DEJA VU

Please check earlier stories by clicking on the month on the right 

FOR : MARCH 2014

DEJA VU

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            Another train puffed its way in to the station. The coolies in faded red uniforms broke out of inertia to take position in front of assigned areas for the coaches to stop. It seemed like they had an unwritten law about the territories they were to operate in.

Amal rubbed his eyes and looked around. His big eyes were filled with fear and hope to find a familiar face appear to bring an end to his gnawing worries. For the last four days he has been waiting and watching the same scene repeat a number of times and had come to the conclusion that in a busy railway station like the Sealdah, it is easy to lose one’s way. He held his younger brother Binod’s  hand tightly to give the child some comfort. They were both tired and famished. For the past few days they have been living on food that was discarded by passengers before they could board the train. It was a tough fight to get the morsels before the pie dogs could get to them.

Suddenly there was a sea of humanity bursting out of all corners of the platform. As the crowd grew wild, Amal tightened his grip on his brother's hand further. He looked into his tired eyes frightened by the noise and crowd around them.  The brothers also knew that it was time for the ticket checkers and the railway guards to begin their periodic vigil. They would ask the same questions and try to shoo them off from their spot. It has been the case for the last four days. Somehow Amal had learnt the trick by now to give them evasive answers quite unfalteringly.

            The Howrah - New Jalpaiguri train was about to leave when the TC in his frayed black uniform saw the two young boys huddling together with the same look of concern in their eyes he saw the day before. And of course, at the same spot. He thought for a moment and decided to give them a spray of ‘gaalis’. It always gave him a  sense of achievement to vent out his frustrations on the helpless. He suppressed a yawn and looked at the time and realised he was tired from his overnight trip overboard. Nevertheless, he was determined and moved towards the boys. He still had some time in hand for some entertainment before he could catch the last bus to go back home.

            "Hey, you. What do you think you two are doing here again today?" He looked monstrous to the boys. They clutched each other's hands hard.

            "We are waiting," Amal tried to sound calm, but he knew his knees were shaking. What if the TC threw them out of the station? They would have nowhere to go.

            "Waiting?" The TC's eyes narrowed. "Waiting for whom? For the Governor to come and take you home, I suppose." He spat out some paan and wiped his mouth with his jacket sleeve.

            "No, I mean, we told you before that we are waiting for our Mamu to take us back to the village," Amal sounded brave enough to utter those words without shaking with fear. He was not quite sure how long that wait would be but he also knew by now that if they did not weep or look unnecessarily frightened, nobody could really bother them.

            A bunch of station urchins had tried to befriend them several times. For Amal and Binod they were difficult to communicate with. The kids spoke a different language. It was a mixture of rudimentary Hindi and Bengali slang which they could not follow. No one spoke like that in their little village. They realized that it was perhaps the language of the city. Not realizing what response was expected from them, they just stared at them with vacant eyes. The kids found it amusing and made fun of them. Some threw stones at them and some tugged at their torn shirts. When they got no satisfactory response from the two ‘village idiots’, they grew tired of harassing them and left them alone.

            "What are you staring at me for?" The TC snarled." Tell me why you are waiting here doing nothing?" He definitely sounded menacing. “I see you two standing here everyday. Tell me, do you belong to a gang? You think you can fool me? I’ll drag you to the police and hand you two over if you don’t tell me the truth.”  The man spat out some ‘supaari’ from his mouth on to the railway tracks.

            Little Binod was almost in tears when Amal blurted out, " Oh, please don’t. Mamu told us that he would come and take us back to the village. I swear," Amal was pleading.
            "You swear !  ‘Saala’, who are you kidding? Your Mamu is coming back to take you home? You idiots, he has left you two here to die. Do you know that? He doesn’t want you. He left you here to get rid of you and your stupid brother. He doesn't care if you go without food or have no shelter in this strange huge city or even if somebody kills you. He wants you to die, do you understand?"  The TC's voice was rising. He wasn't sure who he was angry with, the kids or the much revered ‘Mamu’ who had left the two boys to fend for themselves in a jungle like Calcutta. 

            A small crowd of curious people in no hurry was gathering around them. The TC looked around and beamed with pride for having discovered the secret plans of the maternal uncle of the two hapless boys. There were comments in mixed languages from the crowd around. Most of them laughed and poured out gaalis to the absent ‘Mamu’ for being so cruel. But none showed signs of offering a helping hand. Some waited a few moments and then moved on and some lingered to watch the fun or more drama to take place.

            “What’s going on here? Why are you blocking the way? Let people pass.?” Deeksha was screaming. She was taking a group of ladies to the centre for destitute women to a village nearby. The crowd in front of them was not letting them pass. She saw the TC and yelled. “Look here, Sir. Why can’t we pass? Tell these people to make way, for god’s sake. We are looking for our coach.”

            The TC saw a fairly young woman in good clothes accompanied by some well-to-do ladies wiping the sweat from their faces with fancy hankies. They were all glaring at him. His expression changed immediately. He waved out to the children and the crowd to move on and approached them straightening his jacket.

            “Sorry Madam. These kids are a nuisance. For the last four days they have been waiting for someone to take them back home. Some lies! Who knows if they are part of a gang of robbers! These days they are using kids to do the preliminary work. So I was just checking if all was ok!” He wiped his face. “Yes, Madam, what is your problem?”

            “We are looking for the AC Chair Car. I believe they have changed its position these days.” Deeksha said looking at the two boys clutching each other. They looked like they had not eaten or slept for days.

            “Please follow me,” the TC moved on with the ladies in tow.

            “What did you say the story was of the two boys?” Deeksha asked the TC as they walked along.

            “Oh. It’s nothing unusual. They say their Mamu had brought them from the village to take them to their a unt’s house in Calcutta. He couldn’t feed them anymore, I guess. He had told them to wait at a spot while he went to call up the aunt. The boys were to wait for him to come back. If the aunt was not home, he would take them back to the village. But you and I both know that he would never come back.” He laughed. “Madam, this is happening to so many kids everyday and they are becoming a liability to the station people, you know.”

“So what will you do with them?”

“What can I do? I am a poor man myself, Madam. Perhaps some gangsters will find them useful and take them under their wings. Begging is an industry these days.” He laughed showing his teeth that were red from chewing beetle leaves.

            They stopped at a place where the AC Chair Car had stopped. Deeksha thanked the TC and got busy boarding the train with her friends discussing the new projects they have developed for destitute and battered women in the villages. The NGO or the welfare organization they represent has adopted to educate and empower these women.

The train stopped lazily at the station. It was already dark and  there was a steady flow of commuters rushing to get on board to go home to nearby towns. Deeksha always wondered why people ran to board a train. It would wait for a while anyway.

            The ladies were still chattering with pride at the thought of their

project’s success at the village centre of their organization. It had

been a successful trip and they were already planning their next move to adopt some more villages with a great mission.

            “My god! Look at those two boys. They are still waiting.” Deeksha gasped.

            “Which boys?” Manjula Biswas was curious.

            “Over there, by the pillar. Can you see them, Manjuladi?” Deeksha said.

            “Oh, yeah, the ones waiting for their uncle to take them back to the village?” said Aroti Mazumdar. “My goodness, they are still hopeful!”

            “This is ridiculous.” Majula Biswas sounded angry. “Why doesn’t the man come and get them? How can one be so irresponsible?”

            “Didn’t you hear what the TC said this morning? They come from the villages to leave unwanted people like relatives who are a burden on them to fend for themselves or die in the city. I guess, most of them are kids and old people.” Deeksha sounded exasperated.

            “How cruel!” Indrani Ghosh was almost in tears. How can they do this?”
            ”Well, there is no law against this?” Deeksha said. “It’s a question of  moral values. You can’t be humane when you can’t get food for yourself. How do you expect them to feed others?”

            “This is why the crime rate has gone up. You see, if poverty is not dealt with, depravity is bound to set in,” said Majula Biswas quite wisely.

            “Well, can’t we do something about this?” said Indrani almost to herself.

            “In fact, I am going to go and talk to those boys now.” Deeksha marched up ahead. The ladies looked at each other and decided to follow her. They handed their bags to the driver waiting for them to take them back home and walked towards the boys sitting close to each other on the dirty platform floor. Deeksha was standing before them and talking to them already.

            “Hello, what are you two doing here?” Deeksha said sweetly.

The boys looked at her with distrust. But something in her manner and tone of voice told them she was, after all, not going to hurt them.

They stared at her while she repeated the same question again and again. Then Amol decided to get up and face her. “Why? Nothing. We are just sitting here.” He stammered.

            “Well, we saw you in the morning while we were taking the train and now after so many hours you are still sitting here? Why, beta?” Deeksha asked. “What’s your problem?”

            Tears were rolling down Amol’s cheeks. He did not even know that. Seeing his elder brother weeping, Binod opened his mouth to cry as well.  They liked Deeksha and the ladies who joined her and the weeping went on for some time. The crowd around them was growing large.

            “It’s a clear case of desertion, Madam.” One wise guy commented. Between gasps and whimpering Amol told Deeksha their story. There was hardly any yield from the small plot of land that their father had. When he died their mother asked her younger brother to look after it which he did for some time. But unfortunately they lost their mother to malaria last month. Their uncle or “Mamu’ and his wife told them how difficult it was getting for them to feed them. They hardly got anything to eat. Mamu promised to bring them to the big city where his other sister lived. He said she was well-off and could look after them well. So they came to Calcutta in search of a new life with their maternal aunt. But Mamu left them here to wait for him till he came back but he never returned.  Now they do not know how to go back home or who to turn to.

            Deeksha looked at the ladies. They seemed to have the same thoughts she gathered. “Should we give it a try?” She asked Manjula- di.

            “But where do we keep them? Who is going to have them?” Manjula Biswas was a little apprehensive.

            Deeksha turned to the boys. “Tell me is there anybody you know around here, any address you can give? We can take you there.” Deeksha said but what she got was only blank stares.

“Do you know where your ‘Mashi’ stays. The boys shook their heads. The ladies looked worried. “What do we do now?” Indrani asked.     “Take them to the police?”

            “And have them tortured and abused?” Deeksha was looking at little Binod who could hardly keep his eyes open from weakness and crying all day. “I think I’m going to take them home. I’ll speak to Brinda at Care and see if she can think of something.”

She looked at Amol and took his hand. “Hey, are you scared to come with us?”

Amol said nothing. He just looked down at this brother and tightened his grip on him. “We haven’t done anything wrong, didi. We are just waiting for Mamu.” He said to Deeksha in his unpolished rural dialect.

“I didn’t say that. Ok, if we put you in the train, will you be able to go back home on your own?”

The brothers looked at each other and Binod started weeping again.

“What if we can’t find our way!” Amol said. His eyes were filled with big tears.

“Why, don’t you remember the way you came in?” Deeksha asked the boy.

“We had to take a van and then change two trains.”
”What’s the name of your village?”

“Goraipur.”
”Gouripur?”

“No, Goraipur where the bamboo bridge collapsed the other day and there was a fire in the rice fields.”

Deeksha looked at the ladies. This is not a new story. It’s happening everyday in all rural areas in the state. No way can they trace them back to Goriapur. Maybe the police can, but will they?

            “Well, it seems like you haven’t eaten all day. Want to eat something?” asked Manjula-di. The boys nodded. Binod’s eyes sparkled at the thought of getting something to eat.

            “Then come with us.” Indrani took Binod’s hand while he clutched his elder brother’s hand with the other one. Leaving their contact address at the Station Master’s room, just in case the absconding uncle came looking for the kids, the ladies got into the Inova that was waiting for them outside. The boys huddled in the back clutching each other’s hands.

 ********************

 “Mom, I don’t want to go to India. It’s a rotten place. So hot and dirty. I never want to go there.” Aaron was putting on his baseball gear. There was venom in his voice.

Marianne wondered if her son was getting to be a racist American suffering from zenophobia. “I’d much rather go and see the Grand Canyon with Phil and Hugh.”

“Well, you could, but this should be a great experience for you,” said Marianne to Aaron, the elder of her two boys. “You can go to see the Grand Canyon next Christmas when you come down again, my dear.”

            Aaron was adamant and kept practising throwing an imaginary ball in an imaginary baseball Diamond in the living room. He played for the baseball team in his college and at twenty had made quite a name for himself. He was sure to get a scholarship next semester for his extraordinary performance bringing the college back its trophy from a rival team.

            “Honey, it’s a great place where there are so many interesting places to see. I’ve written to Shalini and she’s organizing a trip to Rajasthan for us. Your Dad wants you two to see Indian forts and palaces. India is not just about poverty and heat only. It has so much history and glory.”

            “Mom, do they have shopping malls and Pizza there?” Benji was getting curious. He was sixteen and was forever hungry.

            “I guess they do. We were there twelve years ago and, I believe, India is very modern today. They have KFC and your favourite McDonald’s there as well. So, I promise, you won’t go hungry, honey.” Marianne ran her fingers through Benjamin’s rough dark hair. He gave her a big smile that said he was ready to go wherever they took him.

            That night Marianne reported to Jonathan that finally she had been able to persuade the boys to go with them to India. Jon did not say anything but just smiled and gave her a wink meaning “I told you, they would finally agree”.

            Marianne’s face clouded. “No, Jon, I’m scared. I’m scared Aaron is growing up to be a nasty and a selfish bigot. I can see he cares for no one but himself and, “she paused for a while, “perhaps for Benji and us. But he’s got to do better than that.” Marianne had tears in her eyes. “I have failed Jon. I have failed to bring him up the way we wanted.” Jonathan knew his wife meant every word she said. He got up and hugged her.

“Let’s take this last chance, shall we?” He said looking into her eyes.

            Shalini Mehta greeted the Eustermann family at the airport with open arms. She was a bundle of energy and could talk non-stop. The flight was a little delayed but by the time they reached the hotel, Shalini had filled them in with all the details of the itinerary that was to begin the next day. As she talked her dark hair that fell to her shoulders glistened in the light and her shimmering silk sari mesmerized Marianne. The boys looked tired and were ready to crash. The heat, even in the middle of December, was bothering them.

“Shalini, I have a request to make. Do you remember I had mentioned something about showing the boys real life in Calcutta, real people and a trip to the countryside? Can we do that please? We’d love to see that? We’d also like to visit the orphanage, if possible.”

“Yeah, why not? I have already kept a day free for you to move around freely wherever you want. We can do that. No problem.”

Jonathan gave her a smile and thanked her for being so thoughtful.

            When Shalini was gone, Aaron and Benji burst out laughing. They made fun of her funny accent and excess of enthusiasm. Everything she did or said sounded too exaggerated to them. Marianne scowled. She reminded them that Indians were by nature very hospitable and helpful. She warned them not to sound arrogant or rude to anybody they met. She made it clear that she wouldn’t tolerate that. The boys chuckled but nodded.

            The trip to Rajasthan was colourful. The boys were happy to go on camelback riding and getting on elephants. The weather too was a welcome change from what it was in Calcutta. It was cooler. While Jonathan and Marianne marveled at the ancient palaces and relics, the boys showed little interest in India’s ancient glory. They found the food tasty though and gorged on ice-cream and jalebis.

            Back in Calcutta, a day trip around the city was too much for the boys especially in and around the temples and places of worship which they found filled with filth and stench that was revolting at times.

“God, why would anyone want to live like this! I wonder!” Aaron said with disgust. He pretended to throw up. Benji rolled on the carpet and laughed while Jonathan struggled to get some decent channel in English on TV trying to ignore their comments. But all he got was news and some ancient cartoon reruns. He laughed and settled for a sports channel that showed a tennis match.

“Well, that’s exactly the point,” Marianne said while she folded clothes into the cupboard. “This is for you to see how people live around the world and count your blessings. Living in the US doesn’t really give you a true picture of the world we live in, boys.”

“Who wants to live anywhere else?” said Aaron frowning.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else either.” Benji said.

“Tomorrow we’ll see how little children live in some places and how. They have no choice like you do.” Marianne said suddenly sounding serious. “They’re lucky if they get a full meal a day!”

“Oh,no. We’re not visiting an orphanage!” Aaron was deflated.

“Yes, we are,” said Jonathan, “and you’d better be ready by nine. Now go to your room.” The boys lazed around for a little longer and when they realised they could not change the plans for the next day, got up and left the room.

3         

Shalini introduced the Eustermanns to Lalita Mitra, the orphanage in-charge. Greetings and pleasantries were exchanged. Shalini explained to Ms Mitra that the Eustermanns had come to donate some money to the orphanage which Ms Mitra accepted most graciously.

“I remember a lady here some years ago. Her name was Mrs Dipali Chanda. Is she still around?” Marianne asked.

“Of course, she is here today even though she is no longer in service. She comes here occasionally as a volunteer and advisor. She is getting on in age, you know.” Lalita smiled.

“I can imagine that.” Marianne smiled back. “Will it be possible for us to meet her today?” Marianne hesitated for a while. “She’ll probably remember us.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Let me see where she is and arrange for a meeting with you. Would you like to wait here?” Lalita waved to a girl and told her to do the needful and disappeared through another door.

            The boys were getting restless. They had seen enough of the poor kids in ill-fitting clothes hugging broken toys, eating out of bowls with their fingers. Aaron found that repulsive! Sooner they could get out of the place, the better it would be for them, he figured.

            Lalita came back in a few minutes and asked them to follow her to the next floor where they were to meet with Mrs. Dipali Chanda. Marianne and Jon climbed up the narrow stairs with the boys following them.

            “Hello, hello,” Mrs Chanda got up to greet the Eustermanns. Her hair was all silver and she looked like a starched shrunken doll in her crisp white sari with a thin red and gold border. Her powerful glasses were thick to make her eyes look larger than usual. Her face obviously had more lines this time than before, Marianne thought. She could realize that Dipali Chanda had not recognised her.

 “It’s so very kind of you to donate such a huge sum for the organization. It’s people like you with big hearts who have kept the organization going. We can do only so much.” She wiped her face with a hanky.           

In a few minutes tea came with sweets and sandwiches which were mostly devoured by the boys in quick succession. The Eustermanns learnt that the cost of running the orphanage had shot through the roof and donations were not pouring in as they did at one time. The fact that newer homes for the poor and orphanages were mushrooming everyday and the NGOs were getting the lion’s share of the money that was coming in for publicity. There was always little money left to run the show. Unfortunately the ones that were suffering were the kids and the needy. Adoption rules have also become so complicated that many people have given up on that unable to wait and watch.

“We do not know what future we can give the little children we have now.” Mrs Chanda looked worried.

            Marianne got up and sat next to her. She took her hand in hers and said, “Do you not remember me, Mrs Chanda?”

Mrs Chanda was a bit startled at this move and leaned back to look at Marianne’s face up close. She blinked a couple times and said, “I have yet to have my cataract operation. But, yes, you do look familiar. Have we met before?”

“We certainly did,” Marianne laughed. About fourteen years ago I was here begging you to give me the gift of motherhood. Not just with one child but two. And you were kind enough to give me both.” Marianne could feel tears rolling down her powdered face. “Look there,” she pointed at the two boys sitting close to their father with knitted eyebrows. Marianne looked at Aaron. She saw horror in his eyes.

“These are the two gems you had gifted me that day.” Marianne was weeping now.

Mrs Chanda got up from her chair and walked towards the boys who cringed with shame. She looked at them and smiled. “Yes, yes. I remember. The two boys that were deserted by their uncle at the station, I remember. They were barely three and five then, I guess.” Mrs Chanda rubbed her eyeglasses.

“When Brinda brought them over to me with a friend of hers, I think, Deeksha or Deesha was the name, I couldn’t believe my ears. We waited for some time for the uncle or any relative to claim them after an ad was brought out in the papers. But no one showed up. Such is life in a country like ours. Poverty and greed can make you do anything. It kills your feelings. It destroys you as a human being.”

Mrs Chanda came back to her chair and sat down. She looked both tired and sad. She was breathless.

“How do you find them now?” Jonathan asked Mrs Chanda.

“Oh, fine, fine. They are delightful. I’m so glad you have taken such good care of them.” She wiped her eyes that were getting moist. Then she turned to Marianne and clasped her hands. “We are ever so grateful to you. Wish all parents could come and pay us a visit now and then.”

Marianne smiled and turned to Shalini and Lalita who were silent witnesses to the drama that just unfolded in front of them. Marianne gave a hug to Lalita. “Thank you for making our life more meaningful.” She looked at Mrs Chanda. “Take care of yourself and get your eyes checked so you can recognize me next time,” she hugged her.

No one said a word on the way to the hotel. Aaron looked ominous and made no eye contact either with his brother or his parents. At the hotel he went straight to his room and shut the door. He did not order food nor did he open the door to his brother. Benji spent the night in his parents’ room. Jonathan and Marianne stayed calm while Benji watched a tennis match on tv.

            Early in the morning there was a knock on Aaron’s room. It was by force of habit that he got up and opened the door. He found Marianne standing there looking at him. She looked tired and perhaps a little sad. Something inside hurt him. Marianne went past him to get in the room and sat on the bed that was made for Benji. She said nothing but just looked at Aaron while he planted himself in front of her on his unmade bed.

When it felt like eons Marianne said, “Where did we go wrong, Aaron? You knew that you were not our own, didn’t you?”
Aaron slid to the floor at her feet and buried his head in her lap. He was howling silently. Marianne put a hand over his shaking body to comfort him. When he looked up, his face was all wet.

“Why did you bring me back here again, Mom? Why?”
”Because we thought you must know where you came from…. because you were the one who was always resisting anything we about India.”

She wiped his face gently with a tissue.

“I knew you had not forgotten everything. Benji was perhaps too small. Perhaps he might have buried it all. We wanted you to know that we truly love you both even though you were not one of us. We wanted you as our own, honey. You know that, don’t you?” Marianne wiped her face. “Darling, we didn’t want to separate you two either so you could have someone of your own always close to you. But, honey, you also had to see what is truly your own. We couldn’t deny you that. Could we?”

“I had forgotten it all. I hated it. I don’t want to remember any of it.” Aaron was sobbing away.

“I know, darling, I know everything. You had not forgotten it all. You were only rejecting it. Believe me, today you have a choice. I know you can face it no matter how hard it’s for you. If you ever want to go back to India to do something for the needy, you can. And I know someday you will.” Marianne wiped the tears that kept rolling down her face. “The world is yours today but, honey, you must look at it with sympathy and not with fear or hate. Promise me that.”

Aaron clutched at Marianne’s housecoat and then let it go. He got up to face her and wiped his face. There was a long silence while he stared blankly at the carpet below.

 “Thank you,” he whispered at length. “Thank you for showing me the world I came from,” he paused and cleared his throat, “the way we were. Thank you for the kindness you have shown to us. All I know is that you are the only mom I have.” He got up and hugged Marianne. He didn’t realize that Benji had also walked in quietly and was witness to his big brother’s rebirth.

Dola Dutta Roy
March 2014

THE PERFECT HIDEAWAY

Please check earlier stories by clicking on the month on the right 

 FOR : FEBRUARY 2014                                                                         

 The Perfect Hideaway

  All Rights  Reserved

Jyoti always preferred traveling by train. The music and cadence in the rapid movement of the wheels usually lulled her to sleep. Not just that, she was scared of flying. She also got airsick whenever she tried flying. A lot of times she had to travel on her own while others traveled by air. Especially Vikash, who was almost always running late to join them for a vacation. Most of the time Jyoti took Rahul a day or two ahead, when he was a child, waiting for Vikash to catch up with them at the planned destination. This time too Jyoti was traveling alone. The only difference was that Rahul, her sixteen-year-old son, had better things to do joining a trekking group at the foothills of the Himalayas and Vikash was away on an assignment to Russia.

It was not a big deal, Vikash had told her. "I'll be back in no time. Promise. Right before the Pujas. Just let me get the consignment to Russia out of the way and clinch the new deal." Taking a quick look at Jyoti's clouding expression, he added," I know I need a break, darling and I'd also like to spend the Pujas with my family, you know. It's just a matter of  three, four days " Jyoti said nothing.

This was not the first time Vikash was too busy to even take time off from work and spend a few days with the family. Even when the whole world was celebrating Durga Puja, Diwali or Christmas. This was not a new phenomenon either. At least for the last few years, Vikash has been busy enough to the point of neglecting his family. There have been scenes between the two on several occasions with Jyoti complaining and Vikash getting defensive and, lately, offensive. He made it very clear to her that --at the point that he was in his career-- his work came first and he had to prove his worth to the world. Not that Jyoti objected to it. Vikash was ambitious. In fact, she admired him for his drive and determination to get ahead in life. His travels abroad were more than fruitful as he got more and more accounts and contracts for his company which made his climbing the corporate ladder remarkable and the envy of many. And yet Jyoti caught herself feeling pangs of regret at Vikash being so successful when she longed for him to make time for her. At least, sometimes.

This time it was more irking when she had just lost her mother a few months ago and she felt the need for Vikash's company even more than before.

Jyoti didn't look at Vikash when he was getting ready the day he was leaving for Russia. Nor did she ask for any necessities, as was the normal practice every time he went abroad. There was a steely silence about her, which Vikash found a little too difficult to ignore. He showered her with extra hugs and pecks promising her a special trip this Puja. But Jyoti had other plans. She was not going to be there to make it, she told herself. She was not going to wait for him this time to give her another opportunity to disappoint her. She was going to be busy herself. No, it wouldn't be anything nasty or radical; she was just going to disappear and let her family miss her a bit. Just be untraceable for a while to shake them up for taking her too much for granted.

A few days of moping around and self-analysis, Jyoti realised that all her life she had had no chance to be herself. Most of her life was spent waiting around for others to make up their mind. As a young girl she waited for her parents to decide her future. As a woman, her life revolved around what Vikash always wanted to happen.  As a mother, of course, she was expected to shed all her personal goals and evolve as a pillar of strength with a self-effacing patience -- often glorified with the title of Motherhood. She realised that in the past ten years or so Vikash had already made himself scarce by being furiously busy at making a place for himself at his area of work. But ever since Rahul grew up and got busy with his friends and newfound activities, she had been feeling increasingly lonely. It seemed like nobody had any time for her or even realise that she needed company as well. Social work and running a 'basti' school was not enough. It was almost like 'all work and no play' for her. But things have to change. This time she was going to make her presence felt by being absent for a while.

Jyoti called up her cousin Anjana, who was single and 'bindaz'. But Anjana was unable to make any commitments on grounds of being busy arranging for a major workshop for the Buddhist organisaton that she had affiliated herself with some years ago. Even her youngish Chotomashi, more of a friend than a doting aunt, widowed early in life, seemed engaged in community preparations for the upcoming Durga Puja at the apartment complex she lived in. It was suddenly quite apparent to Jyoti  that she had to do her own thing and felt this tremendous need to get her own way and give herself a treat. At least, may be this one time in life.

Surfing the Net one evening, Jyoti grew more aware of possibilities and got this big idea. She looked up some travel sites and sent out mail to some asking them to organise a package tour for her. Her patience and determination paid off eventually.

 As soon as Rahul's school closed down for the holidays he left for the hills with his trekking team. Vikash left for Moscow soon after that. Both of them left with the promise that they were going to be back to spend the five days of Durga Puja together, which was just a week away. Jyoti smiled a mysterious smile but made no comments. The very next day, she picked up her tickets, packed her bags, locked up everything in the house and sent the cook and the two ayahs for a long break. She didn't take the car on purpose as she didn't want anybody to know where she was heading. Only Anjana knew but was asked to keep her mouth sealed about her whereabouts.

She took a taxi and boarded the train at the station all by herself. Something she hadn't done in years.

The train came to a halt with a jerk pulling Jyoti out of her reverie. They were barely out of the small station they had just crossed on the way. She looked at the elderly Punjabi lady across from her, occupying the lower berth of the AC- I compartment. Her son was still out of the cabin with his companion in the corridor.

"Oh, dear! I hope the train is not going to be late. I have a wedding to attend in Dehra Dun tomorrow. Does anything run on time these days?" The old lady was muttering to herself looking through Jyoti, as though she did not exist.

Jyoti looked concerned. It was not that she was in a hurry to reach Delhi. Delhi didn't hold any special charm for her anymore. She'd been to Delhi several times. But this time was different. She didn't want any hitches spoiling her plans.

" There is an accident up ahead. Some woman's body was found lying on the tracks outside the station we just crossed and there is a lot of agitation regarding that." The elderly lady's son stuck in his head to give his mother the bad news.

"Does that mean that we are going to be late?" The lady sounded irritated, least concerned about the dying body on the tracks. "I don't know, but I don't think so. They'll make it up at night. Rajhdhanis are seldom late." The head disappeared, as though the young man didn't want to wait for the questions soon to ensue.

The train didn't stop for too long, after all. It left iin about forty minutes and by then the two ladies had made friends and shared some of the snacks they were carrying.

"You must be going to Delhi for the fist time," the lady was curious. Jyoti shook her head and told her that their plan was to go to Delhi and move on to Rajasthan for a holiday. Her husband had promised to take her there many years ago but somehow it had never happened. She carefully didn't mention the fact that she was traveling all alone to her destination on her quest for obscurity.

"Are you going to Jaipur? " The lady grew curious.

"No. In fact, we are going to visit Bharatpur and check out the bird sanctuary there."

" That's interesting. Where are you going to stay?" " In a haveli- turned- hotel called the Chandra Mahal. I believe it belonged to the landed gentry in the feudal days of Rajasthan."

The lady was intrigued. "That must be very interesting."

"I believe so. I understand, peacocks dance around in the green lawns of the 'mahal' during the day." Jyoti smiled thinking of the pleasant sight and suddenly realised that she was parroting the words of the travel agent that sold the package to her.

 "It is really exclusive, Ma'am," the travel agent had said. "It's an experience to live in a place like that with its Old World charm. Since you are looking for a quiet place just to relax in, nothing could be better than that, Ma'am."

"But, we don't know anybody out there. What'll I do there all alone?" Jyoti realised that she sounded like an imbecile wanting to know if the place was safe for a single woman to visit and live in. After all, she was going for a retreat to be all by herself. She was embarrassed.

"You have nothing to fear, Ma'am. It is a very exclusive and well looked after place. Very, very safe and only decent people like you go there. Besides, we know the manager of the hotel very well. You have nothing to worry."

Somehow, Jyoti wanted it to be fine. She was more than reassured. It would be a welcome change she thought to herself and immediately decided to take the plunge. Perhaps she actually wanted to go to a godforsaken place just to disappear from the familiar scene where Vikash would never expect her to be. Actually, there was this secret burning desire that she wanted him to look for her when he came back from Russia to an empty house and wonder where she might be. It filled her with an immense sense of delight at the thought of him going crazy, missing her when she was nowhere to be traced.

The lady in the train was grinning at her still. "Mmm. Sounds interesting. Is this your honeymoon or anniversary? Where is your husband?" Now she was probing, Jyoti felt.
          "Oh, no." Jyoti blushed. "We have been married eighteen years and we got married in the month of August."

"Well, people get married at all ages these days. Sometimes, for the first time. Sometimes, for the second or third. One can't actually say." The lady's well-painted mouth went crooked with a cruel smirk.

Jyoti carefully avoided the second part of her earlier question as dinner came in. She thought they had chatted enough for the evening and it was time to call it a day. She took out a magazine and looked busy with it. The elderly lady quit making conversation with her when she realised that Jyoti found the article in the magazine more intriguing than their chitchat. Soon the lights were off and the train seemed to pick up speed.

A car was waiting for Jyoti at the New Delhi station, as promised by the travel agent. The guesthouse in Haus Khas was clean and comfortable. Jyoti realised that a night's rest there would give her the break she needed to embark on her historic journey the next day.

The morning tea gave Jyoti the boost she required and she suddenly felt that she was happy she had taken the decision to take a break on her own and was actually raring to go. She almost felt sorry for both Vikash and Rahul for not knowing what she was up to. However, it also gave her an unknown sense of power and freedom from an uncared for dedication at the altar of marriage for almost twenty years -- a kind of bonded labour women engaged in all over the world without being appreciated. She felt like Jonathan Livingstone, Seagull, and caught herself humming her favourite number on the way to Rajasthan in the Toyota Qualis arranged for her.

The Qualis took a sudden turn from the highway on the bend that led to a somewhat broad dirt road with a rough coating of tar to give it a civilized look. The road meandered between vast acres of farmland growing mustard and wheat.  The mud houses along the way housed farmers and among curious gazes from their womenfolk engaged in their daily chores Jyoti glided on her way to the 'haveli' getting a glimpse of Rajasthani rural life and the sylvan countryside.

The car stopped in front of an imposing gate with costumed doormen hurrying to help her out of the car. Jyoti had finally arrived at her place of retreat where no one could find her. She was not sure she knew what to expect next.

Inside the quaint structure of the century old haveli, they went through a large courtyard with stone pillars and carved doorways that led to rooms used for office work. The 'haveli' a mansion built by Muslim nobles in the 1850s reflects the glory of Mughal architecture Narrow passages with beautifully carved antique wooden furniture and marble tables placed along the wall took them to the interiors or the 'andar mahal' of the building. Colourful carpets ran through the entire length of the hallways that led to mysterious inner chambers meant to be living quarters for the boarders.

Suddenly there was an opening and a flurry of colours.  They fell into a manicured lawn where plants bearing fragrant flowers skirted the boundary walls under the canopy of the clear blue sky. Some uneven stone steps led them to the next level of the garden area which was, perhaps, more private. Soon they arrived at a section with a row of rooms, which seemed to have lower than usual, carved wooden doors and strange small windows with brass in-laid shutters. Heavy creepers cascaded down the pillars holding up the tiled roof that provided a certain amount of privacy like a green screen dividing each of the guestrooms sectioned out for living. Jyoti was mesmerized. She was glad to be there and almost unknowingly felt a tug at her heart for not being able to experience it all with her family, especially Vikash. She was sure she was going to love the quiet and peace around here and relish every moment of her stay.

"Are there many boarders here right now?" she asked the guy settling her things in the room.

"Not many. Just a few. At the moment, we have a few foreign travelers who have come to see the bird sanctuary and a few Indian families." The young man replied. "Would you be having your meal in your room or would you like to come to the dining room, Ma'am?"

"Mmm, I think I will eat at the dining room. Just give me a little time, ok?"

"Sure, Ma'am. If you need anything, you can reach the front desk by dialing 9."

Jyoti was glad to be alone in the cozy room. There was something very charming about the place and the decor. She loved the four poster antique bed and the traditionally upholstered couch and chairs in the room. The bathroom was tiled and spacious, just the way she liked it. When she came out of the room ready to go to the dining hall, she felt quite happy to be on her own, not needing to wait for others to decide things for her. 

The dining hall was adequately equipped with tables covered in old-fashioned damask and napkins folded in floral shapes. The cutlery too was heavy and old-fashioned singing of eras gone by. The walls displayed fading photographs of generations of the landed gentry that owned the 'haveli'. A couple of foreign visitors, dining in the room, looked up when she entered the hall and gave her a friendly smile. She smiled back, although a little embarrassed at appearing alone. She hurried through the Rajasthani meal she chose and was happy to be back in her room. Strangely enough, reminiscing of their honeymoon days, she fell asleep cocooned in the enveloping warmth of the soft Rajasthani quilt.

Jyoti woke up to the crowing of some strange birds outside her room. It was almost seven in the morning. She looked out of the low windows at the lawn and through the hazy screen of the morning mist found a couple of peacocks hanging around. It was an incredible sight, she thought. The morning sky was blurry blue. The greenery covering the ground and the high walls around the property, laden with ivy, looked inviting. Jyoti realised that the Qualis was coming to get her to take her sightseeing soon after breakfast.

The trip to the famous Keola Devi Bird Sanctuary was pleasant but exhausting. Jyoti learnt the names of many unseen birds and saw many migrant varieties crowding the green meadows. The guide also showed her a rare python soaking in the sun, almost camouflaged in its natural habitat. Birds of rare species vied with the ones that are pitifully going extinct like the Siberian Crane.

Jyoti was suddenly overcome with a sense of achievement for being able to see and enjoy it all on her own. She had forgotten what it was to live without too many 'ifs' and 'buts'. In her newfound freedom, playing truant, she realised she had discovered a new self for herself that could choose to do things without the usual props of status and social encumbrances of a mirthless existence. And yet, after daybreak when she was heading towards Chandra Mahal, the orange glow of the setting sun and curtain calls of the homing birds filled her with a tinge of guilt of not being able to share all this with the two very important men in her life.

"Ma'am, please keep this torch with you. There may be load-shedding in the evening," said the young man at the reception desk, handing her the key. Jyoti said a faint 'thank you' to the man with a smile and proceeded to the corridor that led to the courtyard. She realised that she was tired and perhaps she would ask for dinner in the room. The guide was going to take her to the Bharatpur King's Palace the next day for more treasures to be discovered. She was busy musing about the whole experience of the day and as she stepped into the courtyard, at the bend, she almost collided with a young woman in her mid-twenties coming from one of the office rooms wearing trendy, fashionable western clothing.

"I am so sorry. I didn't really see you," said a happy, well-modulated voice. The young woman laughed. "I am always bumping into people," she said.

"Oh, not to worry. I could hardly see much for myself. It gets pretty dark out here soon it seems." Jyoti sounded relieved to be able to communicate with a friendly soul in a far out place like this. She lit the torch that cast a faint stream of light that didn't lend much glory to the surroundings. They were moving in the same direction it seemed and quickly fell in step as they moved along the courtyard towards their respective guestrooms.

"Have you just arrived?" Jyoti was curious.

"Well, actually we are about to leave tomorrow. Wish we could stay a little longer, it's so beautiful out here." The young lady looked around." But my friend has work and has to be back home. Men are ever so busy these days. They have no time for vacations." The young woman's eyes smiled and in the low lights of the dying sun, Jyoti thought it was so good to be young and in love but wondered how long that would last.

The two women went down the uneven stone steps carefully where the tall trees housed the peacock family at night. Jyoti looked up. She could see the sky turning dark with the impatient moon slowly edging its way into the fading rays of the sun.

"Don't tell me you have found an old friend here as well," a male voice came from behind that stopped Jyoti on her track as she stepped into the lawn to cross over to her room. Very slowly she turned around. A man in his mid-forties ran down the steps impatiently to be with the young lady, like a bounding youngster. The faint light behind his silhouette made it difficult to see his face clearly. But the voice was too familiar to ignore.

 "Oh, c'mon. You are forever so jealous." The young woman laughed and almost tripped over a stone when the man grabbed her waist. They both broke into an intimate laugh. As the natural course of action to follow, he looked up to take a look at the stranger standing closeby. What he saw was not what he was expecting.

In the evening glow of the retreating sun their eyes met. Vikash stood there petrified, his left arm still guarding the young woman from her nervous fall with a frozen smile phasing out lazily from his face.


Dola Dutta Roy
Feb. 2014

THE GRADUATE

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FOR JANUARY 2014

THE   GRADUATE                                                                            

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This was the last time Umesh was going to ask Sriram Kaka for the job he had promised. It‘s been some time and every time he approached the man, he promised he was going to do something about introducing him to his boss. That day never came.

Umesh was a Graduate and had done some odd jobs as a school peon and an usher at a movie theatre in a multiplex much to his dislike especially when he had graduated with good marks in Hindi. But he soon realized that a degree in a vernacular subject could fetch nothing other than what he had already done. In his little village there was no one he knew who had finished school and he was a full fledged Graduate with a certificate stamped from the University of Patna. His family and neighbors looked up to him with respect and he was known for his intellect and hard work. He had become the official writer of words in his small community trying to promote communication between families and friends --sometimes even as the pen for secret lovers. He did it happily. But in a big metropolis like Calcutta what good is literature in the job market, that too Hindi literature! Nobody was looking for a budding Kalidasa, the great rhymester or Valmiki, the writer of ‘The Ramayana’, the ancient Indian mythology. His father would have argued but Father didn’t live in a big city with billions of unemployed youth who come to a metro from rural India with over-size dreams and neon hopes. Each day began with prayers and at nightfall they came back home as wasted, blown out candles.

Sriram Kaka was a neighbor. He was friendly and seemed to have a lot of clout around. People came to him with their problems and somehow he managed to show them a way to get out of it. If they went back home happy, he was a friend for life; and if they didn’t, he was their worst enemy.

When Sriram learnt that Umesh had come from his home town in the interiors of Bihar, he took him under his wings and promised to help him find a job that would make him rich some day. But seven months had gone by and after innumerable unsuccessful interviews and forty-seven reject-letters,  Umesh could only find a position in a small Girls’ school as a ‘temporary worker’ and later, his current job as an usher-boy which was also going to release him soon. He was filling in for someone who was recovering from an accident.

Even though he knew that he was clever enough to do other jobs of a clerical nature, Umesh realized early in his career that his greatest problem was his inability to speak English the way other city boys did with élan and confidence. He could make perfect sentences in English in his mind, or so he thought, but when it came to really speaking the language, it came out garbled and it all appeared incoherent even to him. But he knew that very few people could speak and write ‘shudh’ or pure Hindi like he did.  However, with great effort and practice, he had mastered the few sentences he was required to say as an usher boy. Every night, before Jatin, his roommate, returned from his Club duty by the Lakes, Umesh stood in front of the small mirror and practised those lines to perfection.

Jatin and Umesh were sharing the cost of their room at the outhouse of a big dilapidated mansion that still held a decadent, warring Bengali family together. It was just a room but they liked to call it their ‘home’. There were some others like them sharing space in the outhouse too but no one had the inclination to spend any time with anybody, let alone outsiders. Umesh was happy he got to share the room with Jatin, an import from Orissa to the big city, to upgrade his own lot like he did.

Their ‘home’ was not a palace. It was just a room with shabby, unpainted walls and two ‘charpais’ thrown in with a table and two stools as bonus. The light in the room was not adequate enough to even see your own face in the mirror. The single window had shutters that could easily get unhinged by the first lashing from a ferocious Nor’wester. They chose to keep it open at all times as it would let the hot air in for them to breathe. Jatin had a small table fan that they used to cool the temperature down in the room at night.

Sriram Kaka who lived nearby in the tiled yellow house with green painted doors and windows, was affable enough to care for his country cousin. But he had too many things on his plate. He had a sick mother, a nagging wife, a teenage son and a ten-year old handicapped daughter to care for. Nobody knew what he did for a living but some days he came home flushed with money and felt generous enough to buy some sweets for the kids and a garland and bangles for his wife. And if his mother croaked from her bed, he also gave her a bottle of the chutney she craved.

***************

“Kaka,” Umesh stood outside the green painted door and called out. He waited for a while and knocked again.

Rukmini Chachi answered the call. She came out with a frown creasing her brow.

“Sorry, Auntie, is Kaka home?” Umesh asked sheepishly.

“If he were, he would have answered you, wouldn’t he?” Rukmini said in an angry tone. “What is it that you want? I  haven’t got all day to stand here talking to you.”

Umesh thought for a while and then stammered nervously, “I think I’ll check back later tonight. Just be kind enough to tell him that I came by.” The door went shut before he could even finish the sentence.

Nobody was available in the ‘chai’ shop for a chat. It was early for tea time after sundown. But Umesh decided to wait because that gave him the chance to keep an eye on Sriram’s house. He asked for a small glass of tea and sat there sipping it.  

“You’re home early today!” The chai man gave a toothy smile. He was rubbing the saucers dry with the end of his shirt. Then he neatly stacked them up on the counter next to the small tea glasses, and the glass jars in a row, all filled with crackers and cookies.

Umesh gave him a fatigued look. “Yeah. This week I’ve got a different schedule.” He didn’t’ tell the man that this was also his last week at the movie theatre.

“Good, good.” The chai man grinned. “I also worked for a storehouse once and kept different timings on rotation work.” He was pumping the kerosene burner to regulate the flame, boiling some water in a pan. “But it didn’t suit me. You know, irregular hours and not enough money in hand.” He put a handful of tea in a strainer and dipped it in the boiling water.” Umesh looked at him through the corner of his eyes and took a sip of his tea that was getting cold for being held for so long.

“And then?” He asked the man not showing too much interest in the matter.

“Then? Ah, well, one day I just decided that I was not going to be slaving at a place that didn’t value my efforts being a good worker. I was just a face in the crowd for them. A number. I took a loan and bought this mobile cart and everything that I needed to set up this ‘fancy’ stall,” he laughed out loud. “I started my own business.” He sounded proud and jubilant at his achievements. “In three months I paid off my loans and I also have a house of my own today.” He grinned. Indeed he was an achiever. His was the most popular joint in the neighborhood where local men gathered for a sip of tea and gossip. Once in a while you found the area cops too -- spending their tea breaks at the stall. This added some extra glamour to his humble joint.

Umesh gave a second look to the man. He was obviously from a poorer section of the social strata. His shirt was stained and had a button missing. His hair was unkempt and totally out of place. He wasn’t particular about his speech. It was a mixture of twisted Bangladeshi Bengali with some words of Urdu thrown in and the ‘Bangla’ that is spoken in West Bengal. He was quite used to it by now.

The ‘chai’ man’s tone was chirpy and Umesh realized, that was the reason why his customers liked talking to him. He had noticed earlier that men talked of their woes and other people’s fancies, the change in the air and even politics with ease with this man while they sipped their tea sitting on the bench outside. And yet the man had perhaps not even been to school. What good had his own education done, he wondered! He was still struggling and had not a single achievement to his credit.

******

The evening air was hot and oppressive. There was a spooky resonance of some hellish melody playing in one of the FM channels on the radio at the ‘Paan’ shop close by. Umesh felt uneasy. He missed the evening breeze in his little village, the sight of women returning home with water and the men with their cattle. He missed being with his family in the enclosure of their small but peaceful village home. He felt a pang of guilt for opting to choose the city over the serenity of his humble abode under the canopy of the endless blue sky.

When the street lights had been on for some time and Umesh had filled his stomach with several glasses of raw tea, he saw Sriram Kaka shuffling through the lane going past the Chai Shop. His corpulent belly jiggled as he took jerky steps towards his house. His hands were laden with boxes of ‘mithai’ or sweets and perhaps fabric too. He had a nauseating fixed smile on his fleshy face and his beady eyes moved as if he was on a furtive errand. By that time there were several men around the tea stall. Sriram went past Umesh and seemed to miss him. He strutted like a winner and he looked fearless.

When Sriram had almost reached his home, the yellow building with the green painted doors and windows, there was a sound that was deafening and a cry that was heart wrenching! In a moment, a motor bike sped out of the lane and before anybody could figure out what had happened, Sriram fell to the ground crushing the boxes he carried under his weight.

Umesh suddenly felt he couldn’t move. But he saw that after the initial shock people were running to the man who had collapsed in front of his own house. He thought of the job Sriram had promised him evaporate in front of his eyes. He thought of the promises he had made to his father -- recoil in shame. And he also saw his mother’s saddened eyes showering him with fathomless affection.

He turned to the ‘chai’ man who stood their looking stunned. But he shook his head and soon got back to routine. The man gave a look of concern to Umesh and said in a whisper,”This was bound to happen some day.”

“What do you mean?” Umesh was dumbfounded. His Adam’s apple was bobbing in his throat as he tried to make some sense out of what the man was saying.

“The company he was keeping, it had to happen.” The man was being honest.

“I don’t understand,” Umesh felt his shirt stick to him in the heat and sweat. Perhaps it was something more than that. He was getting an anxiety attack.

“You see, Sriram was mingling with doubtful company.” Umesh stared at him in disbelief. ”Nobody knew where he went, who he worked for. But he would talk big some times, and the path that he chose was obviously very slippery, you know.” The man nodded in an all knowing fashion.

********

Umesh sat motionless in his dark room. The body of Sriram was taken for autopsy. There was wailing still coming from the yellow house with the green doors and windows. Jatin walked in with an aura of disbelief still plastered all over his being.

“You got the news?” He asked impatiently and turned the light on.

Umesh just inclined his head. Jatin was rattling off some truths that had been unearthed about the dead man. But Umesh had switched off. After some time, Jatin realized that Umesh was unusually quiet. He came close to him.

”Are you alright?” He bent low to take a look at his face. Umesh looked frightened and thinner than he actually was.He nodded absently. Then he suddenly looked up and said quite firmly,”I’m moving out tomorrow?”

“Meaning?” Jatin was shocked.

“I’m going back home. This is no place for me. I cannot belong here.”

Jatin stared at him in silence for some time and then moved away.  He went and sat on his own bed and said very slowly and grimly, “Yes, you‘re right, we don’t belong here.”

Much later, when Jatin had gone to sleep and Umesh had finished packing, he wondered if his parents would be happy to see him at all. He was returning home like a wounded soldier accepting defeat where there was no pride or honour. But that’s where he belonged. He had no other place to go.

*******

There was a rap on the aged, fragile door. It was repeated several times and by the time Jatin woke up, Umesh had opened the door.

A police officer stepped in and glowered at the two young men fiercely. “Which one of you is Umesh Sharma?”

Umesh felt his knees giving way. He moved back and fell on his bed. Jatin raised a finger to point him out. It was an unconscious move.

“You went to see Sriram Choubey today?” The officer barked.

Umesh had lost his tongue. He just nodded.

“He comes from your hometown?”

Umesh found his mouth go dry. He just tried to wet his dry lips.

“How well did you know him?”

Umesh tried to say that he was too young to know him when Sriram had left the village many years ago but words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. He just shook his head vehemently.

“So you’re denying any knowledge of the man now.” The officer’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re under arrest. Come with me.” The officer let two policemen come in to escort Umesh to the Police Van outside.

The whole neighborhood watched in silence a pathetic looking, dark, thin village boy being dragged from his den to the Police Van.

Umesh was certain that later the news channels on TV would also flash his face as the young man who knew the deceased well and so taken for interrogation by the police. Deep in the village community centre, his neighbors and family would recognize him on the screen as the proud young fellow who left with big dreams but ended up being questioned in the murder of some Sriram Choubey, the man who had once promised him dreams he dared to dream because he was a Graduate, an educated young man. Different from many he worked with. 
And he just happened to believe the man.

Dola DuttaRoy

Sept 24,2013