The naked branches of the cedar trees were slowly getting dressed with white flakes of snow. The twilight was the dullest time of the day. Atleast that’s what I felt. The toddlers of the street were fighting it out on the snowy terrain with snowballs to adorn their faces, pale with cold. The note from my husband was still stuck on the refridgerator.
“Honey,
Urgent call. Pardon me. Ceylon trip. Would be back in a week. I haven’t forgotten that its our wedding day in a week, so I will make it up to you as soon as I’m home. The Cuckoo clock I’ve bought from Mexico is quite expensive and a mechanic from our crew might be here any day to drill the clock on the hall wall. I’ve already paid him, so don’t pay him anything. Take care. Love you
-Sanjay”
The note had remained stuck for more than five days because I wanted it to stay where it was, reading it every day.
The cuckoo clock was very special and expensive. The cuckoo would only come out when the surrounding was bright enough for it to come out. It had a photo sensor, that detected when the light was bright enough, for it to come out, which meant that the Cuckoo would come out only at the day time.
It was our wedding day today, and Sanjay would arrive tomorrow. I was lost in the thought of my plans for this big day, when somebody stepped in front.
A heavily dressed man, with a Man-U cap and long boots, stood in front with a toolkit in his hand, and sunglasses on his eyes. Sunglasses on a snowy twilight? I led him into the house. The man entered the house and walked
straight into our hall as if he knew the way by heart.
Kneeling on the floor he set to work.
The hands drew something from the tool kit and then suddenly all was blur. The hands were so fast at the hammer, the screw and nailing it onto the wall, measuring the center of our hall’s wall and hanging the Cuckoo clock and closing it again in less than a couple of minutes.
“That would be it madam.” Said he, in a husky voice.
I smiled, to show him the way out. He was somewhat hesitant to leave the house when he asked for water. I went inside the kitchen to get some, and when I had returned, he hadn’t budged an inch from where I saw him before.
Finally when he stepped out of the house, he removed his glasses and gave a half-look at me. The look by itself was
enough to suck all the air out of me. The way of walking and the amazing speed with which he worked with the tools, as if to confirm the fact, was slapping my brains and ordering it to process this information and make sense out of it.
Yes. It was Madhav.
He spoke in the same husky voice, which he wore with such ease and casuality.
“I give you time till 7 o clock tomorrow. If you don’t come with me, you’re gonna be learning it the hard way.”, saying this, he walked off, with shuffling steps sinking and emerging out of the snow irregularly.
The night was a nightmare. It was typical of Madhav to know where I had my weaknesses. I, at once, ordered the milkman not to come to my house the next day, along with the Paper Boy and the maidservant. Then, closing all the windows, I slumped on the bed.
I couldn’t sleep. I was leaning on the sleeping pills usually, and they were all over by yesterday. I had to get some way to ensure that I would be safe from Madhav and explain what I had to, to Sanjay, before things got worse.
Whenever I closed my eyes, the faces of Madhav and Sanjay kept overlapping and disappearing periodically. The blur of incidents, the surge of memories, sandwiched between the guilt on one side, to give company to my agony
on the other side, were too much for me to chuck, and start sleeping.
My idle mind started to romp around for my past story, trying to recollect it, when I was desperately commanding it not to do so.
It was the last thing I wanted to do. I started counting from 100 to 1, trying to divert my attention. I switched on my CD player and turned on some song.
100…99…98…97…
I slowly closed my eyes. My mind made a backflip to the past.
I considered myself to be one of the luckiest ladies in the whole city, with a handsome young man, for a husband and the cutest child on earth for a daughter. There was nothing I wished for other than this perfect life, with Madhav, my husband, being the head mechanic on board the Damascia, the biggest ship in India. He drew a handsome salary, and was a Jack Of practically everything. It was a year after marriage before I got pregnant, and a year after that, I gave birth to Diya. Life was going all smooth when a sudden brake, pushed all three of us forward. Diya was diagnosed with cancer even before she turned one year, and the money needed for the operation to set it right was too much to accommodate in Madhav’s salary.
90…89…88…87…
There was not a single path, which we left untreaded, to try and cure Diya. All went to dust, when Madhav came up with a last way, to save our sinking child. The worst way I was to take, yet. He wanted me to marry Sanjay, the newly appointed captain of Damascia, and muster money from him. It was a shock to me that my love was sending me to the hands of another man. I madly refused. His flair of talking again subdued me into submission. We wanted to save our daughter and we wanted to do it at any cost.
77…76…75…74…
It had started to drizzle. I could see the tiny but picering drops of water crashing the glass of my bedroom window. I went back again.
Even after Diya was born, our marriage was still a secret and no one knew we were together. To the outside world, Madhav was still a bachelor. As fate would have it, Sanjay proposed to me the next day, and I was more than willing, to agree.
And so I married.
Again.
I was now, Mrs.Sanjay, from Mrs.Madhav. No one could suspect that I was already married, with a child, as I made Sanjay swear that the marriage should be very very quiet. I managed to muster money from Sanjay and somehow gave it to Madhav, to start Diya’s operation.
64…63…62…61…
I could now hear the dripping of the water from the bathroom pipe. The ‘plunk plunk plunk’ of the drops on the mosaic was sickening. I got up to take a cloth and put it over the pipe, to seal it.
60…59…58…57…
Life threw another hairpin bend at me, when the doctors shrugged shoulders and announced that the condition of Diya was not hopeful at all. Diya succumbed to the deadly cancer a week after the operation and Madhav was hysterical. He inferred that it was my delay of getting the money, which made Diya’s condition that critical, and he slowly started turning into an animal, that was barring its teeth, and turning towards me.
Now that my purpose of saving Diya had become wasted, I was itching to break free from the shackles of married life from Sanjay. But it was not that easy at all. I had to find a genuine reason to apply for divorce, which I hadn’t found, till then. This delay further infuriated Madhav and turned him into a beast. He was then totally convinced that I was all ready to lead a life with Sanjay. He swore on Diya that he would get back on me, and never came to meet me from then on.
46…45…44…43…
But as years passed by, the situation was slowly reversing, just as Madhav had predicted. The raw wounds, which sunk into my bosom, were now healing under the care and love showered by Sanjay. He was slowly climbing closer and closer on the ladder, leading to my heart, while Madhav jumped off it at one go.
I had, by the end of two years, become Mrs. Sanjay, physically and mentally.
38…37…36…35…
It was 5 years since we broke up and life was getting back to the top gear slowly once again. I would occasionally hear Sanjay praising about Madhav’s mechanic skills in the crew, when my heart would rejuvenate the past by kindling the old wounds. But that faded too in course of time. It was our fifth wedding anniversary (today) that I saw the first love of my life, and the tragic past came gushing into my life once more.
25…24…23…22…
How could Madhav be of any harm? I had strictly told the paperboy, milkman and the servant to stay out of the house, lest he sent any evidence of our marriage, through them.
But I knew one thing for sure.
Madhav was a man of his word. He had also promised me that if he couldn’t prove our marriage to Sanjay by tomorrow, he would never try to do so again. That was the only driving force that pushed me on and on, to seal all the other doors through which the evidence, in any form, could enter.
11…10…9…8…
The rain had gotten heavier and the music had changed into a serene masterpiece, by my favourite artist. My mind had already poured out its past to itself, in the count of 100. Whatever happened, could not be stopped by me, I decided. Let it happen when it should happen.
I then gave a last look at the Cuckcoo clock.
It was 2:20 am. It read 21st of September .
My count was approaching 3, when my mind slowly closed to the pressing matters of tomorrow, as my eyes finally gave in to mental exhaustion. I drifted away slowly into sleep.
The next morning…
I was almost convinced about myself that I had been thorough enough in ensuring security, that I forgot worrying about Madhav. Instead, I was eager for Sanjay to arrive.
It was 6:55 am on the 21st.
5 minutes before the time limit, set by Madhav.
Sanjay entered.
“Heyyy Rekha!!! Happy anniversary to us!!” he exclaimed as he jolted me with such enthusiasm that I was lifted off my feet.
6:56 am…
Sanjay changed clothes, and was drying his hair. I started taking out his unwashed clothes and cosmetics, from his untidy suitcase, along with his uniforms.
6:59 am…
He put the towel aside and came towards me. He put one arm on my hair and the other arm on my waist. And then facing the clock, he kissed me, when the clock struck seven.
The first rays of the day, fell straight on the clock, and the photo-sensor lighted up, and the wooden cuckoo jumped out of the clock, pushing 2 photos, out of it.
In one photo were I and Madhav hugging on to each other just after our marriage.
The other one contained Me, Madhav and Diya in a group photo.
Madhav had won.
Sanjay was unable to move, and was glued to the spot, where he had been, with the photos still on his hand. He then looked at me.
The eyes were so piercing that I turned away, only to meet his gaze again, and look down, ashamed.
I then explained every word of my past, trying to sound as reasonable as possible, but Sanjay just kept listening,
and listening.
“ THE TREACHEROUS RAT!!!” he screamed, as he lunged for the phone, to call the ship and summon Madhav.
He pressed the loudspeaker.
“Where is Madhav?” Sanjay growled.
“I thought you’d knew sir. Madhav had resigned yesterday night. The last job assigned to him was to go to your house for fixing your clock I suppose sir?” an old voice from the other end answered.
As soon as Sanjay realized that Madhav had been smarter, he took his pistol from his half opened suitcase.
“It is better to see heaven than live through hell with you all my life Rekha!” he snarled, as he brought it closer to him.
I didn’t know what struck me. The piercing look of my husband on finding out that his wife was a wronged woman, was too much to bear for me.
I still didn’t know if what I was going to do would make things easier for any of us. But I was too disgusted with my life and myself, to live any longer in this beautiful world, or share a bed with my wonderful husband.
I snatched the gun from Sanjay, set it on my forehead, and pulled the trigger.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
A Cheap Haircut
"Here! If you're not going to keep your head still, I might as well as cut your head along with your unruly hair and pull the shutters and move somewhere else. Why do people like you spoil business early in the morning? As though a haircut makes a difference to you!"
"Sorry Billu Bhai, The visuals of the song were awesome. Never seen them before.", my eyes still on the TV in the top right corner of the Salon.
" VISUALS bother you my lord, when I'm having half a dozen customers, with much better hair than yours, queuing outside my shop, waiting for me to finish cutting your damned hair, with a thousand curls?"
" All right bhai. I'm sorry"
I couldn't hold my mother any longer from pushing me outside the house for having a haircut. Having a curly hair was all fine when you keep growing it. The tricky part usually came when i had to persuade Billu Bhai, my haircutter, to give me a nice decent cut, with SOME hair still on my head. Unfortunately, my father knew this man a little too intimately for me to get away with playing pranks, or having adjustments done to my hair.
My doom was racing towards me. The 'blueprint' of my head after the haircut was made clear by my father, to the barber. He wanted to literally count the number of hairs on my head after I had the haricut.
"Bhai, does my father want you to make me like Ghajini?", I asked, jutting out my head, trying desperately to act funny.
" Slightu to the leftu, will you?", asked he, as he swirled my head to the left with such a violent jerk, that I almost screamed.
I was puzzled. I usually was one of Billu bhai's favourite customers, who praised about my hair often. Something was definitely pricking him today. His neatly combed hair, was in ruffles. A strand of greying hair, cast a shadow on his wrinkled forehead, as he worriedly peered out of the transcluscent door, to witness 13 customers, waiting impatiently near the tea shop, adjoining the salon. Some of them were drinking tea, with newspapers to feed their boredom, some satisfied with the newspapers alone, some were jus pacing to and fro from the salon to the nearby mess, which was pretty crowded too.
I took advantage of his monentary distraction to behold the scene outside, when a sharp pang, jolted me back to attention position on the recsin chair. I couldn't hold myself any longer.
" What's wrong with you Bhai? Any problem with you today? Well, is it anything monetary?", I began, when he pushed me out of the chair.
" Don't you dare stray into topics where you shouldn't be straying Hari. Get out. I will talk to you later. I have a much more important customer to take care of. Get going."
I took a last peek at the giant mirror in front of the revolving chair. On the contrary, Billu's anger had helped me accidentally. My hair was not too short. I could call it the right size to be sporting outside, either. But I could say ANYTHING was better than a Ghajini!
I walked outside, to be greeted by the 45 degree Sunday morning rays, beating me out straight on my face, blinding me momentary. I trod on the crude stone tiles, laid outside the shop, to witness someone, who shouldnt be standing there.
It was Mr. Vijay, the chairman of the TK Group of fashion companies. The surprising fact was that HE was standing outside Billu's shop. Probably a haircut. Then why should he be waiting outside a busy salon, teeming with about a dozen people? To search for shareholders? How dumb could my guesses possibly get?
To be frank, Billu's shop wasnt quite the posh hairdressing havens, a fashion designer could possibly opt for. Then why this wait outside the salon?
I decided to munch the question inside my brain on my way home. Back at home, i turned on the shower. The warm pincers of water began to sooth me, but just began to, while i pulled myself from the shower, just remembering something. I realised I forgot to get back the change from Billu, in my hurry to get off the room.
Making a silent note to myself, to get back the change, after the shower, I went back to the warm bliss, for the next 10 minutes, Changed, then had a quick breakfast, and went out again to destination ultimatum, Billu's Salon. The scenario had changed completely.
The lone customer waiting outside was the Chairman, waiting patiently for his change. His behaviour still hadn't become better explainatory still. I decided to indulge in a conversation, but he refused to get the conversation going well enough for it to be polite for me to keep talking with him.
After half an hour, it was still the same scenario with me being the only person waiting outside for the godforsaken chance to enter the congested room. I couldn;t wait. The time I was wasting for the change was not more worthy than the Maths exam coming up tomorrow, and mom had already been agitated about my last terminal exams, and I couldn;t stay at the same zone any longer.
Pushing the door aside with a burst of impatience, my speed reduced exponentially when I saw what was going on. Mr. Vijay with a completely bald head, was talking to Billu, who froze with horror when he saw me. Mr. Vijay's reaction was not any different.
Seconds lengthened and my steps became elastic. I still couldnt relate the happenings to what was going inside the room. The gentleman I assumed, had realised his mistake my being rude to me.
" Hari beta," he bgan with a smile.
I nodded, signalling him to cointinue.
"Being popular and having a prosperous life has disadvantages. Could you believe that?", he asked, pausing long enough, to indicate me to answer.
I jerked my head bluntly, too surprised to answer verbally yet.
" Two years back, doctors diagnosed me with a vitamin deficiency, to explain the abnormal loss of hair I was experiencing. Being a fashion designer, balding was the last thing on my fashion list. Considering the number of shows I'm organising and designing now, It would have kept vanishing as fast as my hair was balding, if they came to know that I had become bald, So I obviously realised the need for an alter way out. That's when I noticed Billu."
Billu shuffled across to turn off the TV, as Vijay continued.
" Ordinary though, his shop was, I could see the simplicity and the involvement coupled with the ceaseless entusiasm he put in his work. I realised, he was a person, who wouldnt mock at me when he realised my plight. I frequently began talking with him to get a wig to suit my needs and a "Haircut" for the world to believe I had hair, as usual. So i come here to change wigs often. God is cruel smoetimes, Hari. My plight is so worse that my wife and children are unaware of my predicament. So now put 1 and 1. All I have to ask from you is that dont make 1 and 1 as 11 and blurt this out to the neighbour hood. I'm sure you wont, given that you're this intelligent Hari i knew, from what Billu says.", he finished.
I had perhaps thought I had earned an excursion to Antartica on a 38 degree celsius Sunday morning, as I was feeling strangely cold. I couldnt trace its roots though, might have been my rudeness to open the door. I didnt need to ask Billu why he was annoyed today. He had to make sure Mr. Vijay shouldnt be noticed by anybody lest it would get out of control. He was too famous to go unnoticed.
I slowly got the change from Billu in slow motion,and exited the room, when something made me turn back.
Billu and Mr. Vijay were staring at me with eyes full of expressions. I couldnt quite place them properly. Pleading? Thankful? But they definitely were not threatening. I then realised the kind of response I had to give them.
I gave the best look of understanding, I had given all my life, back to them, as I turned.
The door of the salon creaked to close once more for good.
"Sorry Billu Bhai, The visuals of the song were awesome. Never seen them before.", my eyes still on the TV in the top right corner of the Salon.
" VISUALS bother you my lord, when I'm having half a dozen customers, with much better hair than yours, queuing outside my shop, waiting for me to finish cutting your damned hair, with a thousand curls?"
" All right bhai. I'm sorry"
I couldn't hold my mother any longer from pushing me outside the house for having a haircut. Having a curly hair was all fine when you keep growing it. The tricky part usually came when i had to persuade Billu Bhai, my haircutter, to give me a nice decent cut, with SOME hair still on my head. Unfortunately, my father knew this man a little too intimately for me to get away with playing pranks, or having adjustments done to my hair.
My doom was racing towards me. The 'blueprint' of my head after the haircut was made clear by my father, to the barber. He wanted to literally count the number of hairs on my head after I had the haricut.
"Bhai, does my father want you to make me like Ghajini?", I asked, jutting out my head, trying desperately to act funny.
" Slightu to the leftu, will you?", asked he, as he swirled my head to the left with such a violent jerk, that I almost screamed.
I was puzzled. I usually was one of Billu bhai's favourite customers, who praised about my hair often. Something was definitely pricking him today. His neatly combed hair, was in ruffles. A strand of greying hair, cast a shadow on his wrinkled forehead, as he worriedly peered out of the transcluscent door, to witness 13 customers, waiting impatiently near the tea shop, adjoining the salon. Some of them were drinking tea, with newspapers to feed their boredom, some satisfied with the newspapers alone, some were jus pacing to and fro from the salon to the nearby mess, which was pretty crowded too.
I took advantage of his monentary distraction to behold the scene outside, when a sharp pang, jolted me back to attention position on the recsin chair. I couldn't hold myself any longer.
" What's wrong with you Bhai? Any problem with you today? Well, is it anything monetary?", I began, when he pushed me out of the chair.
" Don't you dare stray into topics where you shouldn't be straying Hari. Get out. I will talk to you later. I have a much more important customer to take care of. Get going."
I took a last peek at the giant mirror in front of the revolving chair. On the contrary, Billu's anger had helped me accidentally. My hair was not too short. I could call it the right size to be sporting outside, either. But I could say ANYTHING was better than a Ghajini!
I walked outside, to be greeted by the 45 degree Sunday morning rays, beating me out straight on my face, blinding me momentary. I trod on the crude stone tiles, laid outside the shop, to witness someone, who shouldnt be standing there.
It was Mr. Vijay, the chairman of the TK Group of fashion companies. The surprising fact was that HE was standing outside Billu's shop. Probably a haircut. Then why should he be waiting outside a busy salon, teeming with about a dozen people? To search for shareholders? How dumb could my guesses possibly get?
To be frank, Billu's shop wasnt quite the posh hairdressing havens, a fashion designer could possibly opt for. Then why this wait outside the salon?
I decided to munch the question inside my brain on my way home. Back at home, i turned on the shower. The warm pincers of water began to sooth me, but just began to, while i pulled myself from the shower, just remembering something. I realised I forgot to get back the change from Billu, in my hurry to get off the room.
Making a silent note to myself, to get back the change, after the shower, I went back to the warm bliss, for the next 10 minutes, Changed, then had a quick breakfast, and went out again to destination ultimatum, Billu's Salon. The scenario had changed completely.
The lone customer waiting outside was the Chairman, waiting patiently for his change. His behaviour still hadn't become better explainatory still. I decided to indulge in a conversation, but he refused to get the conversation going well enough for it to be polite for me to keep talking with him.
After half an hour, it was still the same scenario with me being the only person waiting outside for the godforsaken chance to enter the congested room. I couldn;t wait. The time I was wasting for the change was not more worthy than the Maths exam coming up tomorrow, and mom had already been agitated about my last terminal exams, and I couldn;t stay at the same zone any longer.
Pushing the door aside with a burst of impatience, my speed reduced exponentially when I saw what was going on. Mr. Vijay with a completely bald head, was talking to Billu, who froze with horror when he saw me. Mr. Vijay's reaction was not any different.
Seconds lengthened and my steps became elastic. I still couldnt relate the happenings to what was going inside the room. The gentleman I assumed, had realised his mistake my being rude to me.
" Hari beta," he bgan with a smile.
I nodded, signalling him to cointinue.
"Being popular and having a prosperous life has disadvantages. Could you believe that?", he asked, pausing long enough, to indicate me to answer.
I jerked my head bluntly, too surprised to answer verbally yet.
" Two years back, doctors diagnosed me with a vitamin deficiency, to explain the abnormal loss of hair I was experiencing. Being a fashion designer, balding was the last thing on my fashion list. Considering the number of shows I'm organising and designing now, It would have kept vanishing as fast as my hair was balding, if they came to know that I had become bald, So I obviously realised the need for an alter way out. That's when I noticed Billu."
Billu shuffled across to turn off the TV, as Vijay continued.
" Ordinary though, his shop was, I could see the simplicity and the involvement coupled with the ceaseless entusiasm he put in his work. I realised, he was a person, who wouldnt mock at me when he realised my plight. I frequently began talking with him to get a wig to suit my needs and a "Haircut" for the world to believe I had hair, as usual. So i come here to change wigs often. God is cruel smoetimes, Hari. My plight is so worse that my wife and children are unaware of my predicament. So now put 1 and 1. All I have to ask from you is that dont make 1 and 1 as 11 and blurt this out to the neighbour hood. I'm sure you wont, given that you're this intelligent Hari i knew, from what Billu says.", he finished.
I had perhaps thought I had earned an excursion to Antartica on a 38 degree celsius Sunday morning, as I was feeling strangely cold. I couldnt trace its roots though, might have been my rudeness to open the door. I didnt need to ask Billu why he was annoyed today. He had to make sure Mr. Vijay shouldnt be noticed by anybody lest it would get out of control. He was too famous to go unnoticed.
I slowly got the change from Billu in slow motion,and exited the room, when something made me turn back.
Billu and Mr. Vijay were staring at me with eyes full of expressions. I couldnt quite place them properly. Pleading? Thankful? But they definitely were not threatening. I then realised the kind of response I had to give them.
I gave the best look of understanding, I had given all my life, back to them, as I turned.
The door of the salon creaked to close once more for good.
A Pitstop fall
I stared at my monitor with puffed eyes, as I laid my hands on the coffee-stained keyboard to typein the details of the application form. My hands running over the brown keys, I ran down the form to get a gist of the details required.
The form specified about the particulars of the race, the entry fee and the rules and regulations. I sent the form to the organization.
I was about to close the form when something made my eyeballs pop out of their sockets.
“Dad!”, I screamed.
“Yes Sid? Filled up the form?”,he called out from the kitchen.
“Yes Papa, but the form says that the race is about to start tomorrow and the last date is already over. How else will I race?”
My papa entered the room, his usual wrinkles on the face, showing a little too prominently this time. He limped towards me, with one hand on his left leg.
Thinking of his limp stirred my heart to a mixed bag of emotions.
The frown was evident from his eyebrows and his lips curled up to express the emotion, which spread till his
cheekbones.
He scrolled up and down a few times, amazingly quickly, seemed to take in the details.
He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds and then opened them, remarkably calm.
“Listen Sid, I have lots of experience in this, so trust me. No organizer wants to shed competitors away so I bet they would have a last look at it before they draft the racer-list for tomorrow. When they see your application, I’m sure they won’t reject a competitor who seems a clear favorite to bag the prize.”
My father, Ravishankar, was a top class motoracer in India, who carved a niche for himself. As fate would have it, he was sabotaged by his rival, Guru, during a race, paralyzing his leg, never to race again. He had enough experience in registering related stuff.
I strayed from the diversion, back to the topic.
“But Papa, Even if I’m to go for the race, I’ve not practiced in a long time. How am I to get racing from nowhere?”
“Good Night Sid. I don’t want to hear any of your excuses. Both of us know you really need the prize money. If you win this race, it is going to shoot you right to the top of the contenders for the state team. Get some sleep, rise early, fine tune your cycle, and gear up for the race.”
The last image I caught was my father’s face, showing his crystal clear teeth, as they merged with the darkness of the Saturday night.
For a second I thought Mum said all the best, but when I opened my eyes, all was dark.
Putting the dream again to the back of my mind, I let sleep engulf me, and my mind closed for the night.
It was not as pleasant as I expected the next day, when I pushed my bedcovers away and looked out of the window.
It had rained the last night. Rained hard.
I could see the puddles of water filling the places where the terrain was irregular, and the drops of water, dripping from the Neem trees on my cycle seat. The Dahlias gleamed with the morning Sun’s radiance’s help, and were showing off their petals, ridden with dew drops. My neighbor Chinnu Dada’s cock had done its job. It jolted me awake just in time.
I was now wide awake and all set to get my cycle ready. I wiped the cyclefirst, to make it dry from yesterday’s rain. I then brought a new pair of tyres, a screwdriver from the garage. I wrenched the old tyres from the rim with the screwdriver and replaced them and the tubes inside. Filled them with air, and finetuned my brakes, by changing the brake shoe, and adjusting them to avoid unnecessary contact with the tyre rims.
It was 9 am when I reached the venue. It was electrifying. All traces of the rain yesterday had been erased, and I didn’t need to think to know why.
The Ooty Terai stretch which connects Ooty and Coimbatore was the track length. It was amazingly long for an under 18 race. It was 15.2 kms long, with the merciless rocks all placed at the wrong positions, with the hairpin bends adding to my worries. All the rain water had slid down due to the slope of the hills, thanks to them.
Being one of the top racers had its own disadvantages. While I was quite sure that my sense of balance was the best in the whole of Ooty. My reflexes were horrible. This was partly why I shunned motoracing, and jumped to cycles.
Interpreting a turn while going at 200 kmph without skiiding off the track was the last thing I needed.
“Ready? 3,2,1….BANG!”
My 7 other competitors started pumping energy into their pedals and shot off ahead of me, but I knew better than to waste my energy on the first couple of miles. All I had in front of me was my Father’s face, his dead leg, and the vision of me getting the trophy.
I turned to the right, to see my father’s sabotage Guru’s son, Ranjit, smiling at me.
Guru, had got all his evidences erased and kept a clean sheet and got away with killing my father’s career. He trained his son to become one of the top racers of the state, who was as good as me, if not better. But I would never forgive him for what his father did to my dad.
“Hey Sid!” he called out.
“Keep your greeting to yourself, moron.” I said curtly as I raised my pace a little, to stay away from him.
“Hey. Cool it man. I just wanted to talk. By the way, how do you think your chances are, to win this race?”
“My chances can be kept to myself, thank you. You can as well as help your father, who could be better off sabotaging another promising racer and killing his career.”
I could see his eyes blaze for an instant with anger, but turned normal the next instant. We broke contact, as we departed.
Chintu, who was the fattest of the 8 racers, was having a 18 geared cycle. His fascination with the gears was never ending, as he rolled his stubby fingers over the knob that shifted gears. He was rich enough to take this race as a
hobby, but I wasn’t.
I caught up with Chintu after 4 to 5 kms, to see him puffing out short but exhausted bursts of air. I still continued with my normal pace, to inch past him slowly, but surely. I started to talk with him, when I heard the worst sound, which was every cyclist’s nightmare.
My wall tube was leaking air, and was leaking fast. Anychange in pace, would mean a flat tyre, which summed up to losing the race. I thanked God for my gift of balance, as I hunched myself towards the front and put negligible force on the rear.
But what surprised me was the fact that a tyre so new, had busted so early. Concentrating on my balance, I pedaled on.
There were the stray dogs en route, who kept barking at all the spectators lined in the border of the road, to witness the race. The Tea shops were filled with the local people, who had their huts on the hills, and cut trees for a living. Men with newspapers and women with sieves, to separate the husk from the grains, sat on both sides of the track, spectating the race.
Rashid, the mayor’s son was tall, well built and was known for his infinite stamina and strength, from the blackened eyes of the many boys in school. The cool air knocking the doors of my mind, pleaded to let concentration out of the doors. Restricting it, I let my mind do something else other than getting distracted by the beauty of nature and losing my pace.
I started doing things like counting the number of times, Ranjit overtook me, the number of times I used the brakes, the number of hairpin bends and the miles to go for the finish line. Atleast these things distracted me to a lesser extent.
I sped across a racer, when I saw a strange sight. Chintu, who was known for maintaining his cycle impeccably, was standing on the road, with a flat tyre.
My mind started wandering. How could have that happened to two racers? It was so not in Chintu’s way to get THAT problem. How come 2 on 8?
I was racking my brains over this, and failed to notice a turn coming on my way.
“Siddarth! Keep your eyes on the road! TURN!!”, said an achingly famililar voice.
I swerved the handle bar to miss the rock by a whisker. The fact that the voice was aching was that, it made me embarrassed to think that Ranjit actually helped me, stay put on track.
The order of racers were turned upside down in the last few kms, with me and Ranjit leading the pack of racers, the others exhausted from their early bursts of energy. Chintu had quit the race, thanks to his flat tyre, but that still confused me.
I could see the finish line, coming towards me, from a turn in the horizon, as I locked my eyes on the Dead-Man’s Curve which was the toughest turn. All the rain water, swept away, had clogged the pit and made it very very damp.
A sharp whistle ripped the air, as I turned to see Rashid with a spike on his hand.
Several things happened at once.
Rashid’s hand reached for my tyre, I suddenly lost control, My cycle was hurtling towards a jagged rock in the perfect centre of the turning arc, and I was dashing down from the 150 m altitude, to the unfriendly teak trees, which were racing towards me.
I could hear Ranjit’s voice from the background, before all went dark.
When I opened, I could see how lucky I had been. I had fallen on a platform, directly under the turn, which actually was the sole reason of my existence right then.
I recogonised the place instantly. It was Ranjit’s father’s cycle factory, that manufactured all kinds of parts, from bells, to the carriers. Near the entrance were the piles of tyres and wall tubes kept for sales. On the box was written,
TO OOTY.
I was shocked beyond measure when I saw the tyres.
Tyres, which were perforated very subtly but at the main places, and wall tubes with a microscopically inscised cut, were stacked in piles. First I was sure that they were meant to be discarded, but the shock slapped me once again when I saw the approval sign to be sent to the market.
Then it hit me. Realisation and Pain hit me simultaneously. I had my palm, dug into a broken piece of scrap and the wave of nausea that swept over me, but I still tried reasoning things out.
My back tyre had popped because the wall tube must have been defective. I was sure that It was the same brand of tyres because the memory of changing the tires this morning still seemed too clear to forget. That took care of Chintu’s problem. And as for the front, well, Rashid took care of that.
And as for Rashid, there were two possibilities. Either he didn’t want me to win the race, or he was hired by someone who didn’t want me to.
My mind, satisfied with the spell of reasoning, succumbed to the physical strain on my palm, and I blacked out.
When I came to, I was at the finish line, my dad near me, along with Ranjit whose face burned with emotions I couldn’t classify properly. The first event that happened, was when the Mayor hit Rashid.
“How dare you! To think that my son would stoop so low…”, his voice trailed off.
The Mayor apologized to me for Rashid’s behavior but the sight ahead of me was even more shocking as Mr.Guru was handcuffed by the Sergeant, and was being led away, when he met his son, Ranjit.
Ranjit’s eyes burned with shame, filling them with tears of regret and agony.
“Ranjit, I’m sorry to have hired Rashid to bust Siddarth’s tyres, but the probability of you coming second was too much for me to bear. I’m sure I can expla…..”, but Ranjit cut him short.
“Mr. Guru.”
“The gift that you have been giving the people of Ooty can never be forgiven by others, let alone me. Your foolish and the inhuman partiality towards urban areas, by selling the genuine goods to the metros, is the lowest level that can be thought of stooping to. Now I know why Sid was angry with me. Though I don’t have proof, I’m now convinced that it was YOU who destroyed Mr. Nitin Jain’s career. Shame on you dad.”
“As for your sentence, I don’t think it would be any less than a seven year term, for manufacturing defective products. By the time you come out, I would be a major, free to do what I want. So I order you not to come seeking me and I never wish to see you again.”
I was spectating this scene with awe. Ranjit didn’t need to explain anything to me as he was innocent. Rashid had been paid by Mr. Guru to sabotage me, like how he did to my father. Little did I know that my fall from the hill would cost my left thumb, leaving it immobile and inflexible for the rest of my life.
I could have taken the loss to my heart and have targeted Ranjit for it. But I realized it was never his fault anytime.I also realized I had found a new friend.
There were the crossroads in front of me, where one flank led to the police station and the plank perpendicular to it, lead to my house. I watched the painful separation of father and son, but my mind couldn’t force itself to feel a dint of pity for Guru. He had deserved this.
But what about Ranjit? I realized I could talk this out with him later.
But my hand stopped my mind from thinking, as it shot a wave of pain through my body.
My body winced with pain, as my heart whined with regret for Ranjit’s separation. My mind roared with remorse and eyes, with tears, for having used a defective balance to weigh Ranjit’s character.
The form specified about the particulars of the race, the entry fee and the rules and regulations. I sent the form to the organization.
I was about to close the form when something made my eyeballs pop out of their sockets.
“Dad!”, I screamed.
“Yes Sid? Filled up the form?”,he called out from the kitchen.
“Yes Papa, but the form says that the race is about to start tomorrow and the last date is already over. How else will I race?”
My papa entered the room, his usual wrinkles on the face, showing a little too prominently this time. He limped towards me, with one hand on his left leg.
Thinking of his limp stirred my heart to a mixed bag of emotions.
The frown was evident from his eyebrows and his lips curled up to express the emotion, which spread till his
cheekbones.
He scrolled up and down a few times, amazingly quickly, seemed to take in the details.
He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds and then opened them, remarkably calm.
“Listen Sid, I have lots of experience in this, so trust me. No organizer wants to shed competitors away so I bet they would have a last look at it before they draft the racer-list for tomorrow. When they see your application, I’m sure they won’t reject a competitor who seems a clear favorite to bag the prize.”
My father, Ravishankar, was a top class motoracer in India, who carved a niche for himself. As fate would have it, he was sabotaged by his rival, Guru, during a race, paralyzing his leg, never to race again. He had enough experience in registering related stuff.
I strayed from the diversion, back to the topic.
“But Papa, Even if I’m to go for the race, I’ve not practiced in a long time. How am I to get racing from nowhere?”
“Good Night Sid. I don’t want to hear any of your excuses. Both of us know you really need the prize money. If you win this race, it is going to shoot you right to the top of the contenders for the state team. Get some sleep, rise early, fine tune your cycle, and gear up for the race.”
The last image I caught was my father’s face, showing his crystal clear teeth, as they merged with the darkness of the Saturday night.
For a second I thought Mum said all the best, but when I opened my eyes, all was dark.
Putting the dream again to the back of my mind, I let sleep engulf me, and my mind closed for the night.
It was not as pleasant as I expected the next day, when I pushed my bedcovers away and looked out of the window.
It had rained the last night. Rained hard.
I could see the puddles of water filling the places where the terrain was irregular, and the drops of water, dripping from the Neem trees on my cycle seat. The Dahlias gleamed with the morning Sun’s radiance’s help, and were showing off their petals, ridden with dew drops. My neighbor Chinnu Dada’s cock had done its job. It jolted me awake just in time.
I was now wide awake and all set to get my cycle ready. I wiped the cyclefirst, to make it dry from yesterday’s rain. I then brought a new pair of tyres, a screwdriver from the garage. I wrenched the old tyres from the rim with the screwdriver and replaced them and the tubes inside. Filled them with air, and finetuned my brakes, by changing the brake shoe, and adjusting them to avoid unnecessary contact with the tyre rims.
It was 9 am when I reached the venue. It was electrifying. All traces of the rain yesterday had been erased, and I didn’t need to think to know why.
The Ooty Terai stretch which connects Ooty and Coimbatore was the track length. It was amazingly long for an under 18 race. It was 15.2 kms long, with the merciless rocks all placed at the wrong positions, with the hairpin bends adding to my worries. All the rain water had slid down due to the slope of the hills, thanks to them.
Being one of the top racers had its own disadvantages. While I was quite sure that my sense of balance was the best in the whole of Ooty. My reflexes were horrible. This was partly why I shunned motoracing, and jumped to cycles.
Interpreting a turn while going at 200 kmph without skiiding off the track was the last thing I needed.
“Ready? 3,2,1….BANG!”
My 7 other competitors started pumping energy into their pedals and shot off ahead of me, but I knew better than to waste my energy on the first couple of miles. All I had in front of me was my Father’s face, his dead leg, and the vision of me getting the trophy.
I turned to the right, to see my father’s sabotage Guru’s son, Ranjit, smiling at me.
Guru, had got all his evidences erased and kept a clean sheet and got away with killing my father’s career. He trained his son to become one of the top racers of the state, who was as good as me, if not better. But I would never forgive him for what his father did to my dad.
“Hey Sid!” he called out.
“Keep your greeting to yourself, moron.” I said curtly as I raised my pace a little, to stay away from him.
“Hey. Cool it man. I just wanted to talk. By the way, how do you think your chances are, to win this race?”
“My chances can be kept to myself, thank you. You can as well as help your father, who could be better off sabotaging another promising racer and killing his career.”
I could see his eyes blaze for an instant with anger, but turned normal the next instant. We broke contact, as we departed.
Chintu, who was the fattest of the 8 racers, was having a 18 geared cycle. His fascination with the gears was never ending, as he rolled his stubby fingers over the knob that shifted gears. He was rich enough to take this race as a
hobby, but I wasn’t.
I caught up with Chintu after 4 to 5 kms, to see him puffing out short but exhausted bursts of air. I still continued with my normal pace, to inch past him slowly, but surely. I started to talk with him, when I heard the worst sound, which was every cyclist’s nightmare.
My wall tube was leaking air, and was leaking fast. Anychange in pace, would mean a flat tyre, which summed up to losing the race. I thanked God for my gift of balance, as I hunched myself towards the front and put negligible force on the rear.
But what surprised me was the fact that a tyre so new, had busted so early. Concentrating on my balance, I pedaled on.
There were the stray dogs en route, who kept barking at all the spectators lined in the border of the road, to witness the race. The Tea shops were filled with the local people, who had their huts on the hills, and cut trees for a living. Men with newspapers and women with sieves, to separate the husk from the grains, sat on both sides of the track, spectating the race.
Rashid, the mayor’s son was tall, well built and was known for his infinite stamina and strength, from the blackened eyes of the many boys in school. The cool air knocking the doors of my mind, pleaded to let concentration out of the doors. Restricting it, I let my mind do something else other than getting distracted by the beauty of nature and losing my pace.
I started doing things like counting the number of times, Ranjit overtook me, the number of times I used the brakes, the number of hairpin bends and the miles to go for the finish line. Atleast these things distracted me to a lesser extent.
I sped across a racer, when I saw a strange sight. Chintu, who was known for maintaining his cycle impeccably, was standing on the road, with a flat tyre.
My mind started wandering. How could have that happened to two racers? It was so not in Chintu’s way to get THAT problem. How come 2 on 8?
I was racking my brains over this, and failed to notice a turn coming on my way.
“Siddarth! Keep your eyes on the road! TURN!!”, said an achingly famililar voice.
I swerved the handle bar to miss the rock by a whisker. The fact that the voice was aching was that, it made me embarrassed to think that Ranjit actually helped me, stay put on track.
The order of racers were turned upside down in the last few kms, with me and Ranjit leading the pack of racers, the others exhausted from their early bursts of energy. Chintu had quit the race, thanks to his flat tyre, but that still confused me.
I could see the finish line, coming towards me, from a turn in the horizon, as I locked my eyes on the Dead-Man’s Curve which was the toughest turn. All the rain water, swept away, had clogged the pit and made it very very damp.
A sharp whistle ripped the air, as I turned to see Rashid with a spike on his hand.
Several things happened at once.
Rashid’s hand reached for my tyre, I suddenly lost control, My cycle was hurtling towards a jagged rock in the perfect centre of the turning arc, and I was dashing down from the 150 m altitude, to the unfriendly teak trees, which were racing towards me.
I could hear Ranjit’s voice from the background, before all went dark.
When I opened, I could see how lucky I had been. I had fallen on a platform, directly under the turn, which actually was the sole reason of my existence right then.
I recogonised the place instantly. It was Ranjit’s father’s cycle factory, that manufactured all kinds of parts, from bells, to the carriers. Near the entrance were the piles of tyres and wall tubes kept for sales. On the box was written,
I was shocked beyond measure when I saw the tyres.
Tyres, which were perforated very subtly but at the main places, and wall tubes with a microscopically inscised cut, were stacked in piles. First I was sure that they were meant to be discarded, but the shock slapped me once again when I saw the approval sign to be sent to the market.
Then it hit me. Realisation and Pain hit me simultaneously. I had my palm, dug into a broken piece of scrap and the wave of nausea that swept over me, but I still tried reasoning things out.
My back tyre had popped because the wall tube must have been defective. I was sure that It was the same brand of tyres because the memory of changing the tires this morning still seemed too clear to forget. That took care of Chintu’s problem. And as for the front, well, Rashid took care of that.
And as for Rashid, there were two possibilities. Either he didn’t want me to win the race, or he was hired by someone who didn’t want me to.
My mind, satisfied with the spell of reasoning, succumbed to the physical strain on my palm, and I blacked out.
When I came to, I was at the finish line, my dad near me, along with Ranjit whose face burned with emotions I couldn’t classify properly. The first event that happened, was when the Mayor hit Rashid.
“How dare you! To think that my son would stoop so low…”, his voice trailed off.
The Mayor apologized to me for Rashid’s behavior but the sight ahead of me was even more shocking as Mr.Guru was handcuffed by the Sergeant, and was being led away, when he met his son, Ranjit.
Ranjit’s eyes burned with shame, filling them with tears of regret and agony.
“Ranjit, I’m sorry to have hired Rashid to bust Siddarth’s tyres, but the probability of you coming second was too much for me to bear. I’m sure I can expla…..”, but Ranjit cut him short.
“Mr. Guru.”
“The gift that you have been giving the people of Ooty can never be forgiven by others, let alone me. Your foolish and the inhuman partiality towards urban areas, by selling the genuine goods to the metros, is the lowest level that can be thought of stooping to. Now I know why Sid was angry with me. Though I don’t have proof, I’m now convinced that it was YOU who destroyed Mr. Nitin Jain’s career. Shame on you dad.”
“As for your sentence, I don’t think it would be any less than a seven year term, for manufacturing defective products. By the time you come out, I would be a major, free to do what I want. So I order you not to come seeking me and I never wish to see you again.”
I was spectating this scene with awe. Ranjit didn’t need to explain anything to me as he was innocent. Rashid had been paid by Mr. Guru to sabotage me, like how he did to my father. Little did I know that my fall from the hill would cost my left thumb, leaving it immobile and inflexible for the rest of my life.
I could have taken the loss to my heart and have targeted Ranjit for it. But I realized it was never his fault anytime.I also realized I had found a new friend.
There were the crossroads in front of me, where one flank led to the police station and the plank perpendicular to it, lead to my house. I watched the painful separation of father and son, but my mind couldn’t force itself to feel a dint of pity for Guru. He had deserved this.
But what about Ranjit? I realized I could talk this out with him later.
But my hand stopped my mind from thinking, as it shot a wave of pain through my body.
My body winced with pain, as my heart whined with regret for Ranjit’s separation. My mind roared with remorse and eyes, with tears, for having used a defective balance to weigh Ranjit’s character.
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