STORIES OF OLD WORLD CHARM

STORIES OF OLD WORLD CHARM
By. RAMA VENKATARAMAN

The set of twenty stories selected and presented here will transport you to a different world.

The people and the characterization will ring true. They are the ones whom you meet every day.

The emotions involved in each story are different. Thrilling, intriguing, sentimental, mysterious and comical, each of the story set to different rhythm, which apart from entertaining will also make you think.

The charm of the old world will come alive as you wade through them.

POST WOMEN

Even now I remember vividly as a picture, when I was in the IVth standard the teacher told us to write about a postman. It had stuck in my memory like a picture. The orderly, khadhi clad postman with his healthy stacked letters making rounds. His arrival waited in great expectation. How clean and almost holy he looked compared to the pot-belied businessman, haughty government servant or a pan-chewing bureaucrat.

Staying in the small town close to vizag, I one among the brood of children brought out by my fertile parents, had to stop my studies by school finals. After two years of aimless search when offered the job as a post woman, I felt it’s a Godsend gift. It fitted to my idea of an honest job.

Soon after joining we were provided a pair of beige saris matching blouse and a cycle to ride. Starting at 8.00 ‘0’clock in the morning my day winded up by 2.00 ‘0’clock.

I was a woman always fond of order. It was a pleasure and an act of great satisfaction to do things in an orderly manner. My beat was in the middle class locality and I used to enjoy in my rounds the order present there. The close-knit houses, used to emit a sense of order both inside and outside. The clean swept narrow roads with cow dung washed entrances the symmetry of exquisitely drawn ‘Kolams’ all were for me sight to enjoy in the daily beat.

The letters, the registries, the money orders and the parcels, I used to stack carefully in the brown bag given to us, for I knew and I could feel the importance of every little piece of paper carried by us. These tiny pieces of paper with words of magic written in them is going to link one human being to another, perhaps it may be even the vital link giving substance for their living, a News carried a emotion conveyed from their near and dear ones.

As the letter diminished from the pile one after another and finally got over I used to feel happy of a job well and orderly done.

I like giving letters to old men. Their days seemed to be centered on my arrival. You feel the good deed is done when you hand over the precious letter in to their eager and waiting hands.

Being a woman manning the post of a post man, people are always keen to know the tale of romeos and wolves. Suffice to say in my tenor of two years in the middle class locality in East Godavari, I have yet to come across either romeos or wolves. No doubt I have seen a suggestive look or a leer and smirk here and there. But I am too busy doing my job solicitously to dwell and underline on these hidden or suggestive looks.

The two years have not made me change my first opinion. I still feel it’s a God send gift. A day’s work done, I am always back home with a clean conscience and a healthy body to boot. We neither have to succumb to uneasy temptations or stay rooted like a dummy in one place as other professions calls for.

Daily I feel like a bird whose wings are prim and healthy, seeing the world go by in a colorful canvas as you do your honest job.

A FAMILY THAT WAS NOT TO BE

A FAMILY THAT WAS NOT TO BE

Mendez Fernandes was bend with concentration trying to fix the old ford deposited by the owner two days back. The ramshackle of the garage was slowly getting respectability. Mendez a meticulous worker had learned his trade a hard way. After ten years of apprenticeship under inhuman condition with tyrannical masters, Medez had picked up the trade slowly and surely. He now was proficient in his trade in spite of no formal training. Learning, to repair any vehicle with a couple of wheels and engine.

He had a quick eye to discern the spurious and the original and he always felt his duty to forewarn the owners and educate them about the malpractices of the trade though in the bargain he ended up loosing tidy sums which very few in his trade will miss loosing.

However his honest ways were gaining currency. His garage “Roma Garage” opened four years back in his mother’s name was fetching him enough business to take care of his aging drunken father and two younger brothers Joey and Jacob.

“Mendez Mendez” he could hear his father calling out feebly in half drunken state. This has been the case ever since his dear mother passed away.

Thinking about his mother even now brought tears to Mendez eyes. His mother had seen very few happy days ever since she married the fiend Fernandes. Those times Fernandes was a robust figure full of life, which he imposed crudely on Roma. Always full of liquor, but which he could hold then, filled with all the basest vigor for life, he expected Roma to be in attendance always with fun and frolic.

When the boys came in quick succession and Roma could not cope with his demands, Fernandes had no patience. He never failed to give a sound thrashing when any of his demands were not met in time. Mendez was a poor victim to witness the going on. He had taken after his mother soft and sentimental. The scenes left a lasting impression in his mind.

Mercifully Roma had an escape from the tough life. She passed away when Joey was just two. Mendez remembered the incident vividly. His mother was bleeding profusely after one of his father’s violent display of temper. He couldn’t recollect what was the crux of the matter. The next two days she was burning with fever lying curled up in the corner of the hut. All his father did was give his wife a couple of kicks to get her round to action. The third day morning they found their mothers limp body. His father had made a big show of grief crying and howling. The neighbors and many unknown relations stormed in. Next ten days the place was alive with grief. Mendez was stoic all along, a kaleidoscope of uncontrollable emotions welled in him. TYhe scenes of hostile inhuman beating meted to his mother etched in him.

When the mourning subsided Fernandes his fiend of father changed to a totally different human being. Gone from him the robust vigor, bouts of violent temper indulgence with life, calling out for rich fried rice with mutton curry. He suddenly seem to have become a non entity, like a hot air balloon getting deflated and he started clutching to his dear bottle for life.

The onus fell on Mendez. He was big enough to understand but still small to act. He had to grow up overnight, since he just could not bear to see his family falling off like a pack of cards. He struggled with his pittance of mechanics job at Larry’s garage. Larry was kind, with out much ado he used to spare him additional sums to run the house. However when Larry moved off he was left with no other kind soul to look upon. By then Fernandes was booted off from his load mans job in the factory.

Hard days fell upon them squarely. Fernandes was oblivious of everything except his bottle. Jacob and Joey were fast growing up.

Jacob was very much like his father. Vagabond, with vigor, always at loose ends Jacob in a short time got into trouble. When the News came Jacob was behind bars for bootlegging, it was Mendez who ran from pillar to post and bailed him out. However today the same Jacob is steeped in bootlegging. He has learned the trade well and keeps the law by his side. Mendez is again a mute witness to the going on. Mendez is most happy with the extravagant ways of Jacob especially he can now have his booze with out much problem.

Mendez had pinned his hopes on Joey. Joey was a delicate child, fair with curly hair, with his round helpless black eyes; he had always tagged behind Mendez for both need and comfort. Mendez literally had mothered him. Taken pains to educate him. Mendez always felt proud seeing Joey, and called him the decent speck in the family. He had grown to be tall, lithesome lad of fourteen in his school finals.

“Mendez, Mendez” the feeble call continued. Mendez had been steadily ignoring the call for last half an hour intent on completing the ford. Invariably such calls must be to supplement the empty bottle. His father must be too sizzled up to get up and replenish the stuff. Mendez has found ignoring such calls is the best way to deal with it, though Dr. had warned a prolonged deprivation might stoke the violent streak in him.

He had seen the old flashes of temper a couple of times, when Fernandes in a fury had vented it on himself. Tearing his dresses like a mad man he had rolled uncontrollably in the mud plastered floor, kicking his hands and legs. Mendez had to quiten him with good dose of opium. Of late Mendez had made it a routine to give his father small does of opium time to time to quieten his frayed nerves and to buy some peace in his living.

When Mendez finally could get himself out of the Fords bonnet and looked around, it has almost become dusk. The sun had set and the lights of the street were on. The houses in the buildings around them were simultaneously getting lit one after another. In fact in the concrete jungle around them theirs was the only structure hugging to the ground. The busy metropolis had changed rapidly over years. When they had arrived twenty years back, the place was still virgin with boulders, rocks and thick growth of bushes. With the arrival of couple of factories in the vicinity, the contractors arrived in hoards and erased the wilderness to ground rapidly erecting one building after another.

For quite some time they had been luring the Fernandes family to sell their stock for a tidy sum. But Mendez was always against it. He felt the cash won’t last them even for a while and soon they will be out in the street with out their moorings or money. Further he had his dreams of the family staying together.

But his determination and dreams took a volt-face the other day. It was purely by chance he discovered it. He was urgently looking for a pencil and opened Joey’s school bag containing the instrument box. Neatly packed in the corner were two small packets. As soon as Mendez opened it, it was like he was struck by a heavy volt of electricity. They were small doses of cocaine. Mendez was besides himself with grief. It was like some one gave a blow in his vitals, nos. he could connect the vacant looks of Joe.

Perhaps he had no right to dream. Who was he to change or make some one else’s life when his own was in the rough sea?


Now when the next bidder of the land walked in with smooth talk and hard cash. It was decided once for all to say good-bye to the family heirloom, ‘the four twisted souls’.


The piece of land changed hands for few crisp notes. It was divided into four equal parts and distributed, the last acts of unity, before putting out four individuals no more bounded by the ties named family.

THE BULL THAT WON THE RACE

THE BULL THAT WON THE RACE

Marimuthu couldn’t fathom his own enthusiasm this time for the bullfight. His bull kariappa standing next to him looked as virile as its owner. Tall well built with his hump of strong muscles gleaming and throbbing under the black and white skin. The sharpened horn looking menacingly venomous, kariappa was a true veteran in the bullfight. It was the fourth year in succession it was entering the bull fight in that village in south arcot Tamilnadu conducted regularly every year just after the harvest and the festive ‘pongal’ in mid January. It had always come unscathed from the boisterous carnival where spirits and temper ran high and bull and men used to get injured in scores. It was but Marimuthu the owner entering the foray for the first time sweltering in the expectancy of the event.

To this time Marimuthu had always been an amused spectator where as his father Velayudam, the man feared by the entire village with his roaring voice and military moustache had pampered and tamed the bull with very great care and enthusiasm for the great event of the year. This year the onus fell upon Marimuthu after the untimely death of Velayudam last year. His death to this day was shrouded in mystery. It was very strange in a perfectly familiar landscape how Velayudam fell in the open unguarded well. His body was found floating the next day. Marimuthu was called in great urgency where he was assiduously studying for his Engineering. All that was eight months back. Now Marimuthu against his intention was at the village in charge of the affairs of the family, land and now this bullfight.

He had started preparing the bull full two months back, as was the custom but with a lackadaisical spirit more as a duty to be dispensed with. All that changed when his eyes fell upon ‘Chingari the only lass who had seen school final in the village. However it was not that education which attracted him to Chingari.

He saw her for the first time in the fair, a nubile form with a smooth black complexion bend over the conch shell dolls displayed in the fair. Marimuthu was himself in the fair admiring the dolls when somebody called her from far ‘oh Chingari’ she turned and gave a bewitching smile which in a shot stole his heart. Marimuthu left the fair early following Chingari all the while discretely from a distance. Soon he knew everything about Chingari. The only daughter of the wealthy Mirazudar chidambaram, she seems to be the apple of the eye of her father. He also came to know chidambaram was searching high and low for a groom for his darling daughter and only the best and most eligible will come under his scrutiny.

However as passions of youth cannot be bridled for long, the inevitable happened. Marimuthu and Cchingari met one another and soon their love blossomed. The pleasant young man rippling with youth and vitality found a fitting partner in the vivacious Chingari. The young passions met each other at the verdant riversides, behind the temples, in the fields, in the thick coconut groves secretly, furtively which only incensed them and vowed undying love for one another.

There was a lot at stake for Marimuthu at this sporting event. Though Marimuthu had wealth and education to boot, he was determined to display his valor too at this great event and prove himself worthy of Chingari in every way. Training the bull gained meaning and impetuous to Marimuthu. He had been regularly running with the bull at the riverside. Now standing there gearing for the event his bare chested body glistening with sweat after a rigorous work out of his bull he seemed all set for the event so was Kariappa grunting and fuming ready to charge and had to be kept in leash with difficulty by Marimuthu. Cries, bellows and shouts rent the air, the entire village in row seem to have emptied in to the arena. He could spit half a dozen man with their lungis tucked high clutching their bull waiting for the signal to start.

His heart was beating fast, his eyes roved anxiously to spot Chingari. The ladies in-group had assembled in rooftops and balconies. After some futile search his eyes caught Chingari in her red and yellow half sari almost at the edge of the terrace in the street opposite. She gave her bewitching smile filling Marimuthus heart with a charged enthusiasm to win and whatever nervousness he had seemed to disappear.

The shrill whistle blew announcing the start of the event. The bulls were let loose by the owner in to the arena. In a second the charged bulls were over one another. It was a ghastly sight. The horns interlocked panting and fuming they were attacking one another. Soon it was mass of bleeding bodies. Three of the bulls had fallen down injured. However Kariappa stood the ground. There was still not a mark or scratch on its body. It was in a frenzy attacking the white bull of Chockalingam. The crowd was prodding them on. Any little semblance of order was lost by now. There was very little leeway for the bulls to move as the crowd had entered the arena and egging the bulls from all sides. The bulls were getting frenzied. The fight had by now entered the by lanes the crowd started running amok in front and back of the bulls.

When Marimuthu was trying to keep pace with the charged Kariappa it happened. The wall of the terrace where Chingari and other girls were standing gave way and the girls along with the brick and mortar came hurling down. As he looked up he saw his own Chingari falling. He shrieked and howled, pushing the milling crowd around somehow he reached site. There was Chingari lying unconscious under his feet. He lifted her tenderly, as the authorities closed in he claimed her to be his wife and brought her out of the suffocating crowd. He ran with her to the hospital. Chingaris pulse was almost faint. Luckily the Drs took over immediately and no efforts were spared to revive her back. Meanwhile the news reached chingaris parents. Mr. and Mrs. Chindambaram came in great panic to the hospital.

Marimuthus gallant act of saving their darling daughter from near death won their heart much more than any acts of valor. Marimuthu and Chingaris parents kept a continues vigil near the bedside. Late in the evening when Chingari opened her eyes she found her slender hands firmly held by her ardent lover while her anxious parents gave a sigh of relief and look approvingly at the pair. Marimuthu and chingari soon embraced each other in wedlock and he was ever thankful to his bull Kariappa which in a way helped him to win the race in love.

BETTER VISIBLE THAN INVISIBLE

I had known Dr. D’souza for the last seven years. A doctorate in chemistry Dr. D’souza was in the evening of his life. After a long stint at Nairobi he had chosen this small hill town Dehradun to spend the rest of his life. Dr. D’souza a true scientist still carried his passion for the subject. It was well known his sprawling house housed a well-equipped lab where D’souza was known to spend many hours dabbling in chemicals, as any layman would call it.

You may wonder, I a perfectly innocuous man, nor a man of letters or power and position, a humble government servant struck friendship with an erudite person like D’souza.

It all started with our pet dogs. My Rocky was no pedigree. Like its master it was a humble breed. However it never lacked any confidence. Perhaps secure in the affection we used to shower on it in ample measure, a friendly out going dog Rocky tried to strike friendship with D’souza pedigree lady pansy.

Dr. D’souza a stickler to morning walks with lady pansy in toe was rather relieved to get a companion for the frustrated bitch and our friendship blossomed. He found me a good listener for all the long lived in tales at Nairobi while our respective dogs were engrossed in one another.

It was then one day he casually told me about the potion LEM-X as he called it, which he has concocted, which would make a person vanish from the scene for six complete hours. I was hearing him indulgently as a grownup son would hear the babbles of his grand father, for by then I had developed a strong affection for the old affable man though I suspected him a bit eccentric even lunatic. Well as they tell there is a very thin line dividing between sanity and lunacy, I never questioned many a tall tales Dr. D’souza had narrated me. What I know of the ways of the ways of the world, a humble government servant.

Hence when D’souza waxed eloquent about this potion LEM-X and how he had made it and its potency in vanishing human beings. I was half nodding half listening keeping an eye on the antics of rocky and lady pansy. How ever I did notice Dr. D’souza more excited than usual. So when he invited me to his mansion to taste the potion LEM-X I just quietly went like a lamb led with out contemplating for a moment either the absurdity of potion LEM-X or the magnitude of its effects.

Led by sprinting Rocky and lady pansy we entered Dr. D’souza’s sprawling house. While the dogs were left out to amuse themselves Dr. D’souza led me to his revered lab. It was the first time he was showing me the prestigious lab and I was honored that I didn’t think twice when D’souza gave me the potion LEM-X, a green hideous liquid in a glass very much like the ‘sherbet’ we offer to a frequent visitor. I just drank it like given champagne to an honored guest.

It was hard to believe and harder to describe, what happened in a fraction of a minute. Me a 5’ 10” man, always proud of my ample girth and masculine form vanished in to thin air. All there stood was my clothes, the gray tweed coat and matching pair of trousers, like a pair of dresses hung out to dry. My hands had vanished, not a sign of my protruding paunch. Dr. D’souza dug out a mirror from the littered drawer and held it towards where my face was. All I could see was a slanted hat in place where my baldhead was. I slowly removed my hat, then my coat, a pair of trousers and my under garments though I found a little embarrassing to do it in front of the erudite Dr. D’souza.

And you guessed there was no more sign of me, I vanished with out a trace only the pile of clothes stood testimony to what I was. No doubt I got unnerved while Dr. D’souza rambled eloquent about the LEM-X and numerous months or was it yrs he had spent to make it a real potent one. Between all the ramblings I could decipher one thing, this miracle will last me for six complete hours.

My brain though vanished in physical sense was still working all right. It soon hatched plots to make most of the situation.

Like any youngster I had spend yrs daydreaming about many such improbable happenings but seeing it happen now at the ripe age of 55 it was a bit hard to take. I nevertheless was getting smart to the situation though the old brain was taking some incubation time to come to grip of the situation.

I looked at the timepiece at the mantle, it was 8 ‘0’ clock still two hours for my office to start and a clear three hours before lunch time when the whole office will empty out faithfully to partake the days portion of humble meal. I slipped out of the back door telling D’souza I will be back by 2.30 to collect my dresses for I did not want to get caught literally with my pants down.

Off I went home. My Dharmpatni was as usual in the kitchen making the numerous potions for her brood of children and grand children. My eldest son was scanning through the day’s paper. His wife, the ‘bahu’ of the house was serving him tea and his favorite snacks. I could notice a meaningful glee in her face as she fondly lifted a ‘pakori’ and gave it to her husband. I immediately guessed it was a prelude to a confidential conversation. I had by then flopped in the corner chair having decided to observe the going on from the undisturbed place. The ‘bahu’ at least seemed concerned while the rest of the house was oblivious. “Where is pappaji? He hasn’t returned so far” “Oh he must be with the old hag Dr. D’souza” commented my eldest Sri Putran and got busy marshalling the news and the ‘pokaras’ fondly offered by dear wife.

“Well have you given a thought about Suresh. With 58% marks where do you think he will get admission. My bhabhi was telling with just 65,000 Rs. We can get him admitted in the newly opened regional college”

My son lifted an eye from the paper eyed his wife “where do you think such kind of money is”?

“Oh you can ask papaji. He is retiring in couple of yrs. A handsome amount would have been accumulated in provident fund. I am sure he can take some advance.”

In answer my Sri putran lifted a ‘pokora’ as he masticated it with all the seriousness of a cow chewing the cud, the idea seemed to enter him as his eyes sparkled with some light of comprehension over the spectacles. “Let Papaji come, I think if that is so Papaji wont deny” The job accomplished the bahu left leaving her husband to munch the rest of the ‘pokoras’

In came my college going daughter Dinkie wearing the tight fitting jeans and loose printed shirts and close cropped hair. It was hard to tell if it was Dinkie or was it shammi her brother. The doubt was cleared when the shrill voice came out in cascades.

“Bhaiya where is papaji not yet back from walk”. Well yet another concerned soul

“I told papa to leave me in college. I had to reach today by nine. Bhaiya why don’t you leave me”

“I cant do it. My scooter is out of order and further its low in petrol”

“Oh don’t worry. Take papa’s scooter. Come on now. Put on a shirt. I am getting late.”

My Sri Putran reluctantly got up took my scooter key from Dinkies hands and was off taking his dear sister.

It was Shammi my youngest of the brood coming rushing out. Wearing faded denim, an ill-fitting loose shirt, and hair disheveled and chewing a gum in the mouth.

“Mom where is Dad?” Well was it a concerned soul. My Dharampatni who was out with a plate of ‘parathas ignored the question and extended the plate to her ladla Beta.

“Mom I want a twenty Rs. Urgently. Today we are all planning to eat out”. He stuffed the ‘parathas’ in the mouth washed it with a glass of water while my Dharampatni took a crisp 20 Rs. note from a rusted tin in the corner of the shelf. I felt aghast. It was 28th of the month and here I was for last one week making do with ones and twos while a complete hidden treasure trove was perched right in the shelf.

It was now time for me to go to office so far neither my Dharampatni or any body had seriously pondered about my absence.

However being invisible does not make the pangs of hunger invisible. I slowly gravitated towards the kitchen when my dharampatni came out to haggle with the ‘sabziwalla’ and then went to the bathroom with the thud thadam of the clothes being banged in the bare floor.

I smuggled 3 hot parathas from the pile and like my son stuffed if in my mouth, washed it down with a glass of water and dashed out. It was still half an hour for the office to start. I remembered I have to trudge to the office today, which will involve 3 km walk.

It was stupendous task to walk with out some passer by dashing against me. It was a sight to see the expression of the people as they dashed against the invisible me. I then took the by lanes and scurrying like a alley cat reached my office puffing and panting at 10.30.

Mr. Sharma my roommate had arrived. Did I notice a look of smugness in his demeanor. I teetotaler of habits had always objected Sharma munching away the paan like a cow chewing the cud. Of late he had started behaving and I used to only see him sneaking a paan after lunch and one just after the stipulated tea at three. Today he had his box of paan openly outside. At 10.30 he must have decided he is safe from me and I am not going to come. A man of least sophistication he was literally squatting on the chair munching away the paan and as I could see making an STD call from the phone allocated to me. “Hello Yaar. Is it Meerut? I am sharma here. At last I could phone you today. The old rascal has not come and I am planning to make most of it. So how is Mausaji? Did chintu get admission in pre k.g.” The talk went on, around all the family gossip while the meter must have run amuck.

The peon Ram Singh entered with a smirk on his face “Namaskarji, Sir are you alone today?”

Sharmaji lifted his eyes from the receiver and offered him a couple of paans. No doubt to make him party to his deeds. Ram singh happily took the paans and started chewing it right inside my room.

I did not have a stomach to see the going on and moved to the main hall where the rest of the staff was gathered.

There I could spot Mrs. Nautiyal, my assistant snuggly near the heater and knitting furiously like there is not going to be a tomorrow. There was no trace of the files, the important works I had assigned her just yesterday evening. My hands itched to bang the table but I retraced slowly my itching hands.

There I can spot Mr. Joseph and Srinivas in a heated conversation. I always had a sneaking doubt Mr. Joseph had a lot of unpleasant things to talk about me especially after he was over looked for the promotion inspite of being in my batch. Slowly I gravitated towards them. My doubts were not bellied. Mr. Joseph was giving a spicy description about my well-kept paunch while Mrs. Mithal was dissolving in to peals of laughter. Then it was a commentary on my incompetence, how I cringe and grovel in front of M.D. while Mrs. Mithal with giggles and laughter was adding enough fuel to the fire. With such reception Mr. Josephs bravado was increasing more and more. My blood boiled. I wanted to make a straight drive at Joseph’s neck as well give a whack or two to the giggling Mrs. Mithal like a schoolgirl. However I moved telling after all you can’t expect any enlightenment from lesser souls like Joseph and Mrs. Mithal.

By 11.30 when it was clear I am not to be around the office seemed to have drifted to a mood of festivity. Some hot ‘samosas’ and ‘gulab jamuns’ arrived from the near by Joint. It was gulped down with cups of hot tea. Mrs. Nautiyal called her husband to tell she will be back home early.

I trudged back home by 1.30. My Dharampatni no doubt was at the verandah sitting there with a worrisome look. The bahu was in her room taking an afternoon siesta. The house was empty otherwise.

I hurriedly went back to Dr. D’souza. It was just 20 minutes to go by. Dr. D’souza was at the lab. Another potion of the hideous liquid was ready there was an option for me to have yet another dose. However with 6 hrs in the invisible world, my fantasies lived in, I was ready to trade in to the visible world for any prices.

Mr. D’souza could sense me. He greeted me “so sir how was the day”. I saw my clothes as I had left heaped on the chair. I wore it one after another. It was by them 2 ‘o’ clock. Yet no sign of me. I was truly threatened. Being invisible was no more a bliss. Ever so gradually I started to see me filling my contours, eyes, nose, moustache, the bald head, the well stocked paunch all my dear possessions were back and I would say I was happy back to be me.

THE PENANCE

Savita Desai was a pretty lady. The two scores of life she had already lived sat light on her young shoulders. She had poise and confidence, which gave glimpses of good grooming over years. But all that could not sustain the marital boat she had been riding for the last seven years. It was a roughshod ride right from the onset.

As Savita waited her eternal wait for Mr. Desai to arrive back from his never ending business activities on their 23rd floor, penthouse apartment in Bombay, her mind traced back to the time she met Mr. Desai for the first time.

It was on the Air-India flight. Savita was coming back from New York after a two months stay with her sister Namrata and family. This was her third visit to States and back. By now she was familiar with the formalities of the journey. The novelty had worn off. They had landed in Damascus. It was a transit halt. She was in no mood to alight from the plane. Mr. Desai the passenger in the next set was relaxed browsing thorough a magazine. The plane had deserted look with most of the passengers down, perhaps to collect some bargain shopping from the duty free counters. Savita looked side ways at her companion. To tell the truth, she was enamored by the co-passenger right from the start. The tall, nonchalant and handsome companion had kindled her curiosity. Her attempts to strike a conversation with out loosing her dignity and poise had come to naught. He hardly seemed to have noticed her, what with his pre occupations with his briefcase and calculator there seemed to be hardly any room for any one. This only fuelled Savita's interest, who got more determined to catch his attention. But now after spending seven long years with Mr. Desai she knew all that was a facade.

Well to cut the story short Savita in the trip did succeed not only catching his eye but the small interlude in the trip developed to a raging romance. The three short months of their courtship was always high on drama and emotion involving some nail biting uncertain wait near the phone. That when Mr. Desai proposed at the sea rock hotel over the spread of a richly laid table, she had thought in desperation such a moment will never come and she was eager like a child to accept the diamond ring he slipped on her finger with such aplomb and confidence or conceit now to think over that he did not think it was necessary to ask her consent in the high drama of taking her as his wife.

She was almost like a puppy led in the first years of their marriage, always waiting to carry every whim of Mr. Desai, like a bounded horse, she could neither see left or right.

Looking back her life with Mr. Desai had been one long wait, the hours and days spend initially during courtship feverishly waiting for him to come for lunch, waiting for his evening return which used to get later and later as months passed with nothing to do between one wait and another wait waiting for him to talk some endearments, to get a look of tenderness, empathy, understanding, waiting for him to take her out. Her world was dominated only by Mr. Desai’s personality. She seemed to have become a cocoon imprisoned in the threads of Mr. Desai’s wealth, position and needs, While Mr. Desai remained an enigma, always impeccable in manners. But there it was like an improbable wall; she could never touch him or unburden herself. She always felt foolish and small at few times she had tried to paint her numerous fears, thoughts, euphoria’s, depressions in words to Mr. Right. He always had a knack of looking through her that she used to end up hastily eating her words and take the role of a faithful puppy waiting on him.

What Mr. Desai did for a living was still a mystery to her. His numerous foreign jaunts and business talks were planned and orchestrated out of her orbit, that initially she dare not ask him any questions about his affairs, later she totally lost interest that she almost approved of Desais action of not including her in the matters of power and decision.

Initially she accompanied him to the foreign tours with a glee of a child, carefully planning the wardrobe with high expectations of seeing the new lands. But being left in cold hotel rooms for hours, the destinations hardly made any difference. The colors of the hotel room hosiery and curtains used to blend with one another leaving a vacant blur of colors as memory of the places visited, that she left joining him in the meaningless trips and also she was not called for.

It is hard to tell when Savita the self confident women, appreciated for her wit and charm in the college became the after glow of Mr. Desai, an adorable puppy, a mere satellite and when this Mrs. Desai became a rebel.

Perhaps things might not have turned so bad if like every normal couple they had a couple of siblings and Mrs. Desai would have become pre occupied bringing up the wards to perfection. That would have removed the void, which was steadily stealing in to her soul. But that was not to be. The couple of abortions left her guilty and worthless, with no warmth of Mr. Desai to engulf her she had seriously contemplated suicide. After the initial yrs Mr. Desai had stopped troubling her and there had been no serious attempt to redeem the situation, again there was a thick veil of communication gap on the topic and Mrs. Desai had not dared to pierce it.

Its hard to tell when Mrs. Savita became a rebel that today she was waiting impatiently for Mr. Desai to return to serve him the divorce degree, carefully worded and prepared by the lawyer who had charged her full Rs. 2000 to write it up.

Her spirits were high. She almost felt like a young girl. With a stroke of a pen she will manage to erase the seven long empty years and walk out free. She did not want any alimony. It was almost like she hated the thought of money. Perhaps if they had been poor and had to struggle they might have found something common to share. She checked up the neatly packed suitcases. She had picked and chosen to pack carefully only the things she required for her immediate living. Most of her sober clothes have been handpicked from the possession of the rich and gaudy dresses she had come to have as Mrs. Desai. Soon she would be in Sanfronsico. Her sister Namrata had got a job for her as governess to Mr. Tailors daughter whom she had met personally a couple of times while at States.

Her reverie was broken by the chime of the doorbell. Who could it be? Mr. Desai always let himself in with the keys from his briefcase. She opened the door to be greeted by the uniformed attendants of the hospital. She could only half hear the apologetic words of the attendant `Sorry Ma’m Mr. Desai had a massive heart attack, luckily he is alive in the intensive care unit’. Soon she was whisked by Mr. Desais colleague to the hospital. Racing through the well-lit corridors smelling of anesthetic and allopathic drugs, strangely she found her heart thumping with anxiety, inspite of her recent resolution to cut off the bonds of marriage forever, here she was in the corridors of the intensive care unit. Through the glass doors she saw her handsome husband lying pathetic against the white sheets. A plethora of tubes were attached to his body carrying perhaps the life saving fluids, while Mr. Desai lay helpless there, eyes closed under heavy sedation.

As Savita gazed at him for a long time standing rooted there, her rebellion seemed to melt away like the mornings dew. After weeks stay in the hospital Mr. Desai was discharged in to the charge of Savita with scores of instructions by the doctors attending. She carefully took note of Desai’s regimen as to the medicines, kind of food to be given, the daily needs of walks and exercises. Savita once again started waiting on Mr. Desai but now with a difference, now Desai did not look through Savita but looked in to her eyes with a depth of understanding and tenderness.

Suddenly the wide chasm between them seems to have closed. A rub with the ultimate had sent a new vision in to their lives. As the days passed, Desai free of his business commitment started seeing Savita in a new light. Their planning of each day, morning walks, partaking together of lunch and dinners cemented their marital boat to such extend that now it was ready to sail even rough seas. One peril had to undo another.

THE DEATH OF A LOVED ONE

THE DEATH OF A LOVED ONE

The summer holidays were about to begin. Radhika was getting ready with the preparation of going home. Rajesh and Shaila were busy with their exams. But she could sense their suppressed excitement about the oncoming holidays.

Going home for summer holidays has become a yearly ritual. For the last seven yrs in succession every yr as soon the school closed Radhika had promptly kept the preparation ready for 1 and1/2 months holiday at Mysore. Ragunath her husband had never tried to break this routine. Being affectionate by nature Ragunath himself believed in developing the filial ties of his children. Having lost his parents at a very early age he had no objections in Radhika going to her parents every yr. Rather he made it a point to spent at least a week at Mysore in pretext of bringing back Radhika and children.

As Radhika busied herself with the day’s chores in their flat at Bombay, she noticed for some strange reason she had been feeling rather heavy at heart. With a near mechanical precision she had been going through the work. The days washing done, now it was time to fill his tiffin carrier. The doorbell chimed. When Radhika opened the door she found Mrs. Sen her neighbour “Radhika there is a trunk call for you from Mysore”. She suddenly felt her heart sinking. It was like she almost knew what the news is going to be. She dragged herself to the receiver “Hello”. It was her neighbor Satyam.

“Hello, Is it Radhika? Dear let God give you strength to bear the News Your father passed away early morning at 4.30 a.m. peacefully in his sleep.”

Looking at her ashen face Mrs. Sen kept a protective hand on her shoulders. All Radhika manage to whisper in the phone was “I understand uncle” and she couldn’t speak as spasms of sobs engulfed her frame. The last two days of heaviness was let down in a stream of tears.

Radhika was the last of their four children. Being the only daughter she had been the privileged right from childhood. As anybody could see clearly father and daughter were almost mirror image of one another and shared an empathy, which to this day she could not find in another human being.

It was like her whole world crumbled and left bare with nothing to look forward to. How she cherished the home coming every summer. It had been balm, a healing touch to go back to these familiar settings at Mysore, laze around in the spacious compound of their independent house. Help her father in the gardening of which lately he was getting more and more involved. Sit with him in the spacious grill verandah and sip the morning coffee. Go-for leisurely night walk on their open terrace, looking at the swaying coconut palms down, how they is to count with glee the small tender coconuts like counting chickens before it hatches. Life used to sound once more meaningful after the months of routine and humdrum life at Bombay. She used to feel secure and child like in her Fathers Company in spite of nearing forty and mother of two children.

She never realised married life would chain her with such heavy responsibilities, that of late she had started feeling aged. She had always been carefree never taking herself seriously in her younger days. Her father a bit of philosopher and poet was a real romantic at heart. No doubt she had imbibed the streak from him. Her father had always treated her a tender flower to be protected from vagaries of the world. Perhaps he found refuge in his pretty daughter where his wife was self willed and dominant.

Whenever he used to come back from tours there was always sure at least a small gift for her. The frocks she wore when small, the langas she wore in college and the saris selected with care for her wedding all had the imprint of her fathers selection in them.

A lover of flowers he had not only nurtured round the year jasmines and kanakambarams in the garden as she could sense it keeping her in mind as every summer when the flowers used to be in bloom, he used to pluk with care the flowers in the evenings. She and her daughter used to make thick venis and adorn their hair.

Now she could see him no more. A thick stab of pain tore through her heart. It was like a part of her has been wrenched and never to be joined again.

Like a homing pigeon she had always found her refuge in the warmth of her father. The uneasy fears, self doubts used to just vanish like dews in the early morning sun. Now where will the homing pigeon go?

In spite of seeing the uncertainties of life, she had never for a moment contemplated a time when her father would be no more. Perhaps that is Maya, the curtain falls over your vision when you refuse to see beyond the immediate.

A WORTHY HABIT

A WORTHY HABIT

We packed all our camping gear into the old car and set off into the forest for a retreat into nature.We selected the place first ,the ideal one for setting up camp by the time John and I set up the tent it was dark. Exhausted from all the driving, I decided to take a quick bath at the stream near by while John agreed to cook the evening meal while I was gone.

By the time I was through with my bath, it was totally dark on that moonless night. With the help of my torch I made my way back to the tent. There was no one there. There was no meal cooked either. There was only darkness and the sound of insects. I stood for a moment undecided. The silence became oppressive when suddenly my ears caught the sound of trampling of dry leaves. It was pitch dark. With the camp lights off I could not see anything. The thin strand of my torchlight was the only source of visibility in the area. I felt something ominous in the air.

I stood rooted there and tried to listen. It was now more distinct. Something heavy was being dragged over the dried leaves accompanied by heavy trampling of feet. With my moorings lost I just couldn’t make out from which direction it was coming from. A swirl of fear rose up from pit of my stomach. I imagined the worst. Was John being hauled by wild animals?

Flashing the torch light in all directions, in great fear I ran towards the car parked 5 mts away from the camping site with the idea of onning the powerful head lights of the car. However I fell headlong on the driftwood. As I was trying o scramble and get up I felt a heavy hand over my shoulders. Before I could turn back and see what caught me, a thick cloth bag fell over my face. Than the little I could see was also completely blacked out. Mercifully I could breathe with the two holes just below the nose. As I began to scream, my screams were muffled by an iron hand over my mouth clutching me so tightly that I blacked out.

When I opened my eyes, I found I was whizzing past in a car. Lying prostrate with the blood still lying over my eyes all I could feel immediately was the speed. I lay still, the car or what ever may be the contraption we were traveling took a sudden sharp turn, a heavyset man fell over me. I lay quiet lest I give way I have awakened. He got up and spoke to his companion. The voice was rough the language was strange. None of the numerous European tongues which I was familiar. His companion at the wheel turned back and answered him. It sounded Arabic. They now rapidly started talking with one another. Many times they used the word Allah. Yes they must be Arabs. The car stopped somewhere. They must have taken me as plunked off as I could hear both of them getting down and moving off, probably to release themselves.

I got up cautiously; I always used to carry a small packet knife inside my blouse whenever we went out camping as I found that the safest place where I won’t end up misplacing it.

I started looking for it frantically. Yes it was there. I cut off my tight hood strings, stripped out the hood and looked around. For a second my eyes refused to co-operate. Then I saw the neon lights and the signboard. We were in the outskirts of New Jersy. It was written 140 km to New Jersy. I got out and waved frantically at the oncoming cars. None were ready to stop. Then I spotted the patrolling car flashing its lights and coming down seeing me the car slowed down, I explained hurriedly to the officer who put his head out enquiringly, that I am being kidnapped.

All of a sudden a couple of gunshots whizzed past me. There was a shoot out. The police shot at the two figures sitting crouched behind the bushes. I ducked and went to the other side of the car. The traffic behind came to a stand still. A stream of cars got lined up with their drivers cautiously peering through their drawn window screens.

Seeing they were loosing out one of the figures behind the bush made an attempt to run. He was immediately shot below the ankle and he lay injured under a pool of blood. The other fellow got up threw his hands high and surrendered.

Both were apprehended quickly. The traffic behind cleared and we drove the car silently to the police station with the two culprits. A vigorous interrogation ensued I was getting sick with worry about John. Have they dumped him in the camping site? Have the wild animals devoured him? I was sitting tense outside the interrogation room having told the officer in charge about my missing husband.

Shortly the room opened, the officer came out in great hurry, beckoning me we went to the car we were traveling in, opened the dickey to find a heavily sedated John lying tied up. Finding John was enough for me. I broke out sobbing.

The two Arabs had mistaken us to be the American agents whom they were on the look out for some misdeeds committed in their country and we ended up in this bizarre adventure.

While we were glad to get back ourselves alive, we were grateful and thrilled to receive the honor for helping to capture the notorious foreign national alive.

John who had always ridiculed my habit of packing things in my blouse had to accede praise for my presence of mind and the ‘ worthy habit’ that saved our lives.

A CLULESS MURDER

A CLULESS MURDER

At any given time the building wore an active look. It appeared the residents rarely retired. At all times one could find a group of boisterous children going up and down, ladies out in open calling out to one another, forming cozy gossip corners and chatting away unmindful of routine calls of the duties. Even the men folk in the weekend joining in pool lunch and dinners fleeting in and fleeting out of each others houses.

In the three storied apartment consisting of forty and odd houses there appeared no peace, no privacy. Mr. Soin detested the set up from day one. However he had little choice. In this urban conglomerate getting a house that too on rent was not an easy task. After searching high and low for six months when house no 304 was located in Priya Nivas by Mrs. Tandon in a very much middle class locality Mr. Soin decided to call it quits for searching houses and settled for it, though he has not happy of the prosaic ways of the residents.

The residents were as eager as hawks as Mr. Soin felt to get acquainted with him. However Soin kept them all at a distance closing the acquaintance with a nod here, a namasthe there, a Hello and few good mornings. This only fuelled their curiosity to know more about Mr. Soin. After two months of staying when Mr. Soin brought the pretty un married Reena Sood and planted her at No. 304, most of the residents raised their eyebrows. Finally the curiosity turned to a crescendo when exactly a month after Miss. Reena Soods arrival on thursday morning, 29th dec the lady was found lying in a pool of blood with a knife firmly lodged in her abdomen.

Nothing even as remotely as startling as a theft or accident had happened in their building right from its inspection, 22 yrs back.

Mr. Soin came out looking an ashen at 8.30 a.m. from flat 304. It was Mrs. Tandon coming out with her pail of clothes to dry in the terrace upstairs he met first.

Mr. Soin blurted out “Mrs. Tandon Reena is terribly wounded”

Mrs. Tandon rushed in to find Reena sood in a critical state. Immediately Mrs. Tandon raised an alarm, she ran out and called the Sharmas, the Sabarwals the two right hand and left hand neighbors of Mr. Soin and what with one calling another very soon the place was swarming with people with everybody insisting to have a peep at Reena Sood now lying semi conscious.

In all the din and the noise one did have the presence of mind to call the ambulance, soon Reena sood along with Mr. Soin, Mr. & Mrs Tandon, the Sharma’s accompanying and all the residents of Priya Nivas seeing them off they left to the government hospital five kms off.

By evening Miss Sood succumbed to her injuries and was declared dead. Mr. Soin turned out to be the sole caretaker of Miss. Sood. He requested for a cremation in the electric crematorium and the body was disposed post haste the same night.

A police case was registered by the hospital authorities as a routine.

Next day morning half a dizen police men trooped indise Priya Nivas asking for 304. They found 304 securely locked which they broke with out much ado, inside the place bore hardly any resemblence to the grotesque incident. The place had a recently cleaned and swept appearance. The furniture was lying intact, the kitchen clean, the sink empty, no remnants of cooked food or beverages. The wadrobes neatly stacked with few of Miss. Sood and Mr. Soins clothes. The bathrooms also unearthly clean and detergented. There were no discriminating personal papers to give any clue of Mr. Soin or Mr. Soods background. When the police tried to get some fingerprints they found the place swarming with fingerprints that they left the exercise in disgust. Unable to get any lead the police handed the case over to Mr. Neeraj Kumar, DEP (South) of the Detective wing.

Mr. Neeraj Kumar a man in his mid forties, medium built with a wisp of a moustache, a constant half smile lingering in his demeanor with unassuming manners, an appearance completely belying his sharp and analytical brain.

When Mr. Kumar appeared in the scene on Sunday morning exactly 3 days after the incident, he did not have to search for witnesses of the incident. Most of the residents were our to greet him ready to give their own account of what happened. In fact with so much of information poring in Kumar was finding it tough to remove the chaff and know the crux of the actual happening.

The house no. 304, the three-roomed apartment was combed thoroughly. Mr. Kumar reconstructed the crime step by step. Mr. Soin had swept clean the place and had himself absconded leaving very little evidence of him or the crime.

It was at 8.30 a.m. Mr. Soin had called out to Mr. Tandon and reported of Miss. Reena’s state. The wound must have been a fresh one. Mr. Soin was obviously agitated. But it could have been an act.

Bit by bit Mr. Soins background was collected to get a picture. Mr. Soin turned out to be a freelance broker in export import yarn business, getting his mullah with the bulk orders he used to help to get for the parties. His inflow of funds was then in fits and starts at times to staggering amount running in lakhs. He lived well, as a man of ample means but highly reticent in his personal matters that people who knew him didn’t know anything apart from what Mr. Soin chose to reveal and were not sure even if he was single or married. However Mr. Soin described a compulsive womanizer had been spotted at different occasion with glamorous women in his luxurious air-conditioned contesa classic.

The prime question was why was Mr. Soin absconding? Inspite of one week of combing the police did not get any lead. The contessa classic bearing the registration No. HMY 4231 was missing as well all the personal documents of Mr. Soin.

The gregarious residents now repeated like a parrot the sequence of the events the same way, which they had by now discussed umpteen times with in themselves.

Mr. Kumar decided to follow a method of individual quarrying. He had found in many cases this method effective when the witnesses are not coloured by each other’s opinion and generally come out with some new facts.

After spending grueling hrs questioning more than a dozen residents Kumar succeeded in getting some vital information. One was Mr. Singhs twelve-year-old son Rahuls disclosure.

Rahul was out in the passage playing with his marbles

“Detective uncle I saw one new aunty running down”

“New aunty? How did she look like”?

“Oh I have not seen this aunty before. She seemed to be in a hurry. I could not see her face”

“Was she carrying any thing?”

“Yes one bag”

“How did you spot her”?

“My marbles ran towards the step, when I went to pick it up this aunty came running and disappeared”

Well that appeared a vital clue

Mean while a city wise, state wise, nation wise hunt was on for the missing contessa classic and the owner Mr. Soin. The Newspaper had splashed the story in bold headlines. ‘A rich businessman murdered an attractive lady Miss. Sood. The pressure was on the department to get a breakthrough as quickly as possible.

Eleven days after the incident, finally the contessa classic was held ion the busy Delhi Meerut highway at 7.00 p.m. It was then driven by one Dr. Jain a phsychatrist by profession.

Dr. Jain revealed the whereabouts of Mr. Soin with out much persuasion, as he must have felt it is futile to rebel against the ways of the police.

Mr. Soin was caught in the basement room of Dr. jains bungalow and was charged with homicide of the first degree.

The case was to open on 16th of January. There was another two days to go. A talk with Mr. Soin in custody did not bear much fruit.

Mr. Kumar sat in his swivel chair at 15th floor office in the heart of the town and stared intently at the stream of passing vehicles down below.

Miss. Komal his secretary was intent at her typing machine rounding off a letter

To the secretary of Priya Nivas building,

The phone rang sharply,

Miss Komal picked it up, “Hello, Yes it is crime branch, DCP (South)

Neeraj Kumar’s office”

“Is it Mr. Singh, Good evening sir,

“What, you say the lady is back? the one spotted on the day of the crime, wait a second, I will tell the boss”

Kumar heard the piece of News and in no time was on his motorbike towards Priya Nivas. In five minutes flat when he reached the building he was greeted by Mr. singh and Rahul in the lobby itself with great excitement.
“The lady sir, the one spotted by Rahul is still there at 304. We were anxious lest she may leave before you arrive”
Kumar raced through the stairs reached the flat, just when the lady was coming out with great anxiety writ on her face. As Kumar tried to stop her, she unceremoniously pushed him aside and went racing down and hailed a taxi.

Kumar followed her in his bike with trepidation, the evening traffic was heavy, cars, taxis, buses, two wheelers jostling with one another; there was every possibility of the taxi getting lost.

After passing busy throughways the taxi winded in to number of narrow alleys and halted in front of a small dingy single storied building. The lady wearing a crumpled though costly sari got down, thrust a note at the taxi driver and with out waiting for change, raced in to the building and disappeared.

The hearing was on the next day. Mr. Kumar paced up and down his 10 ft by 10 ft study, shelved just at the back of his impressive office room. It was here he had his inspired solution to many complicated cases.

Just then Miss. Komal peeped in to announce, “Sir there is a young boy to see you, though I told you are not to be disturbed, he insists on selling you, telling he is on Mr. Amit Sood”

“Send him in”

Mr. Kumar went and sat in his swivel chair.

As Amit Sood entered Kumar was surprised to find a presentable young man, an exact replica of Mr. Soin.

He seemed to be highly agitated and had a sort of drained and lost look. He came forward shook hands with Mr. Kumar revealing his good breeding. “I am Amit Sood sir, I am studying in St. Stephens at Nanital in my school finals. I came to know the events rather late about a week back through press reports. I came down immediately only to confirm my mother is dead and cremated. I have been staying with my friend, when I started receiving threatening calls at my friends residence, telling unless I pack up and go back I will be killed.”

“I heard you have been handling the case sir, I have hence come to you for help”

As Amit kept talking Kumar jumped up and banged the table.

“Yes I got it, now I know”

He just gave Amit a smile, waved to him to wait, and rang the bell called Miss. Komal
“Komal immediately connect me to DIG Mangal Singh, I want to stop him from moving to court tomorrow, the case is solved”

In another ten minutes Mr. Neerj Kumar (DCP) south had the full audience in front of him, the DIG Mangal Singh, his two lieutenants, Miss. Komal posed to take notes, Mr. Amit Sood were all seated in semi circle.
Mr. Kumar in his favorite swivel chair was at his post mortem session.
Well gentleman “if we don’t act fast we might find Tandon and family packing their bags and leaving the city.”

:”Mr. & Mrs. Tandon the residents of Priya Nivas” they chorused.

“Yes precisely”

“The accused Mr. Soin, the father of this young man Amit Sood is very much innocent” continued Mr. Neeraj Kumar

“Mr. Soin had a weakness for fair sex. Cupid hit him very early in life when he met Miss. Reena Sood, the reigning beauty of the college. They had a turbulent romance, resulting in a pregnant Miss. Sood. Miss. Sood a hosteller fearing the wrath of her parents and the ridicule of fellow students ran away from the scene, lost to Mr. Soin for ever.”

“After a futile wait Mr. Soin moved off after the academics, searching for his fortune from city to city. He married Miss Vimala Seth, sister of Mrs. Tandon, an arranged marriage with lot of exchange of cash and goods. The marriage was doomed right from the start. Vimala was a deranged women. Mr. Soin became utterly disillusioned with life and a long treatment started for Vimala under Dr. Jains care. She was maintained in a house separately with a housekeeper to run the establishment.

Mr. Soin back to his ways of womanizing at loose ends was leading a nomadic life, when fate intervened and brought him back to the fold of Reena sood once more. Reena Sood having admitted her son at Nanital was leading a quite life working as a steno typist in a multinational firm. Mr. Soin spotted her accidentally, came to know the entire tale, begged and cajoled her to come back to his life.

Mrs. Tandon managed to bring Mr. Soin in their own building to keep an eye on ‘Jijaji’ But Mr. Soin refused to knowledge Tandons as his relation and only as a last ditch measure accepted the premises.

When Mr. Soin brought in Miss. Sood, Mrs. Tandons antenna sharpened. Most of her waking time her eyes and mind were tuned to happenings next door. She also visited her sister on sly instigating the deranged Vimala of the happenings in Mr. Soins life.

The day of the crime Mrs. Tandon was carving out the chicken for the morning’s menu. Seeing Mr. Soins front door slightly ajar she had a quick run in the lobby and did a peeping toms work only to find Miss. Sood and Mr. Soin in a compromising pose. Mr. Soin then retired to the bathroom, when a highly agitated Mrs. tandon besides herself with rage entered the room had a heated argument with Miss. Sood brandishing the knife. In the altercation which followed she had driven the knife straight in to Miss. Soods abdomen, a pure act of fury. Seeing Miss. Sood falling down, she backed out.

Just then Vimala had entered the scene, at the same time Mr. Soin came out of the bathroom. He naturally concluded the mad act is his wife’s act, while Mrs. Soin took to her heels in a fit of nervous confusion.

Now Mr. Soin, a singularly private person was at no cost willing to wash his dirty linen in public and had taken the easiest route of absconding from the scene, seeing his dear Reena succumbing to injuries.
This helped Mrs. Tandon immensely and she had felt all well till Mr. Anil sood came to the scene. Now she knew her façade would be known any time, hence the threatening calls.

As Mr. Neeraj Kumar unfolded the insidious plot behind the murder to his rapt audience, the DIG police and his lieutenants, Miss. Komal came rushing to his room after attending a phone call “sir there is a phone call from Mr. Singh. He tells the strange lady along with Tandon and family are leaving Priya Nivas with some sizable luggage.

The DIG ordered some instructions to his subordinates; soon Tandons and Mrs. Soin were apprehended from the railway station when they were about to board the Amristar mail.

Next day a sober and apparently relaxed Mr. Soin along with Mr. Amit sood, now Amit came to Neeraj Kumar’s office and thanked the DCP profusely.

THE LITCHI TREES

Staying in the midst of the Litchi trees season after season, I felt as though I knew its very soul. The Litchi trees stands out from the tall, willowy, thin foliage trees found in rest of the hills. The short, stout and sturdy Litchi trees with the thick green foliage like a luscious beauty of the plains, at a glance looks very much akin to the mango trees, a sort of hybrid between plain and hill trees.

A lot is there to learn from these majestic trees standing testimony to all that’s happening around. The nature’s rhythm and order is manifest in every feature of its growth. I have seen the Litchi trees responding to every mood of nature like a symphony par excellence. The young shoots peeping out in the early spring, followed by the musk of the tiny yellow flowers thick grouped in bunches, surrounded by the hum of the pollinating insects. As the spring advances the heady flowers are changed in to small compact green nodules of fruits. As the spring turns to summer these shiny green fruits grow in stature becoming fine bunches of fruits. As the summer peaks the green fruits changes hue and turn to a heavenly red, swaying along with the green foliage creating a picture straight out for the post cards. It’s a sight indeed to see the rich fruit laden trees swaying sensuously to the mood of the early monsoon, while a stiff competition ensues between men and birds to partake the bounties of nature.

Shrill cries and beats of drums rent the air from dusk to dawn to drive the wicked birds as the fruit ripens. But all is quiet in a fortnight or so.

The fruits with the foliage wrenched out of the trees packed in wooden cases and send to distant lands while mutilated trees stand testimony to all that has happened.

But the generous trees know no revenge. They are again getting ready to give another bounty in the next season responding to ever present soothing and healing moods of Mother Nature.

THE QUEST

THE QUEST

Mrs. Suchitra sinha was well past her prime. Slightly, corpulent in light blue cotton sari sitting there in the reception of the large factory complex waiting with abundance patience, Mrs. sinha looked perfectly in peace with herself. Her broad plump face with a healthy blemish free skin stretched over, level eyes which though revealed nothing yet had a compassion of having seen and understood life in its various hues.

The appearance was not deceptive. Mrs. Sinha had three daughters and a son. Hailing from a small town in U.P., when she married Mr. Sinha at the tender age of sixteen, she had very few ambitions in life. Apart from making a home as per her husbands dictates. The children came in quick succession; the son was last to come when Mr. Sinha called a halt to the family. Staying in their sprawling railway quarters where Mr. Sinha was an engineer life seemed to be spread in a smooth canvas. Sending the children to the near by railway school, housekeeping, seeing off Mr. Sinha in his numerous tours offered enough variety and action in life.

However this bliss was not to continue forever.
Mr. Sinha who went for a four-day trip to Jaipur did not return forever. Numerous search parties and enquires did not give any clue to the event.

As the months rolled to an yr the sympathy of the friends and well-wishers seemed to ebb ever so gradually.

Mrs. Sinha woke up to the rude reality of looking after her brood of four small children. It was sheer will power and indomitable inner strength that saw her through life for the last 24 yrs. What started as a tiny food joint catering to the floating railway staff had now under the able stewardship of Mrs. Sinha had become a Restaurant employing two dozen employees. All her children were married and settled. Two of her sons were with her running the restaurant.

It is then out of out of blue the family got a report that Mrs. Sinha is alive that he is working in a huge mill heading the spinning section. It was hard to believe it. The source one of Mrs. Sinhas friend’s son was emphatic. “Aunty, you can verify it yourself. I had seen uncle when I was young; I have seen his photo also at your place a number times. I wont bring this news to you with out verifying facts. “ The sincerity in the boys talk made Mrs. Sinha believes him. She quietly booked in the train going to Udaipur along with Pradeep, who was working in the same mill. And here she was sitting in the reception along with few more early morning callers where all employees will pass through before entering the working area. Pradeep was near the punch card machine ready to give sign when Mr. Sinha would arrive. Mrs. Sinha was quietly scrutinizing the employees as they were nearing the punching machine to mark their arrival.

Suddenly her heart skipped a beat. The old man coming with a prominent pull and tug of his left leg his shoulders slightly hunched had all the familiarity of Mr. Sinha. Though he had grown old with white streaks in his hair nothing much seemed to have changed. There was stab of deep pain. A big spasm of sob welled in her throat. She felt like fleeing out of the premises. If he was alive as she can see in front of her eyes, why in earth did he desert his young wife and helpless children. She did not want any answers. Explanation if any is not going to erase the struggle, loneliness injustice of these long yrs. She then noticed Mr. Sinha looking at her, their eyes met for a full minute. She could see he recognized. But there was no happiness of reunion, what was it? A surprise or was or was it fear that leapt in to his eyes. He slowly averted his gaze and walked towards the punching machine, punched his card and vanished in to the work area.

Pradeep came running to her “Aunty didn’t you recognize uncle, It was him, shall I call him? Tears were rolling down her cheeks. She restrained him made a futile attempt to hide them. No Pradeep, let’s go”.

ADVENTURE IN THE HIGH SKIES

ADVENTURE IN THE HIGH SKIES

Jane Lindas at 34 and William Kane at 47 made a perfect team of explorers, working in the exotic adventure section of ‘ National Exploration’ They had done scores of trip together and both with out a word uttered could grasp and understand the moods and needs of each other.

Today getting in to the twin sealer Aero Sail and strapping the safety belt as Jane and gazed at William who was strangely pensive, she instinctively felt a sort of a strange predomination of some impending danger.

It was four hrs flying time from London Hethrew airport to Hammer fest the small township tucked at the north end of Norway. It was 8.05 a.m., early September. The weather at this time generally good. mild and dry, an ideal time for crushing. They were to camp in the wildness for 12 days and study the locals in close quarters.

William a perfectionist had checked the engine thoroughly, filled the tank to the full capacity and was now inspecting the controls.

Jane had taken care of the camping equipments having checked the list twice over with an exhaustive checklist.

They flew steadily for two hrs. William spoke little. He was tuned to the control and was checking his altitude, cruising speed and relating it with the speed, weather conditions etc. She was surveying the scenery down taking photographs at regular intervals.

They were now over Norway. The scenery was progressively getting bleak. The pines and willows giving way to bareness with sheets of snow enveloping the landscape for miles with little patches of green in between.

Jane wanted to take a particular shot. She asked ‘William can you come down 50 mts. And take a circle, this one with a mountain and green valley is interesting. There are some inhabitants too, I would like to take shot “ Sure, I will try, hold your camera and be ready”.

How ever instead of smooth gliding there was a sudden heavy shaking as though they were hit by a thunderbolt and down the plane came rolling and bumping. It all happened in a few seconds and they came crashing down.

Later he found to cause by a very unusual phenomenon. They were hit by a whirlwind traveling at 220 knot/hr which going further south gains momentum and becomes a blizzard.

William severed and tries to control but they crashed falling down from 120 mts. It was sort of a rolling motion as they were falling down in stages.

The terrain was smooth littered with fresh layers of snow. As Jane looked about she could see Kane trapped in the cockpit while she was thrown, flung out along with her seat 50 mts. Away from the plane. As Jane tried to get up, she found was unable to move her left leg, the lower part had severed off.

Luckily there was no flame and she could hear in the stillness of the surrounding Kane’s voice, shrill and faint like a whine, crying out in pain, coming from the cockpit, assuring he is alive.

Jane looked around. It was important to get help, a timely help otherwise their destiny was sealed. Fierce icy winds were blowing. The sun was still bright. She looked at her watch. It had stopped at 11.05 a.m. Far off she could see some houses. Will she be able to make it? Steadily and surely, bearing the searing pain from leg upwards, with tremendous will power, she started moving inch by inch. She seemed to be drained off all her strength after going 50 mts.

Her throat was parched but she knew she couldn’t swallow the snow however thirsty she may be. She looked back to see Kane laying slump over the controls. She must get help.

Another 50 mts. She crawled. The snow was seeping through her dress on to her bare skin covering the raw wound below. The leg had become numb. After a while she could not feel the pain. She knew it was risky. She tried to rotate the limb to bring some circulation. She felt it was a loosing battle.

Suddenly a pair of hands lifted her. She looked above to find the face of a young lad of lap origin lifting her up. She pointed towards Kane and feebly uttered, “Kane there, in the plane” and passed out.

Later she learned in the military hospital at Hammer fest where she found herself, how she and Kane were lifted taken to the safety of the house, where Steven Leaven, the Lap lads family informed the military hospital by wireless, and they were hospitalized.

Kane was unconscious for full twelve days. However he returned to normally and works after 2 months, with out suffering any vital injuries.

Jane lost a part of her left leg, which had to be resurrected with artificial legs. Eight months with rigoures physic therapy helped at later months by Kane, she returned back to normalcy.

Now Jane Linda’s has become Jane Kane marrying William exactly one year after the incident. They have a little Steven between them named in memory of Steven Leven, the Lap lad who saved their life while retuning from the seal hunt after seven days in wilderness.

THE LOOK BEYOND

Mrs. Manjul singh had been a teacher in the postgraduate college now for last 2 years. A young articulate and perceptive lady she was the lecturer of philosophy, having done her doctorate on the subject Mrs. Manjul singh had felt complacent that she knows all that has to be known about various philosophies in life.

However the arrival of the new lecturer Dr. Kamalnath and his behavior did shake her apple cart of complacency and the feeling of knowing all.

It was only two months since Dr. Kamalnath joined the college in her very own faculty of philosophy. The post had been vacant for more than a Year. But what with the juggling higher up, the push and the pull needed to occupy the post that in spite of many a competent candidate hovering around it took one full yr to fill it up.

As soon as Dr. Kamalnath joined Manju tried to warm up to him. After all having occupied one of the three permanent posts he is going to be her colleague for ‘N’ number of yrs to come. But Dr. Kamalnath was not the one to reciprocate to any warm maneuvers. He fitted to ‘T’ the bill of a proper philosopher. The far away vacant look she always in search meaning beyond and in no mood to comprehend the immediate. Impeccable in manners Dr. Kamalnath made all the right noises a proper etiquette. Called for, but Manju could proceed in their relationship no further than just a Hello, and no, and exchange of civil Good-Morning in spite of two months.

But the astonishing thing was Dr. Kamalnath was an immediate hit among students. She noticed the half vacant classrooms were getting filled to brim with every passing day, in Dr. Kamalnath classes. The students seemed to literally lap up every word of their now favorite lecturer whom they were found to call with deference Dr. Kamal Sir. They seemed to have suddenly a volley of doubts. She noticed students coming in to their spacious staff rooms and discussing matters in hush voice with their lecturer. They almost to be mesmerized by every word uttered by their adored lecturer. Not that she could hear what was being discussed. It was generally the hush voices of students fielding a query or two and a monotonous drone of Dr.Kamalnath explaining away perhaps weighty theories, for the look of the student used to be the one being enthralled. The same look which she had confronted the first day in Dr.Kamalnath, the search for meanings beyond.

In particular of late she noticed the 3 lanky youths, fair and with regular features but looking rather anemic as though drained of all the blood. They were so markedly different from the bouncing youth of the rest of the college. Well she has seen the kind of look somewhere; the hippies in the compartment on her way back from Varanasi to Lucknow. It was a stoned vacant look, which she had dismissed due to excess drugs. But looking at the three young lads who had now become a regular feature in the staff room, she wondered how they were getting the kind of loony and stoned look. By now she had resigned to the peculiar nature of Dr.Kamalnath and the going on. In fact she was getting besieged with self-doubts at her own competency as a lecturer seeing the popularity of the new lecturer.

Any way soon the college will be closed for a month end she will have respite from routine for some time at least.

It was Monday after the two-day weekend the college had opened up. As she entered the premise in a hurry since it was getting time for the first bell, she found an unusual atmosphere in college. It was as though the whole college had assembled near the office room. All of them talking in one breath. Some excited, some bewildered, some simply stunned. She could immediately feel something was amiss. Well she didn’t have to guess for long. Spotting her one of the student came running and almost breathlessly blurted out “I am Navin, Satish and Romesh are dead. They are student of philosophy from section “B”. She just could not comprehend what was being told. “How on earth did it happen” How it was for the next student to butt “Mam they committed suicide.” They had come half an hr early to college soon locked themselves in the classroom. They had taken a lethal poison. When the rest of the students arrived, they could see the sight from the glass windows. Soon they had broken open only to be confronted by lithe dead bodies with the vials clutched in their hands giving out the mode of grotesque death.

That was it. They have taken the route of irreversible end. She entered the classroom. She could see the same students who are to frequent Dr. Kamanath. The bodies were still warm. She could immediately sense Dr. Kamalnath’s hand behind this. It was so easy to twist the impressionable minds with profound theories. She enquired as to where is Dr. Kamanath He had not come so far neither did he ever come, proving with out doubt his guilt in the scheme of things.

Later as investigations wont on for many months, they unearthed bit by bit the details how Dr. Kamalnath is to drill in the theory the world was on the verge of collapse. It is for the prudent to embrace death early and save themselves from the wicked end in store for the rest of the world. No doubt the young minds have literally got hypnotized on the mad theory and had taken their precious lives. Dr. Kamalnath whose credentials turned to be doubtful having spent tow complete yrs in the lunation asylum was still absconding six months after the incident.

AN ADVENTURE IN THE HIGH HILLS

AN ADVENTURE IN THE HIGH HILLS

It’s now two years since we have come to stay in this small town ship at the foothills of Himalayas. In spite of the two yrs I still feel awe of the towering mountains all around. Standing at any corner of the town as I allow my gaze to wander around, I feel men and their flat roofed houses are more toys as the mountains stoop around casting their long shadows over the undulating landscape of our town.

Like men each mountain seem to have different character. Some are flat and smooth while some are steep and rugged. Some slithering and curvaceous, the tall ones used to be capped with little white pecks as winter advances.

Studying for my school finals, the small shaded spot adjacent to the staircase had become my favorite spot to sit pour over the heavy academic books for the various exams held time to time. My gaze then often used to wander towards the mountains. As the evening sun dips behinds the mountain carrying with it an array of crimson clouds and the flock of birds with unbroken regularity wind their ways in to the evening sky and beyond, the green wooded mountain suddenly seem to loose their luster and verdant greenery, slowly becoming dark hooded projection as the sun withdraws its luster from the scene.

Day after day as I sat their observing the mountains they so firmly etched in to my psyche that when I met Romesh Das, the newly enrolled boy in our class and came to know he too shared my obsession for mountains, I became very happy and soon we became thick friends. Romesh and I often spent our evenings together in the mini terrace of our house in the pretext of combined studies, however we invariably ended up observing mountains, admiring its contours, wondering what lay behind.

One day Romesh suggested, “How about climbing these mountains? Won’t it be a great adventure?”

“ Why not?”

I was surprised why the idea did not strike me before. Our parents were apprehensive but seeing our enthusiasm they agreed. So off we went every weekend with our packsack filled with food and some basic tools like a good sharp pocketknife, rope, hammer, some nails and a mini first aid kit in case of emergency.

We started early morning, by 5.30 a.m., took a local bus to the nearest trek route of the chosen mountain, which used to take us nearly an hour and then straight away start climbing the mountain along the narrow trails, frequented perhaps for a millennium by men and animals.

The trails used to lead us to unexpected places; small hamlets with neatly cut patches of cultivation, sometime thickly wooded enclaves, gurgling rivulets with fresh cool water or just bare wilderness.

We used to walk for three hours at stretch, then stop for the packed lunch at 11 ‘o’ clock and retrace our path all along so that we will be back at the bus stop by 3.00 or 3.30 p.m. reaching back home before dark.

Romesh and I used to immensely enjoy these trips and look forward to the weekends eagerly.

Many of our friends hooked on to TV and Video used to wonder what odd quirks we were to go for such strange outings In turn we felt sorry for them to miss such clean-strange wholesome entertainments laid by nature just at their doorstep and used to feel all of them had their blinkers on not able to see what fun such outings are.

On that day when the gruesome incident took place, we had as usual left the house at 7 ‘o’ clock, we were eager to follow a new trail. We had spotted a small brook on the east face of the mountain. We decided to follow it upstream and find its source. We would have trekked steadily for one hour when Romesh cried with excitement. He had spotted the pugmarks of a leopard. In the wet mud close to the stream the pugmarks were clear and looked fresh.

We decided to follow the trail. On looking back now the entire incident smirks of bravado of two youngsters who had not encountered danger so far. We left the stream path with great excitement and started tracing the pugmarks, which were clearly visible.

We must have walked 200 yards with our eyes glued to the pugmarks that I must admit we failed to perceive what lay ahead. The pugmarks were leading to a thick over growth of long wild grass and it seemed to vanish from this point.

As we looked up we came face to face with a leopard sitting crouched behind the long stranded grass, presumably licking a wound. In a flash the leopard pounced on Romesh and pinned him down. As Romesh lay struck with fear from somewhere I seem to get an indomitable strength.

I took the sharp folding knife from my pocket and fell over the leopard driving it down hard on its back. The leopard left Romesh and turned back to face me.

I took out the pen knife did another leap towards its throat. The leopard pounced on me, its shiny eyes full of hate trying to maul me tearing my thick leather coat. However with its badly injured state its mobility was greatly impaired.

Romesh in the meanwhile had got up and pulled me with a jerk, extricating me from the clutches of the wounded leopard. Before the leopard could spring another attack we both made a run down hill towards the solitary house standing at the head of the stream. As we turned back we saw the leopard lay in a wounded heap unable to move.

Panting and heaving with fear writ large on the faces we knocked the house of the villager.

As the villager opened the door all we could utter as ‘Bag, Bag’

With one look at our shocked state, tattered clothes and mauled body, he galvanized in to action.

Cupping his hands he made a shrill call from nowhere half a dozen men came out of the adjoining fields with thick heavy sticks.

They ran towards the direction we pointed out. The leopard was still lying wounded. The villagers in a fury blew blows with their heavy sticks and killed the beast the fearful man-eater that had already made a meal of a baby two villages ahead.

Later as we narrated the sequence to the villagers they made me the hero of the entire drama, for they reasoned if I had not pinned the leopard to the ground and driven the knife in time, Romesh my friend would have been the prey to the much feared man eater.

The News spread. The next day my photo with Romesh was on the local paper. Over night I became a celebrity. People started talking about my gallantry act, the great act of bravery.

My name was nominated for the republic day award. But as, much more than the awards and accolades what I prized most was getting back my dear friend Romesh and continuing our exploration of mountains, from now onwards with a more cautious note.

THE DILEMMA

The boeing 747 was above the Bombay Sky. It was slowly circling above the Sahara Air Strip. Releasing the wheels from the belly it touched the tarmac below with a thud.

Sitting inside the plane Anil Saxena, returning after two complete years in Saudi Arabia felt happy, that he his back to his homeland. His mind was pulsating with happiness and expectation. In two years when he was away so many events have happened in his small family.

When Anil got a call to Saudi Arabia he, his elder brother and mother were in their tiny flat at Vasi, New Bombay. Anil employed at Church gate, the other end of Bombay, commuted long hours to and from the office. Anil the younger of the brothers always on look out for good times and good fortune, over years had come to like Bombay life, especially the part it gave him a complete blanket of anonymity when at times he used to be in the mood of painting the town red. He had visited many a pulsating places at Bombay. More out of curiosity he had visited discotheques, clubs and even escorted call girls on couple of occasions. His brother employed as an accountant in a small business concern struggled hard working for hours at stretch to make a small packet a month. His widowed mother patiently kept house for her two sons.

All that charged over night. The lady luck called him to Saudi Arabia, where he has now earned a neat sum of petro dollars in two years. While he was away his brother got a good job with a multi national company and they had moved to a specious flat at varsova, close to the sea. Then his brother had got married. Anil no doubt missed the marriage, bound by the two-year contract he just couldn’t make for the marriage, which seemed to have fixed and conducted in a record time.

Now the house must be making a cozy picture with the new ‘babhi’ keeping house and giving company to his widowed mother. Anil was eager with expectation to see the family and his new ‘babhi’.

As he got out of the aisle, collected his luggage, the two boxes filled with gifts, cleared with the customs and came out, immediately he spotted his dear brother standing in the visitors cardon to receive him.

It was a reunion full of warmth. Soon they were off in the taxi towards the house. Anil did notice his brother a changed man. He always has seen his brother, a serious person, doggedly struggling towards life’s odds with dedication and sincerity, now found him full of vigor and cheer, with a blissfully happy expression thought Anil. The change in the job or perhaps the marriage seemed to have done, wonders to his being.

Anil was now keen to meet the new person in the house who seemed to have brought out the latent pep and spirit in to the personality of his serious brother.

Anil entered with his brother in the first floor apartment at Varsova. His mother was there at the entrance. The same old fragile frame, with a look of eagerness and affection. She seemed to have grown couple of years younger, perhaps, now relieved from the loneliness of the long vigil she had to keep for her two grown up working sons, as the new ‘bahu’ had arrived.

His mother hugged him and led him to their spacious front room. There he could hear the faint tinkle of the silver trinket as his new babhi entered.

Anil who had got up in deference to wish his bhabi just stood there in total disbelief.

It was like tons of bricks fell over his head. Isn’t that Neelu, the call girl he used to frequent? He took a proper look. No he was not mistaken. It was Neelu. He could sense a look of recognition in Neelus eyes also as she slowly averted her looks.

Seeing him quiet, mistaking it to be shyness his mother prodded.

“ Anil tells pranam to your babhi. Her place is same as the mothers” Neelu standing there as a demure bahu was the one who took hold of the situation. With an engaging smile she offered him a plate of ‘pokoras’ and hot tea.

“Maaji your son is very much like what you had described. I think the two years abroad has not changed him”.

Anil gulped the tea. While excited queries started enquiring about life abroad, how unfortunate it was he could not make it for the marriage. His brother as Anil noticed had become a dotting husband, brought out the video type of the marriage and in all the excitement of telling him News after a long absence the time just flew and he did not had to face his babhi alone thought out the day.

But finally when he retired to bed he found he was jostling about in the bed with an uneasy mind.

After his father passed away 10 years back in the brutal road accident, his brother had taken the protective guardians role shielding him from every hardship, encouraging him to study further where he himself had stopped his postgraduate studies and taken the role of bread winner.

How he had collected with care the items for the mother, bhaiya, and new babhi from the bizarre array of things laid out in the shopping complete abroad. To his new babhi he had chosen one of the costliest present, a beautiful gold-rimmed watch with a stone studded dial.

As he was uneasily moving in his bed trying to catch the elusive sleep, he heard soft footsteps close to his bed. There standing in the darkness silhouetted against the outside street light he could see the outlines of his babhi or was it the call girl Neelu?

He got up with a start. His babhi was looking at him with imploring eyes. They seem to carry an earnest appeal. Brimmed with tears babhi was telling him all that to be told with out a word-uttered.

There she was standing there like a Devi with a red vermeillion bindhi, the pallav of her yellow and red sari laced with gold embroidery tucked over her head. He could see the sparkle of the new mangal sutra like as armor over her bosom. The red and green bangles of marriage covering her slender hands. The pleading eyes having none of the lust and brashness of the lady whom he knew as Neelu the call girl.

It was as tough in a flash he knew what to do. He erased forever the image of Neelu the call girl and accepted the lady in front of him as his ‘babhi’ the mother figure as his own mother had asked him.

He got up in full length from his bed and did pranam with a clear heart to the babhi in front of him.