The John Terry Goal

It’s early November. Delhi is not that cold. However, the lady was wearing a black sweater. She has a tendency of catching cold on flights. Hence, the attire. She comfortably took a seat near gate 4 of Terminal 3. Keeping her bag aside, she dialed a number on her cellphone, hushed some words and killed the call. She glanced at her wristwatch. There was still an hour and a half before her flight to Dubai would depart India. Then she opened her bag, took out a copy of Outlook and started reading.

She saw him 5 minutes later. She had just lifted her eyes off the magazine, without any particular reason, when she saw him. He was standing near the big flat screen TV showing a football match. He had donned the Manchester United jersey, his favorite no. 11 - Ryan Giggs. He was turning his back towards her, and she should not have seen him. However, he was disturbed by a call on his cellphone, and he started talking into it moving away from the TV -- that’s when she saw him. His hair was well kept and he was wearing a pair of khakis and loafers. Had a Manchester United backpack on his shoulders. The phone call ended in about 2 minutes and he walked towards the TV again.

Now, she noticed the TV. It was an English Premier League game between Chelsea and Sunderland being played at the Stamford Bridge. There was a corner for Chelsea. Oscar was taking it. She folded the Outlook and started paying attention to the game being played at London. Oscar swung the ball and a blue shirt standing in the crowd leapt to head it inside the goal. The Chelsea players started celebrating; she noticed the goalscorer was John Terry. Some of the Chelsea fans near the TV made some noise. Her eyes fixed at him. He was angry, cursing slowly and moving away from it towards a seat. She smiled. She knew he’d be angry, he’d curse. She knew how much he disliked Terry. She had heard him cursing on another John Terry goal couple of years back.

She adjusted her sweater and unfolded the Outlook. She could not read. She smiled again, thinking of herself, thinking of all those people who have to act strangers although they know everything about the other person.

Yatrik: A Review

Disclaimer: This is my first book review, so might not be a perfect one. I’ll try to do it my way.

Arnab Ray, the popular blogger greatbong, has delivered a story in which the protagonist realizes he is dead at the very beginning of the story. This comes as a shock! What follows is an extremely interesting cocktail of relationship surprises, human ideology and 90s Kolkata (Bengal in general). The hero, Anushtup, is given a boon of observing three events in his lifetime for which he still doesn’t have the answer. For example, how his test score ended up a 2 out of 100 in his board mathematics examination. Anushtup gets to observe all three incidents, which, then change his notion about respect, luck and life in general.

Out of the three stories written by Arnab, the first two are extremely intriguing and capture images of Kolkata in the 90s immaculately. They bring out the insecurities of middle-class bengali family during that period; how ideology is often prioritized over pragmatism, how protests become a part of the lifestyle and how ideas and the reality clash at times. Anushtup’s conversation with Ataluya Sir, I feel, is the best part of the story, where, if you were born during the 80s or 90s, can actually feel your own thoughts getting reverberated.

With such a gripping plot till almost 70% of the book, the remaining portion of the book is a big letdown. The third story is rather unconvincing, while the part which describes how Anushtup died is extremely cliched. Though, it was a surprise when the identity of the mysterious person whom he met after death is revealed. The final chapter was a big letdown. It seemed like the last portion of Dan Brown’s “The Lost Symbol”; when you don’t know why the story is not ending and characters are going on talking.

Arnab has the potential to be a good story-teller. He has imagined an unique concept here and tried to weave around it. If he had been more careful in penning the dialogues and let the conclusion of the book to be more precise and taut, this would have been a great read. Nevertheless, it’s a pretty decent effort, and I feel, people, specially Bengalis of our generation will like it.

Stammering @ Midnight

It was just another day, or maybe, another night. My insomnia had again gripped me. I looked at the alarm clock -- 1 am. It’d be difficult to sleep now. Let’s have some tea. Anyway, tomorrow is Friday and it’d not be a problem if I reach office late; or don’t reach at all. I poured water in the cup and put it inside the microwave to warm for a couple of minutes. I took out an Earl Grey tea bag and slowly dipped it into the cup. One sip and the warm tea tasted like ambrosia.

I slid the glass door open and went out to balcony. A cool breeze touched me. It’s early October and winter is yet to hit Kolkata. I took another sip and gazed out to the street in front of me. From my balcony, on the 23rd floor of the building, it looked a complete deserted stretch of land. Occasionally, a cab or a bike will fly by. Who can guess 3-4 hours ago, this would be one of the busiest roads of the city? The street lights amused me. Don’t they get bored of glowing the whole night long when there is hardly any traffic? Maybe the government should have employ some smart way of lighting the street. Say, every hour, alternate lights will glow. Or, maybe, some sensor can be applied to check the incoming traffic, and only then, the streetlights will glow. Fuck, what am I thinking. Just useless stuff, which, probably, I’ll never be able to implement. Let’s concentrate on my tea.

One more sip and I looked at the sky. The moon was a crescent. When I was a kid, my dad used to tell me stories of how "Rakshashas” had ate part of the moon. I chuckled. Taking another sip, my eyes focused on a star to the left of the moon. It was shining, or rather, twinkling. I muttered

“Twinkle Twinkle Little Starts.”

No, that’s not a typo. I said Starts. She used to say starts. Actually, she would stammer a bit and instead of stars, pronounce starts. I used to love that; you know, these sweet nothings which people get attracted to when they are in love. She’d know I love it; and, later, she would consciously say “starts”, just to see my face beaming.

I beamed again, and looked at her. “Like a diamond in the sky”

Conclusion

"Let me know how to return the book. In case it can be given to the TCS friend of yours, let me know. And if you don't want it back, that is also fine by me, but let me know either way."

 "You can keep the book" 

 " Nice. Have a good life Teddy. Bye"

 "You too. wish you all the best"

Last Thursday Night

“What? You’d be leaving for India?”

“Yes”

“And you’re not gonna come back?”

“I don’t know. But most likely yes.”

“Ah!! That’s some news. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Umm, I thought .. let everything get over and then… “

“Let’s have a fag outside, shall we?”

“Oh yea, let’s hit it.”

“Wait, lemme talk to Jim.”

“Ok, I’ll wait outside”

“So, you must have planned this for long. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“You just asked that.”

“I mean not today, like, last week.”

“Didn’t feel the need to.”

“Right.” She let out a puff of smoke.

“So, you’ll be working in India?”

“Yep.”

“Why? Irvine didn’t suit you?”

“Not that, it’s ……… personal reasons.”

“Oh, I get it. You’d be married to some beautiful Indian princess who doesn’t like California.”

“Whatever you think.”

“... Bastard … you always had a girlfriend didn’t you?”

“That’s not true.”

“You shouldn’t have lied to me. Like, if your girlfriend is in India, am not gonna hop on a plane and tell your girlfriend about myself.. right?”

“Right.”

“Anyway, when’re you leaving?”

“Saturday morning.”

“Oh, can you come tomorrow as well?”

“I don’t think so. My friends have invited me for dinner.”

“Oh, friends… I get it. Wait a minute; is that the reason you told me today? So, like, we are meeting for the last time.”

“Probably, if luck doesn’t bring me to Irvine or you to New Delhi.”

“Ah, am getting it.”

“See, it’s ok what you did. It was a surprise to me, but, come to think, like, what else would you do?”

“Hmm”

“I don’t know how I’d define our relation, but, whatever it was, I liked it. I’d wait every Saturday for you to walk through that door around 10pm and I knew you’re for me.”

“I know, it had become a habit almost.”

“How long? 2 years?”

“Not that, I’d guess 1 and a half”

“Whatever, my maths sucks”

“You want another fag?”

“No, am good. Hey, can I kiss you?”

“Ah?”

“I know it sounds weird. We just kissed few minutes back, but, I want to kiss you again – right here, beside the highway.”

“Well.. “

While we were kissing, my hand started to slide on her body. She was kissing me more passionately than what she had done before. It was not one of those fast hungry kisses; it was slow, actually extremely slow, so that you can enjoy every bit of it and never be out of breath. My hands reached her breast and as usual, she didn’t complain. Habit, as I said. I don’t know why I moved my hands to her back and hugged her. We resumed kissing.

“Bye, have a nice life in India.”

“You too have a great life. Finish your studies and I hope you end up getting a great job in downtown LA.”

“Hah. If you ever meet me at any point, just wish me Howdy buddy, ok? Please don’t pretend not to recognize me.”

“Ok.”

I waved my hand as I drove past “Dollhouse Exotic Dancers”.

Somebody that I used to know

It was around 10:30 am in the morning when I took a seat with my backpack kept at my feet. The Pune Airport is actually extremely small; although there was a crowd today. My flight was scheduled at 11:30 am. It’d be a minimum of half an hour before they start boarding. I thought of reading “And the Mountains Echoed” during that time and maybe after I board the aircraft. The flight time to Delhi is no less than 2 hours. As I pulled the book out of my backpack, I saw her in a flash.

         She was sitting right opposite to my seat, reading a Stardust. She didn’t have the face that one would define as “beautiful”. But definitely, if you see her once, you’d want to check again. In a wheatish look, with dark eyes and small boy-cut hair, her face maybe termed as cute. She was wearing a light red kurta and black jeans; carrying a tan-colored leather bag and her legs folded while she was reading the book.

         It was odd of me to stare at her for such long time, so I immediately took rescue under Hossaini. Hardly can I read 2 lines. I realized I’ll have to resume reading onboard. It’s impossible to read with her in front of me. However, I still kept the book. It’s better to presume am just reading. My phone rang. I picked it up. A bank representative asking me to apply for a credit card.

         5 minutes elapsed. I found it difficult to pretend reading anymore. Pulled up my backpack and kept it on the chair. Putting a finger inside the book, I walked to the nearby coffee stall and bought myself a cup of coffee. I was constantly monitoring to see whether she has left the seat. She was still engrossed in Stardust.

         Slowly drinking the coffee, I started pretending again. This time I pretended am looking around the airport premises. My eyes were hovering across the tea stalls, magazine kiosks, check in booths, medicine shops and back to her. Actually, they were constantly fixed on her -- the hovering was insignificant. I glanced at my watch – 10:45 am.

         “Passengers of Indigo flight IN231 to Hyderabad are requested to kindly come in front of Gate 3”.

         She packed the Stardust in her bag, rubbed her face with a napkin and straight looked into my eyes. I faked a smile, which was left without a response. She rose up and started walking towards the gate. She stopped. As if she has lost something, she started searching her bag. Finally, she got her cellphone. Sighing a relief, she slipped it in her jeans pocket. Old habits die hard.

The Scent of a Woman

“Sir, you want to go to office?”

“No, the work has been completed yesterday. I’ve got the whole day off. Mr Bajpayee, the MD has allowed me to keep the car and you for the whole day to myself.”

“Yes, I was instructed to take you wherever you want. Where do you want to go Sir? Lalbagh, ISKCON temple, Bannerghata National Park, …”

“No. Am not going to those places. Take me to the Forum mall in Kormangala.”

“Sure sir. You want to meet anyone there?”

“Maybe, or search for something. Let’s go.”

“Chalo Sir. When is your flight btw?”

“It’s tonight at 7pm.”

“Ok Sir. We have enough time.”

“Welcome to CCD in Forum mall, Sir. What can I get for you?”

“Umm, get me a regular coffee please”

“Ok Sir, please be seated.”

“Did you meet your friend in Forum Mall, Sir?”

“No, not really. I did not go there to meet anyone”

“Oh right, you said you’d be searching for something.”

“Umm, yes. Couldn’t find it.”

“Ok, so where do you want to go now?”

“Thippasandra”

“You know Thippasandra!!! Had you been in Bangalore before?”

“I stayed here for 3 years Suresh.”

“Wow Sir, I thought you are a Delhite”

“Nope, my initial location was in Bangalore.”

“When did you leave Bangalore?”

“4 years back.”

“You got transferred?”

“Ah, not really, I changed the company.”

“Oh, do you like it in Delhi Sir? I heard the climate is not as good as here.”

“Are you from Bangalore?”

“Mysore, Sir.”

“No. I don’t like Delhi at all. In fact, I never believed I’d get settled in Delhi.”

“Then, why did you leave, Sir? Didn’t you find any other good company here?”

“Not that Suresh. It was not possible for me to stay in Bangalore any longer.”

“Oh. Ok.”

“Excuse me, which is the way to Thippasandra post office?”

“To your right, Sir.”

“Thank you, and one more thing. There used to be a Annapurna Ladies PG here. Does it still exist?”

“Yes, take the road just opposite to the Post Office. You’ll find a four storied green building.”

“Thanks”

“I guess you did not find what you were searching for Sir.”

“No.”

“Where do we go now?”

“Indiranagar, 12^th main.”

“Mr Ramchandran?”

“Yes.”

“Can you recognize me?”

“Ah, oh yes. You must be Mr Banerjee. Worked at IBM”

“Right, I was your tenant 4 years back.”

“I remember. Come in. How are you?”

“Am good. How are you Mr Ramachandran? How’re your wife and son?”

“My wife passed away last year. My son is still in US. San Jose. He bought a house there. Did you know of my grandchild?”

“Ah, am sorry to hear of Mrs Ramachandran. What happened to her? I knew about your grandchild. He was born just before I left.”

“Right. Anuradha had a heart attack. Never knew it could happen to her. She was so fit. Used to walk every morning in the park.”

“Hmm.”

“Anyway, are you moving back to Bangalore?”

“Nope, am here just for the day for some work.”

“Ah. I see. Nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see you. Can I please take a tour of the house where I stayed?”

“You see, it’s Thursday. Am sure, the current tenants are at work now and have locked the door. It’s unethical for me to open the house in their absence. Sorry, Mr Banerjee.”

“Goodbye Sir. When you visit Bangalore again, let me know. Here’s our cab service card with my name and number.”

“Thanks Suresh. You have been really helpful.”

“Have a safe trip Sir.”

As soon as I took my seat, numbered 5A, in the Spicejet non-stop flight to Indira Gandhi International Airport, I got the smell. The smell I had been searching for throughout the city today. The smell, which used to attract me four years back and the smell, which has haunted me for the past four years. I looked at my co-passenger’s seat. There was a copy of Dan Brown’s Inferno lying there. Yes, the smell was emanating from the book. I bent down and inhaled. It’s the same smell. My heart started beating faster. My palms were dry. Is it? Will it be? Would we fly together? What should I say? “Hi, how are you?” Would I be ignored?

A twenty-something girl with colored hair and a “Pink Floyd” T shirt took the seat. She picked up the book, smiled at me forcing me to return the courteous smile and started reading. I buckled myself up and closed my eyes. It’d be wise to concentrate only on my olfactory perception.