The Unforgettable Journey

The gentry in 3rd ac is no longer what it used to be, thought Somesh as he pushed his suitcase under the seat. The 5 minutes it took him to reach his berth from the door, amidst clamour and congestion had left him exhausted. After catching his breath in a few pants, he surveyed his companions for the journey. The happy and complete Indian family; a husband, a semi-educated wife, a shy daughter and two overweight sons. Why he never found a shy son and overweight daughters with semi- educated mothers, he could not reason. What he knew with certainty was that they were not going to make his journey any easier. A tad disappointed, he focussed on the other side. The occupants of the side berths were not in sight but the luggage, or the lack of it, told him there were no women and certainly not any his age. “Not worthwhile to sit uncomfortably and converse with the other two, in that case”, Somesh thought and resigned himself to finishing the badly written “If God was a banker” during the journey.

Somesh loved travelling by trains. He had loved it since as long as he could remember. So much so that he would take the onward journey to Mumbai by train and only return by flight, whenever he went to meet his girlfriend, Simar, over an extended weekend. Although this cut in to their time together and almost always resulted in a quarrel with her, but he could not help it; these journeys were equally dear to him. They gave him time to introspect, the space to think uninterrupted and the freedom to be what he liked sans the presence of familiar faces judging him. This speeding sea of humanity was the only place where he got some time alone and stillness of thought.

He had, though, one regret: quite a few friends of his boasted about chance encounters in trains whereas he, a veteran by travelling standards, had never even been fortunate enough to have female company of the same age. And this journey was no different. “It would be worse, if anything”, thought Somesh. In a mental game he loved to play, he played out the movements, actions, questions and responses of each of the passengers. He secretly prided himself on predicting with reasonable accuracy, which was enhanced by years of experience in stereotyping and travelling. His train of thought was broken by the ruckus accompanying the middle aged men, occupying the side berths, who had arrived and were now stacking their bags. As soon as they had settled, both took out their phones and began talking in fluent, loud English so that their position of respect was established among fellow passengers.

As the engine blew the final whistle, Somesh’s mind started jogging; all the men are sharing some information about themselves. Highly likely that the businessman’s curiosity is aroused by someone’s line of work and questions and responses fly. Without any deliberation, the conversation flows like the mighty Ganga, exploring a variety of topics and finally settling in the vast ocean of India’s plight, politics and leaders. Once out of words, the businessman takes out a Hindi magazine from his bag and the other two return to making authoritative-sounding phone calls. At this point, the two boys who had been sitting quietly begin quarrelling, running around and generally wreaking havoc in the compartment. The others won’t complain, their gratitude bought by the laddoos which the wife had offered everyone.  By 9 PM, the younger one starts wailing non-stop for an hour, finally falling asleep by 10. The elder one though, carries on uninhibited until about 1 AM. Somesh is only able to fall asleep after the kid runs out of steam. And even before having a proper dream, it’s 5 AM and the younger one is up, all set to rule the kingdom in the absence of his older sibling. Somesh is more tired at 6 AM than he was at 6 PM.

“This can’t be allowed to happen. I must appear fresh and energetic for the interview tomorrow”. Somesh scratched his head, thinking hard. And then, like a flash, an idea crossed his mind. He again played out the whole scene with a minor tweak. Confident of his little scheme, he relaxed, biding his time.

Soon enough, they were looking at each other, expecting someone to start the conversation. Somesh listened as the businessman explained his business and the two men elaborated upon their company and role. “We shall be rivals if I get through”, Somesh murmured.  It was a brief moment before he realised that the others were staring at him, expecting him to ramble on about himself. Gathering his courage and wits, he calmly introduced himself, “My name is Somesh and I am in to smuggling stuff”. “Smuggling what?” the wife asked before she could check herself. With a carefully placed grin, making him look sinister, he said, “You don’t want to know”.

As he hid his hardly controllable smile behind the spiteful novel, he could feel everyone shifting uneasily in their seats – even the children. From that moment the compartment went unnaturally quiet and remained so until he had alighted the train the next morning.

As he sat waiting for his turn, he reflected on the incident. Not only was he better relaxed but also felt more confident, thanks to the wily trick. The masterstroke, he felt, was Simar’s call when he spoke to her pretending she was a call girl. On the one hand, his girlfriend was pleasantly surprised by his “naughty” behaviour and on the other hand, his sleazy choice of words reaffirmed his identity as a low-life among his fellow travelers. Talk about one stone and two birds. Lost in his own thoughts, his lips had broken in to a silly smile by the time his name was called out.

Walking in with a swagger, feeling supremely confident, he looked up to read his interviewers. In an instant, his face became the second thing to fall, right after his confidence had bungee-jumped without the safety rope. That his body did not follow suit was nothing short of a miracle. Sitting in front of him, were the two middle-aged men from the train. He wanted to turn around and run, run back to yesterday evening and re do that one moment when he had lied. Little beads of perspiration were now forming on his forehead and the back of his neck was itching. “Get ready to be slaughtered”, he told himself as he mumbled good morning.

Shamelessly sneering, they offered him a seat and glass of water. He only has hazy recollections of what happened next. Questions were fired and inadequate attempts were made at responding for a while. He kept gulping water until they had closed his file and returned it to him. He remembers the word congratulations and his hand being shook. What he clearly remembers is the instruction, “You are clearly gifted when it comes to convincing people. However, you are going to stop lying from now on.”

Hungry Couple Revisited

Like always, the police team, headed by inspector Rabindra Narayan Khanna Chakraborty, could not prevent the crime. They arrived at the Chaterjees' abode moments after Rajath and Ayesha had sliced through the blue-eyed child. What could have been a case of kidnapping, turned in to a murder case because the head constable, Nakshatra, could not hold his bladder a while longer. A little while earlier, he had created a ruckus and forcibly stopped the Police Jeep to relieve himself, while urgently rounding up the area, following a tip-off. Not strangely though, he was convinced that the neatly cut body parts are better evidence than a traumatised six years old boy. And because of him, the Police now have a stronger case.

As is every organisation's wont, the district Police heralded the valour and bravery displayed by constable Nakshatra in tackling down Rajath to public, politicians and media. While once among the secure, secretive grounds of the department, he would be ridiculed and cold-shouldered by even old friends who believed his wooden bladder had cost a boy his life and a couple, their child. All this could not and did not deter or disappoint him for he knew that they will come around like they always have, forgiving him through a twenty-year long career of goof-ups. Besides, he did act bravely, and somewhat stupidly, in pinning down that violent Rajath alone while letting the lanky, uncoordinated inspector, Rabindra, handle the feline woman Ayesha. That Rabindra came through the scuffle with a lot of scratches and bites is not his problem.

Despite the exhaustion and the odd wound, he had insisted a return to the house along with the investigation party. What the team found was as strange as strange itself. The couple had been living a life as respectable as was possible in this dilapidated house; the floor was clean, although it was missing entire blocks in places. The remains of a mattress, what served as a bed, were made as properly as the rags covering it would allow. There was even a make-up box which had been used recently. The Chaterjees could have very well been a couple who had fallen on hard times were it not for the grotesque stench emerging from the kitchen. Roughened-up, as the team was, two of the members still could not hold back their vomit and puked all over the place, part of the liquid even landing on the recently cut-up boy's arms.

After the sick men were rushed out, Arnab, olfactory tolerance heightened by a lifetime of cooking fish, opened the fridge. The sight could make Idi Amin proud; a fridge stacked up with human bones and dripping with blood, probably human too. The top shelf was filled with skulls while the longer arms and legs occupied the lower shelves. Backbones were neatly cut in to two; perhaps they were too long to fit in any shelf. Even the egg slots were put to use by storing fingers and toes there.

As he took in the sight and comprehended the magnitude of the arrest, Nakshatra silently swore that he would not let them die easy. They will have to pay for what they have done. The court may take its course and deliver its verdict but until then, he will personally make the hungry couple's lives a living hell. The department was used to such practices to extract information out of detainees. There would be, however, no bargaining and hence no stopping this time around. 

Every day, for the next week, Nakshatra would get up early, go straight to the station and lock himself up with the monsters. One after the other, punishments followed like a schedule. First, they were hung upside down and beaten until he tired. Then they were suffocated alternately in a plastic bag for 3 mins. each. When they used to pass out, they were jerked awake by mild electric shocks. After forcing them to lick their lunch from the ground, with hands tied behind their backs, he spent the evening watching them shivering on giant ice blocks. 

His superiors silently agreed with his ways and turned a blind eye to the daily ritual. Nakshatra had been asked to take just one precaution; both the convicts should have their hands tied behind them whenever he left the cell. He was free to undo the cuffs and even some joints when inside the cell. On his part, Nakshatra followed it to the tee until the 6th day.

Nearing retirement, he had decided that this case shall be his absolution. This couple will be punished for every soul they had tortured and he will win some respect in the bargain. Through the cruelties meted out, Nakshatra could virtually see his colleagues melting and accepting him. The coldness displayed on the first couple of days was now lukewarm, if not outright warm. And this kept him going on through the pleading eyes, the desperate screams for mercy and the repeated begging to put a bullet through their heads. Yes, no colleague of his could stand all this and carry on imparting justice.

The requisite coldness was a rare quality. If only he had been a bit more careful or had that crucial bit of luck on his side, he could have retired very high up. For he was brave, smart and decidedly apathetic to criminals; traits that could guarantee success, but he always let things slip at crucial junctures. The bank robbery where he mistook the robbers as civilians, the drug-raid where he accidently sniffed a bit too much and passed out, letting the smugglers escape. After every such mess, his colleagues sniggered behind his back while his seniors denied him promotion after promotion.

Everything was going the same way as the past six days. So much so, that Nakshatra was a bit bored and wondered if he should introduce some new methods. It could be interesting to see their reaction. The couple had been trying fruitlessly to search for a shred of warmth by covering each other on that ice slab when Nakshatra’s bladder revolted again. So much was the pressure that he ran straight to the toilet, foregoing repeated instructions to cuff them. It had not slipped off his mind but what could the battered bodies do in a couple of minutes.

As he returned from this exceptionally long bathroom break, he kicked the cell door which refused to budge. Surprised, he kicked again and almost at the same moment, found the reason for the door’s stubborn behaviour. A handcuff was tied to a rod in the door and to another in the door frame, holding the door in its place. He cursed himself for having left the cuff-key inside the cell. His angry eyes blazed fire, searching for the couple in the cell and the expression changed to pure astonishment as soon as he spotted them.

Crouched in the corner farthest from the cell, the couple was hugging and kissing each other silently. Oh no, it wasn’t hugging and kissing. The couple was biting each other’s neck off and digging nails in to the other to check their screams. As he frantically tried to undo the cuff with a pin, he could see blood dripping from both necks. He finally took out his service revolver and in the third attempt, shot the door open. As he ran towards the strange creatures, they desperately took one last bite and collapsed on the floor. When Nakshatra separated them, all that was left was two lifeless bodies with large, gaping holes in their necks from where blood spluttered out. He then spotted tears on those calm faces.

Disclaimer: Only the names are inspired, not the characters.

Private Demons

Your happiness is no secret,

with the joy on your face, writ large.

The news excites me too,

My smile for you isn't a farce.

I know you will react the same,

when you know of my good fortune.

If I was just elated before,

your smile will take me to the moon.

Things are different though,

when it comes to sharing sorrows.

I shall listen and help but,

the concern won't go beyond my brows.

So just be glad for my joys,

do not try to share my burdens.

For men may share their angels,

but every man has his own demons.

*Remotely inspired by this excerpt from Anna Karenina: "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way"