The Day of the Fight

To be honest one has to be either stupid or slyly inquestive about the situation. If one is former then its the end of the story, but if one is later, then at some point of time one invariably realises that there is no truth to be honest about and one has to mearly go with the flow of things and if one has moral qualms then one has to simply adopt some side kicks, so to speak, to make up for the hurt done to certain random\un-random people during the flow.

This i didn`t realize when thepolice came to D school and how could i? i had no truth to be honest about.But because everyone wants to be honest but not stupid, they kept asking questions and more the questions more the answers and thus,even before poor Mole had the chance to wipe his blood soaked face people wrer alredy talking about a death, a rape and if not an alien attack then at least some talk about Uncle Sam was on.

All i knew was that someone was hurt, a shot was fired, claim of someone`s death was being made by people directly involved in the action and i had seen a blood soaked underwear which was too torn to tell the gender of the owner; and all this i sang to the fat lady officer who had been eating Mole with her eyes while the Jat policeman tried to locate Mole`s dislocated shoulder who was shouting most pathetically, with one arm raised over his head,"I need professional help!"

What had really happened, as i was told and inferred myself was that somehow the 'Revolution' which had shat at various places in our lives, markets, libraries, cafes and even on Che`s cap had egged some fifteen jat men to kill our John Lennon, and i swear this is all that happened, but how come John became John, Che Che and revolution became shit could only be debated in front of Godot who was though, conspicuous by his absence, wasn`t missed at all.

In the meantime an elderly married couple, greatly disturbed by the sudden hue and cry raised due to the unexpected situation, made faces and started singing Hallelujah; a gang of vultures sat smiling smugly hoping someone had really died; some un-whory looking girls lit fags under a tree while some whory looking girls gratefully gavethem light, saying 'Blah Blah Blah' followed by hyena laugh.And yeah all this while, Mithun the J.P.Stall boy was running mad collecting empty cups which he thought everyone was after.

The day had been sunny, nice and warm with the doobies doing the usual chirpy rounds. Chill`ums had been conspicuous by their absence so was Autin, the head dopper of D school. Everything was going well and good when suddenly a chort of some fifteen Jats came in from the main gate and before anyone could say 'shit', Mole was being held by two jats and a third one, who happened to be spearheading the whole jat movement, was delievering blows into his face. the other Jats were increasing the senic beauty of the place and tried to look important and aggressive.

Now i don`t know why but amidst all this i was suddenly overcome with a feeling of knowing the truth and also, though not much, of saving Mole. so i made it to the center of the action and started shouting,'why are you hitting him, leave him alone'. I sure as hell looked the lamest of all. I was still asking the same questions when suddenly the head guy jumped on me and grabing me by my collar shouted,' you don`t come in between bhenchod, you don`t come in between!' This calmed all my desire to know the truth and i sat in a corner waiting for them to finish bashing up Mole. I was still in shock when Mole came back and said with a groggy growl,'seen my glasses' which seemed to be coming from his stomach. The police came while we were looking for his glasses.

The flow of things found me sitting in the PCR going somewhere. Next to me sat Mole, his eyes shut and his head slowly going up and down with the moving car.The PCR entered a building which turned out to be Hindu Rao hospital and Mole started sweet talking eveyone while I was sent away to get some water to drink. when i came back everything seemed fine and Mole was happily chatting with the lady officer who was brimming with loving affection as he told her something about Ravan and his Lanka. The bastard can talk shit, smooth shit.

The only thing we were worried about when the PCR left us in front of Kamala Nagar Mc Donold was Mole`s glasses and obviously I was curious to know why had the whole thing had taken place. We went to his room where we were joined by the gang and the joints did chirpy rounds again and i forgot all about thr truth for doobies rendered me nor stupid neither inquesitive and to this day i do not know why had the jats been afte Mole`s life.

The Lonely Life of Mrs. K

The blue smoke was slowly rising from the ash tray kept on the table as she sat next to it, staring into infinity. Mrs. K rarely smoked, but for the past two three days she had been smoking a lot, a thing highly detested by her dog, who suddenly found sitting next to Mrs. K very difficult. Mrs. K was a widow with no child. She lived alone in the busiest part of the city on the tenth floor of a building. She had bought the apartment when her husband was alive; he had liked the big window on the front side of the apartment. Now a new building was being built in front of it, destroying the view more or less completely.

Mrs. K was a primary school teacher. She had been teaching for a really long time, even she didn`t know how long. She didn`t really like the job but she didn`t hate it either, working with kids somehow made up for the lack of them in her own life. Every day she woke up at 6 o`clock in the morning did her daily chores, filled water and cooked her breakfast. Her biggest apprehension in the mornings was looking in the mirror. Once she looked into it, she could not tear herself away from it. Slowly her surprised eyes traced all the features of her face and painfully registered the signs of aging on it. Her complexion was fair and she had a beautiful face, a face younger than the body, still attractive, still desirable and this was what Mrs. K feared the most, looking at a beautiful face which was lonely. The mirror reminded her of the loneliness of her life.

It wasn`t that Mrs. K had no suitors after her husband`s death, but she somehow couldn`t forget her husband and give his place to someone else and after sometime she had grown used to her situation, her work, her life, and weeks turned into months, months turned into years which rolled on and on till she finally realized that she was lonely.

It was a usual morning when Mrs. K had like every day after finishing her daily morning chores sat down to comb her hair in front of the mirror and she realized that she had grown old, alone. For the first time she saw those faint but growing wrinkles on her skin and she sat there for hours looking amazed and surprised at her own face which had suddenly turned so different as if someone else`s.

Although the revelation was painful, it didn`t have much effect on Mrs. K, who had the company of young kids in the school. She silently acquiesced to the new dictate of life and resigned to her new role, of an old widow. Things had remained much the same after that. She went about her work, cooked her meals, met friends, went for occasional trips to hill stations, but inside her there was this aching realization that she was getting old and sooner or later the pangs of loneliness would grow with her age and the mirror was there to always remind her of this.

As she sat surrounded by smoke Mrs. K was thinking of her life, all the years she had spent to reach where she was today, alone and aging. She was thinking of her workplace and the people there. She was close to a few of them. She had gone to the house warming party of Mrs. Biswas and was highly delighted to see her new house. She was also good friends with a certain Mrs. Seema but for the last couple of days Mrs. K was thinking of someone else, someone whose thoughts made her anxious and a little uncomfortable. It was the new guy who had moved into her neighboring flat. He was a university student and Mrs. K could not help but notice his blush when he talked to her or his nervous deportment as if he was crumbling under the weight of Mrs. K`s stare. She liked to keep her gaze fixed at him when they met; she derived a secret pleasure from it, seeing him wither under it.

His name was Toma and he was a college sophomore who had been thrown out of his college residence, reason why he had to take up a private room. He was quiet a charming fellow and had a beautiful smile, a fact not unnoticed by Mrs. K. They had met on the elevator and since then had become good friends, Mrs. K helped him with his cooking and he bought books for Mrs. K from his college library.

For once Mrs. K felt a serene calm descend on her. The inner void which she had felt seemed to be suddenly filled, surprisingly she wasn`t scared of the mirror anymore, rather it became a friend. After a long time she felt as if life had given her something, not a pain but a ticklish pleasure which she could rub between her figures and feel good about. The face in the mirror wasn`t terrible anymore, but it was gay, happily waiting to be seen by someone else.

But was what she was thinking right? Did she want the boy? Or was she happy with a casual relationship? These were the questions which were haunting Mrs. K. After so many years of staying away from love she was uncertain of herself when it came so close. Whatever the case, Mrs. K could not help but feel a warm rush of pleasure when Toma came to her place as she sat enveloped in smoke, her dog sitting far away from her. He came for no apparent reason and stood in the doorway, smiling, his eyes sparkling with a mysterious mischief.

‘Stayed home today?’ he asked smiling.

‘You stayed home too.’ She answered.

‘Yeah I have my exams coming up so I’m on PL.’ he replied through his smile.

Then Toma did something which answered all the questions in Mrs. K`s mind, he took her in her arms and kissed her there at the doorway, without even bothering to close the door as if he expected no resistance from Mrs. K and Mrs. K hungrily returned his kiss softly saying through her kissing lips, ‘I`m in love. I`m in love.’