hunting. During one such hunt, he chased a deer to the revered forested lands where Kartikeya was born. Legends say every living being on entering the sacred lands morphed into female form and so did King Ila. On hearing the plight of the good King, goddess Parvati reduced the curse. King Ila would be in his male form for a month, and morph into his female form the next.

Ilaa found the story fascinating, more so when she was told Meemai had fought with many to name her Ilaa. Meemai had told her wistfully that she had wanted her granddaughter to avail of all the benefits of being born a man, if only in her namesake. If only in theory.

And so Ilaa decided, the next day she would take her male form.

The next day Ilaa’s father did not turn up at the market. Instead, few noticed the sudden appearance of a quiet boy, dark skinned and tall with his face hidden in a pheta. Bhushan noticed him when he set up shop right beside him. He ignored the new party and kept looking for Ilaa. The day’s trading started. Bhushan was not able to focus. Intermittently he would leave his wares with his overseer and go in search of Ilaa and her father. The thought of her hiding from him was satisfying however the fear that they might have found a better place at the market was making him restless. The trading went normal and he did not need to quote low prices. The boy beside him was making steady sales in his absence and Bhushan tried to catch up. However, his insistence at getting the correct price that day and lack of enthusiasm hurt his sales. By the end of the day he found that he had sold less than the any of the previous two days and his counterpart next to him had sold quite a good percentage at some very nifty price.

As Bhushan was packing up, his father returned. After a short discussion with their overseer Bhushan’s father was enraged. The boy beside him peeked from under his pheta to watch Bhushan getting a sound beating from his father for disturbingly low sales and that too at no particular gain. The boy smiled just a little bit. He wanted to smile more, however he knew today’s sales was not enough for them to counter for the losses of the last two days.

That night, Ilaa was restless in her bed. She kept thinking of the past three days. She kept thinking of the race, she kept thinking of that slap and she kept thinking of Bhushan. She should have some comfort in the knowledge that Bhushan had been hurt in his attempts to wreck their income. She should have some satisfaction that she had been able to thwart him, some joy in his comeuppance. She did not feel joy, she did not feel vindicated. She felt condemned. Ilaa knew she could never share this story with anyone. She knew people would misunderstand and conclude it as evidence that in order to be good at something you need to be a man. She felt guilty that she had felt the need to dress up as a man to fight with another, and she vowed to never do that again. Ilaa was only 13 years old. She would be married off the next but she was still a child. Even her tender experience told her that in her supposed victory lay her actual failure. The long tedious night gave way to a cool, shiny dawn. Ilaa was still awake. Only now, she was smiling. She knew what she had to do.

She would share this story only with her daughter. She would instruct her to share the same story with her daughter. She hoped that her story would be told through generations till finally one girl no longer found it relevant. Till one day, when the limitations of a girl was only hers and not her genders. Till one day, when the achievements of a girl was only hers, and not her genders.