Songs From a Room

They sat on the same sofa. But far apart. He was listening to his Dylan on his headphones. She was perched up on the other end of the sofa, her feet tucked underneath her with a stole wrapped around her. She had Emily Dickinson opened but she was hardly reading it. She was lost in a world of her own. The rains made the only sound pattering away on the garden shed. It was a wet September afternoon.

They were married now for 12 years.

Far away in another city, he suddenly remembered her. He was rearranging his book shelf when he came across a collection of Emily Dickinson poems. He looked at the battered cover of the book and immediately his thoughts raced back to those glorious days he’d spent with her. Those days in college, when they were together. Madly in love. He stopped his book shelf work and stared into space for a while, holding the book in his hand. In a brief span of a few seconds flashes of memories from the past swept across his eyes, leaving them moist. He hadn’t thought of her in all those years and suddenly a book reminded him of her. He tried to continue cleaning his book shelf but was unable to do so. He took the book in his hand and sat down, leafing through it. The book was filled with little notes written by her in pencil. Some parts were underlined and comments were generously strewn all across the book in every possible blank space available. He sat there on the sofa reminiscing about those lost days.

It had been 12 years since college.

She got up from her sofa flinging the Emily Dickinson book on one side. He was lost in his Dylan and took a while to react. By the time he looked up, she’d gotten off the sofa and left the room. He could hear rustling sounds from their bedroom as if she was packing some clothes. He got up from the sofa to follow her in the bedroom.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing” he asked, bewildered, as he saw her place an opened suitcase on the bed and dump her dresses at random into it. There was a look of anger on her face which he’d never seen before. She didn’t answer him and kept on piling up the clothes in the suitcase instead. He came close to her and held her as she was hell bent on over-filling her suitcase. “Just leave me”, she said as she yanked his arm off her. “I am fed up. I am tired. I want to leave. I can’t carry on like this”, she said, her voice rising in pitch with every sentence. “I have tried and I have tried to make peace with you to try and make this work but I have failed” she said, now sobbing softly as she sat down on the bed leaving her pile of clothes the way they were. He kept staring at her face in disbelief. He knew they had very little to say to each other and were drifting apart in general but in truth he was unaware of the intensity of her resentment. He was used to their relationship status quo.

“Don’t say that”, he gently said as he sat down on the bed next to her. His hands were now stroking her shoulders softly. He felt her body stiffen at his touch. She didn’t turn around. He bent down and kissed her on the back of her neck softly, breathing in and out with her, as his mouth remained on her shoulder. He could feel her body relax after some time. She turned around and looked at him finally. “You don’t realise how much I love you do you”, she said, as she held his face in her hands. Her eyes were filled to the brim and her lips were quivering as she spoke. “You ignore me and take me for granted, never ever caring for my feelings”, she continued to rant as she held his face tightly within her palms. He felt her grip getting stronger. He kept listening to her all this time. He didn’t interrupt her. He wanted it all to come out of her. And it did. Finally when she went silent he put his palms on her face in an identical manner and kissed her softly. After a few kisses she kissed him back. They made love after a long time that afternoon.

It must have been 2 years since they last made love.

She kept looking at him sleep peacefully on their bed. She felt a lot lighter and calmer. All her anger her frustrations and her bitterness seemed to have been washed off. The rains outside had lessened considerably. She drew the curtains so that the rays of the evening sun didn’t disturb his slumber. She got up from the bed and began to keep her suitcase back in its place. All the clothes were back again in her wardrobe. She sat down with a cup of black coffee by the window. She picked up the Emily Dickinson book and ran through the pages. They were fresh and hardly had anything written on them. Excepting the little note he wrote to her as he had gifted the book to her on their first anniversary. She looked at the book, then looked towards the vacant ceiling and smiled wistfully.

Far away in the other city…

…he went back to rearranging his book shelf. He went about the cleaning in a more focused way after resuming from his self-induced break. He found more books that reminded him of her. But he didn’t stop to think too much. Just went about his job for the weekend in a dedicated focused manner. “She’s happy. So they say. As long as she’s happy that’s all that matters”, his mind was carrying on a conversation with himself. He finished arranging his bookshelf and was proud of what he’d done. The small studio apartment looked much neater now. He sat down with his phone to check his mail as he put on a Leonard Cohen record.

That same evening in the other city, Leonard Cohen’s Bird on the Wire played on constant mode.

And life went on…

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar

A Pack of Croutons

She rolled the windows down, as she drove out of the city and entered the highways. The cool fresh breeze caressing her face as she drove on the smooth roads made her feel alive again. Away from the concrete jungle, she felt recharged amidst the greenery around her. She drove on, as Vashti Bunyan alternated with Catherine Howe on her customised playlist. The old country songs took her back to a happy place. At a time when she played her guitar with a wanton abandon she could only imagine these days. She was happy to discover that the old her was still buried somewhere deep inside.

Her career was high and flying in the city. As one of the leading investment bankers, she had her clients eating out of her hands as she rapidly climbed the rungs of success. Her personal life was finally finding peace after a messy divorce and a lengthy custody battle which she eventually won. It was time for a little break she felt. Which is why she had decided on the rather impromptu trip back to her old childhood town. She knew her kids would be happy with their grandparents in their city penthouse for a couple of days.

As the road signs indicated she was nearing her old town she felt a surge of memories battling to find their place inside her head. Too many of them jostled with each other to make their presence felt. She drove on at a leisurely pace as her mind sped much faster to those happier times.

As she was just about to enter the town she crossed the dead hills, as they used to call them in her town. She got off her car and bent down to touch the last remains of snow, as winter was saying it’s final goodbye. She searched in her mind for both their names written in that snow. Aeons ago. As she caressed the glistening snow she smiled, surprising herself. It had been ages since she had smiled so genuinely. She sighed as she got back in her car and drove on towards the town.

As she approached the town centre, she looked around to see that not much had changed. The bakery, the barber shop, the convenience store, the bookshop. They were all there. Had it not been for the car models, she could have sworn not a day had passed. Her heart was in each of these places at the same time. Those wondrous cream rolls, the first edition tattered Scott Fitzgerald they both fought to read at the same time in the library, the Barber Shop where she’d bribe the old man to make a mess of his hair. She smiled as memories played hide and seek within her.

Then she saw the shop. Conflicting emotions clashed inside her as she stopped in front of the store. She wondered if he was still there. There was no way people in the town could recognise her now. Her chestnut wavy hair had given way to a much smarter, blunter cut. She had lost oodles of her puppy fat to look svelte and chic. And her light brown sunglasses covered her almond eyes and half her face. She wondered more importantly, if she could recognise him.

She entered the store and felt a familiar fragrance engulf her. It was the smell of her childhood, of her younger days. Strangely she felt calmer as she closed her eyes to take in more of the past with her breath. She felt safe and warm from inside. She wandered aimlessly inside glancing through rows of canned food and soup. She picked up a packet of her favourite clear soup. “The sage croutons go very well with them,” she felt an inexplicable rush as she heard that familiar voice. She stopped breathing for a bit, in order to steady her racing heart. She nodded a yes without saying a word. She picked up the bag of croutons without turning towards the direction the voice came from.

She expected to see him at the counter. “Would that be all,” she was surprised to hear a lady speak to her. She looked up and saw a blonde-haired genial smiling face looking at her. She nodded a yes again as she took out money to pay for the soup and croutons. She looked around and saw a young boy maybe a year older than her children, loitering nearby within the store. She smiled at the lady in the counter. “Sweet boy,” she said as she left the store.

She sat in her car, the two packets next to her on the front seat. She wondered where he was. They were inseparable when they were younger. So much younger than today. They dreamed together of a happy future. The only difference was that happiness meant different things to them. He was never as big as her ambitions and her dreams were. “I can never leave this place,” he had told her, all those years ago, when she expected his support for her dreams of making it big in the city. “We can be happy here as well”, he tried to reason. She felt cheated that her aspirations didn’t mean much to him. She felt let down. She wept as she took the bus to the city that decisive night. She felt alone. Being away from home. From him. But in a strange way that made her more determined to succeed. In her later years when she achieved all that she had set out to, she felt satisfied, although deep inside she could never forgive him. And today as she sat outside his store that resentment clawed back at her again. Only now, there were years of memories and moments, which softened the harshness of her thoughts. She smiled softly to herself as she drove on to check-in to the best B&B the town had to offer.

“Why aren’t you eating properly?”, his wife asked him, adjusting her blonde hair, as he sat on the dinner table fiddling with his Sunday roast. The vegetables lay untouched as the meat and gravy went cold. He looked up and smiled at her. His face, despite the year old salt & pepper beard, looked younger and brighter than it had been for a while now. She felt happy to see him this way. She always felt he was at peace but not happy. Today she saw that happiness she longed for, in his eyes.

“I feel like having soup ,” he finally said. “Can you make me a nice one tonight my beautiful missus”, he had rarely sounded sweeter to her as he did that afternoon. She gently placed her hand on his and smiled.

Back in the B&B she made her clear soup and like the old times, munched on the croutons separately.

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar

Seven Days

“The denominations need to be small. No large notes remember”, the gruff voice sounded even more menacing in its ice cold avatar. 

She heard it and it registered it in her brain. She knew she couldn’t afford to forget this one. 

She came home and looked at her husband. He was busy on his laptop trying to locate the origin of the call. “I can’t seem to understand why it shows our store room. I’ve traced every inch of it and there’s nothing or no one there. He must be using one hell of a software to fool us”. 

She looked at him confused. She didn’t understand any of this computer business and was all at sea. She simply nodded in meek affirmation when he said this looking at her. 

Two weeks ago their life seemed perfect. At least outwardly. Happily married for 5 years they were both successful in their respective careers. He, as the Marketing Vice President of a leading IT company and she a fast emerging author. They seemed to have it all. 

He loved to take short naps in the evening. He was snoring away on the couch when his phone bleeped a numerous times waking him up from his peaceful slumber. What he saw then, woke him up for good. 

There were a number of pics of his wife lying in bed in a strange hotel room with a man with a rose tattoo on his exposed back lying on top of her. Of the 17 pictures he was sent each and everyone had her face clearly visible whilst that of the guy remained unseen. 

“Pay up 25crores or these pics go up on social media to all your friends. And yes this time with the face you so desperately want to see”, the message taunted. 

He got up from his couch and walked out of the door. She was in the lawn watering some plants. He thrust the mobile in front of her face. “What the hell is this”, he demanded, in a tone that really startled her. 

She dropped the water tube and began to see the pictures on his phone. Her expression changed from that of disbelief and shock to that of being confused. 

“I swear I swear I can’t remember what this is. When this was or who this is. I swear Raghav I don’t know anything about this”. She sounded very genuine indeed but the pictures didn’t lie. “Are you sure these are not morphed”, she asked, almost echoing his doubts about them. 

He looked at the pictures closely again. They definitely didn’t look morphed. “I will try and find out if they’ve been photo-shopped”, he said wearily. His mind was totally confused. On one hand he knew that she could never do something like this. And yet on the other, the pictures !!!. Such strong evidence. He didn’t know how to react. 

He came inside the living room and collapsed on the sofa. She came and sat next to him too. She put her head on his shoulders and started to weep. He instinctively put his arms around her pulling her closer to him. But his mind was still racing away with a thousand thoughts. Who? Why? How? 

They spent the rest of the day in silence. She didn’t do anything but just sat on the sofa, listless and mindless. He kept on working on his computer attempting to figure out where the call had originated from. For the life in him he could not prove that the photos were morphed. They passed every test to prove they were authentic. 

He kept asking her over and over again the next couple of days but she had no different answer to give him. She just could not remember any incident which would have even initiated such a situation as the photographs suggested. It all seemed so unreal to her. At times it felt like her worst nightmare coming true. 

The call came again on the fourth day. “So have you guys decided what you want to do? I am not going to wait forever you know”. 

“Just give us some time. We will pay you. But it takes time to arrange for such a large amount”, Raghav tried to reason with his blackmailer. “And what guarantee is there that you won’t put up the photos once we give you the money”, he asked knowing very well the answer he would get in return. 

“Well there are no guarantees of that you know”, he laughed. “Except for my word. And at this stage unfortunately Mr Mehra you don’t have a better choice, do you”, he smirked just before hanging up. 

“We don’t have a choice Pooja. We have to give him the money”, Raghav looked like a broken man as he spoke to his wife. Pooja looked at him in utter disbelief. 

“Are you saying there is nothing we can do but to bow down before these threats for something that is totally false and untrue? No fault of mine and we have to pay”? Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke. She knew how hopeless the situation was for Raghav to agree to pay. She had no strength to fight after seeing him like this.

“What about the flat”, she asked, as her last shred of hope seemed to be tearing off. 

“We have to sell it. We have to sell everything and move to my company apartment. There is no other way of arranging such a huge sum”, he sounded in a total surrender mode as he spoke. His voice barely audible even though she was sitting next to him. 

He begged his blackmailer to give them two more days. “It takes time to arrange such amount. At least give me two days”, he reasoned. The blackmailer agreed. 

And then came Friday. The day the money was to be delivered. He had the travel bag  ready. It was to be dropped off a bridge the blackmailer specified. He did as he was told and drove off alone, empty and shattered, after dropping the bag off. 

He drove a few kilometres away and opened his laptop. The chip he’d placed in between the notes seemed to moving in a direction towards the city. He slowly began to drive towards that direction. He wasn’t going to let it all go so easily. He had spent his entire life building his life up and he wouldn’t go down without a fight. 

Following the red light he came up to an apartment. He was shocked to see the location. It was Maaya’s. “How did the blackmailer know Maaya”? He wondered as he raced up the stairs to reach her apartment. 

Maaya, the beautiful sensuous new trainee who had joined his organisation and for whom he’d started off as a mentor. Neither of them realised when the mentor-disciple role transformed into a full fledged affair. The passion he felt for Maaya, made him feel years younger than what he actually was. She invigorated him, made him feel alive. Maaya made him want to enjoy life again. A life that he had lost in the race of the corporate world and numbing boredom of married life. 

He had the keys to her apartment, so he didn’t think twice before opening the door and entering the apartment. The living room seemed fine. He was shocked when he went to the bedroom! 

On the queen sized bed Maaya lay lifeless. She had been strangled by a tie, which he recognised as being his own. In fact it was gifted to him by her. As he looked at Maaya’s beautiful eyes which were still open, his gaze turned to the small chip that was placed next to the bed. There was hand written note next to it. 

“You may think you’re very clever. But know this…YOU ARE NOT” !!!

His eyes were blood shot with rage as he read the note, his hands trembling as he held it. He felt kicked in the guts socked in his teeth. His mobile flashed. 

“I have brought this on to you. To us. I have unwittingly led you to this stage. I don’t think I have the will to carry on any more. Am ending my life. I am sorry for everything. Pooja”. 

He could not believe what he was reading. He read it a couple of times more before dialling her number. It was unreachable. He drove like a maniac to reach his house hoping  to stop her before she took any drastic step. 

As he approached his apartment he saw a small crowd had gathered near the bridge close to his home. He stopped there and asked what had happened. 

“Some lady jumped off the bridge just a few minutes ago”, a street vendor said. He kept looking down to see if anything could be seen. He saw a blue dupatta stuck to the corner of the bridge. He instantly recognised it !

He sat down at that moment, holding the dupatta close to his face. He was now sobbing uncontrollably. From a perfect life he had lost everything in a matter of seven days. His wife, his money, his love. Everything was gone. 

The man with the rose tattoo opened the bag and smiled. “I don’t have to count this do I”, he winked as he looked towards her. The lady had her back to him. 

“Oh no darling you don’t have to. Raghav is an honourable man”, Pooja winked as she turned around and hugged him. “Our plan worked liked a dream honey”, she said just before she kissed him on his mouth. 

“He should have known before he cheated on me with that trainee slut”, Pooja said as she zipped the bag filled with cash once more. Their bags were packed and they were ready to leave. 

“You cheated on him too didn’t you”, he laughed. 

“And look where it got me Manav”, she winked at him. 

“You drive first, I need to rest. The last few days have been super hectic”, she smiled as she sat on the passenger’s seat. She knew the drive to the private airspace was only a couple of hours. A private jet ready to take them to a new destination. For a new start. 

Manav sat in the driver’s seat and turned the ignition on. He looked at her and smiled. “Shall we”, he asked. She winked at him and went back to sleep. 

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar

Strangers in a park

He sat on the rickety bench in the park, his hand fidgeting with a crumpled old photograph, as he reminisced. His mind was racing away with a thousand thoughts at that moment and he needed to calm down. He needed to take long deep breaths to cool down.

“It’s a terrible thing to be cheated upon.”

He looked beside him and was surprised to see her sitting next to him. As the evening sun’s last rays fell on her face she looked even more beautiful. Her wavy brown hair was left open and her eyes sparkled as she spoke.

“Wh…wh…what?” he asked, surprised at this unknown stranger who had suddenly appeared next to him on the bench.

She smiled knowingly at him as her outstretched hand touched his. They were soft and gentle. But warm. She looked at him in the eye and smiled. There was a familiarity about her which he could not place.

“I know you. And believe me I also know how it feels to be cheated by your closest person. The anger, the hurt, the humiliation. I feel every bit of it like you do at this moment”, she said. Her hand gripped his tighter as she said these words.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying”, he replied, perplexed at the familiarity this stranger was showing towards him.

3 hours earlier.

He checked her whatsapp just as she had gone off to the other room to change. His worst fears had come true, as he hurriedly read all the messages. What he’d been dreading these last few months was now staring him in the face as stark reality. He was shattered.

He followed her Uber from a distance. His heart broke as he saw her enter the plush apartment complex. He knew the inevitable truth. He quietly sneaked in behind her. His heart snapped as he saw her ring the bell. A well built man opened the door and hugged her. He felt his whole body shudder in rage as he saw them embrace.

He didn’t know he had the strength, but he slammed the door open with a ferocious kick. They were still in the living room as he barged in. They broke their kiss to face him, horrified. He drew his pistol from the back and fired indiscriminately at them. The first two shots hit her in the face and she collapsed immediately. As he watched her body go lifeless in seconds he turned the gun on the tall guy, who was shaking violently and pleading for mercy. He didn’t hear anything as he shot at him. His hands were shaking the bullet grazed his upper arms as he fell to the floor beside her body. He ran close to him and kicked him continuously on his bleeding arm, his abdomen and face. He was in blind fury as he kept on kicking the man till he stopped moving.

As he ran out, he saw a frightened face behind the curtain. He didn’t care to know who she was as he ran out of the broken door.

“You didn’t check if he died, you know.”

He was brought back to the present by the soft but assured voice of the stranger sitting beside him.

He turned around to see her properly this time. She was the frightened woman behind the curtain.

“It’s funny how both of us decided to confront our cheating spouses on the same day”, she smiled, as she realised he had finally recognised her. “I hid in the house telling him I was going out and you followed your wife here. It was providence.”

“I saw him move a little after you left you know”, she continued. “And that’s when I knew I had to complete what you started. I used the pillow. The same one on which I used to cry every time he’d cheat on me”.

He kept staring at the crumpled picture he held in his hands. It was from a happier time when they were newly in love. Full of hope and promises of a rosy future ahead of them. How that has led to this!!! He kept staring at the picture for a long time as tears streamed down his face.

“I loved her. I loved her you know. Maybe I still do”, he said in between his sobs. He turned around to face the stranger sitting next to him. But there was no one. She had gone. And he knew he was never going to see her again.

He got up from the bench as he flung the photograph in the nearby bin.

“Maybe there’s a better life waiting somewhere for me”, he thought to himself as he carried his weary body away from the park.

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar

Perspectives

He saw her across the corridor. He was certain it was her. He was about to swipe his card to enter his room when he heard that laugh. It was too familiar for him not to look up and turn at the direction from where it came. And then he saw her. With her husband. It was just a fraction of a second before they both entered their room but that was all he needed to know it was her.

He couldn’t believe he’d be seeing her. After all it had been three years. The last time they had met was at the park. On their regular bench where he’d been waiting for her and she came and flung her wedding card on his face and left. He had not seen her since that day. The memories came rushing back to him as he entered his room and collapsed on his bed, blankly staring at the hotel ceiling.

“She must be here on holiday with her husband”, he thought to himself. What a coincidence. He was here for a couple of days for work. And what were the odds that he would bump into her here. They lived in the same city and hadn’t met in three years. And here they were, both in a different city sharing the same floor in the same hotel.

That evening he went down to the oriental restaurant of the hotel for his dinner. He was lost in his thoughts stirring his soup unmindfully when he heard that laugh again. And once more, there she was. This time he got a clearer view and confirmed it was indeed her. She sat facing him, with her husband having his back towards him. He quickly put his head down and took a few sips from his steaming soup. He hoped she hadn’t seen him. She was too engrossed with her husband anyway. From the corner of his eye he looked at her. She was animatedly explaining something to her husband. So typical of her, he thought to himself. Always animated, always excited. Passionate about any and every point she had to make. He could see her husband nod from time as she went on with her words. As always she seems oblivious of the world around her. She was talking to her husband and only saw him.

He remembered their last meeting. It was with the same passion that she spoke to him that day. “You will always remain a loser in your life. You are and always will always remain incapable of taking a stand. Taking a decision. But know this much, I cannot go on waiting for you. I need to move on with my life. And I am moving on. Here see”, she said condescendingly, as she flung her wedding card on his face. He sat there motionless. Stunned by her words, shocked at her outburst! Shattered by her ultimatum! The last he remembered was seeing her brown and light-brown streaked mane bouncing as she stormed off the park and got into her car. He would never see or hear from her again in the next three years.

He was brought back from the past by the waiter asking him if he’d like a main dish after his soup. He hurriedly asked for his bill to be sent to his room as he moved away from the dining room.

He was thankful she hadn’t seen him.

*****

She was happy to see him. The moment her eyes turned as she and her husband were about to enter their hotel room she saw him across the corridor, trying to enter his own room. Fumbling with the swipe card, true to his nature! She laughed out loud. It was a spontaneous laugh and yet part of her also wanted to attract his attention on her. She felt a tad disappointed when he didn’t notice her and entered his own room instead.

As she entered their room, her husband had his arms all over her. She responded to his embraces and kisses alright but her mind was thinking of him. She had seen him after 3 years. It had been that long.

She knew she was the dominant one in their relationship but yet there were some things she wanted him to take charge. For seven years they were together and yet he showed no signs of coming up to her family and making things official. He kept on delaying it for some reason or the other. Finally she had to give in to her father’s wishes. Actually more than ‘give in’ she gladly accepted. She was fed up. 

She remembered the same fumble, the lack of reaction the unwillingness to react that fateful day when she flung her wedding card on his face and walked away. She half-expected him to get up from his slumber and follow her. Cajole her, plead, beg her to stay, to change her mind. But he didn’t. As she sat in her car, she waited for a couple of seconds before turning the ignition on. Hoping against hope he’d make a last minute appearance asking her to stop. But he didn’t. And she drove away. As she made love to her husband, old memories came rushing back to her, as she stared blankly at the hotel ceiling. A solitary tear, rolled down her eyes.

“Chinese or Indian”, her thoughts of the past which stayed with her in the dining room, were broken by her husband’s enquiry. “Indian please”, she replied almost instantly without a thought. She didn’t want to be disturbed from her past. She had seen him sitting in the other corner of the large dining hall. Contemplating whether to take a sip from his soup or not. Unsure, undecided, hesitant as always. She saw him and once again, like at the corridor, laughed out loud. Then she turned to her husband to explain animatedly why she preferred to have Indian that night instead of her usual favourite Chinese. Her husband kept nodding away, used to her nature by now. But a larger part of her excitement was to try and catch his attention across the room. Throughout their dinner, she spoke to her husband, held his hands at times, but her mind was on him all the while. She hoped against hope that this time he would see her. “At least make eye contact” she pleaded in her thoughts. His dinner was short. He finished his soup and got off the table. 

She was disappointed he hadn’t seen her. 

*****

As he was checking out of the hotel strains of a Dylan song wafted in from a distance. He heard the lines oh so clearly:

Me, I’m just on the road

Heading for another joint 

We always did feel the same

We just saw it from a different point of view

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar

Charlie’s Motel (Highway 62 Revisited)

He knew he couldn’t reach his destination that day. It was evening already and he still had over 200 miles to cover. He didn’t trust his night driving skills too much and decided to take a halt. It was the dreaded Highway 62 and he wanted to stop and take shelter for the night in a proper motel. There were innumerable instances of people along with their vehicles disappearing mysteriously from Highway 62. He wanted to make sure he found a proper motel to stop for the night.

His car radio played a mix of CCR and Little River Band. It was a compilation he’d made himself and loved playing it on long drives. There were also a couple of Lynnrd Skynnrd songs thrown in for good measure. His eyes were drooping now and he knew he had to stop when he saw the motel.

Charlie’s Motel was a brightly lit motel which seemed to have come up recently. The building looked new and modern and had a bright neon shining with said VACANCY. He felt relieved. Motels were far and few on this highway and most of them derelict and run down. This one seemed the happy exception.

He parked his car in the parking outside the motel. There weren’t any other cars parked. The highway wasn’t a busy one these days ever since the new 8-lane motorway had come up but even then he was surprised not to see a single car.

He walked in to an empty reception area. The place smelt of new paint. He waited for a while for someone to turn up but no one did. From further inside he thought he heard the radio play country music. He pressed the bell on the reception a couple of times in quick succession.

After a few minutes a tall gentleman not a day older than 30 walked up to him. His jet black hair was gelled sideways neatly and his piercing eyes had an unmistakable twinkle about them. His lanky frame was accentuated by the loose black pullover he wore over his faded blue jeans. “Can we help?”  he asked with a slight smile.

“Well I need a room to stay the night and if possible some dinner as well. I plan to leave early morning tomorrow so maybe I can pay you the full amount now itself, if you can offer me a room,” he asked, knowing that the motel was empty.

“You’re in luck aren’t you,”  the motel owner replied, his smirk intact. “We have 12 rooms and 12 vacancies. You can in fact choose your room,”  he laughed loud.

“Well I’m just dead beat and wouldn’t mind any room really. Give me room 7 if that’s ok.” 7 was his lucky number and he felt comfortable spending the night in that room.

“I’ll get you a burger and chips,”  the motel owner said as he helped him with his suitcase in the room. He was pleased at the motel owner’s hospitality. “A burger would be nice”, he replied as he stretched himself on the comfortable double bed.

He didn’t know when he had dozed off. The bed was really comfortable and his tiredness from driving the whole day had finally crept in. He was just sinking into a deeper slumber when he heard the knock on the door.

“Hi I am Charlie, of Charlie’s Motel”, the lanky gentleman finally introduced himself, as he placed the tray of burger chips and a milkshake on the table adjacent to the bed. “Enjoy your dinner. I will be at the reception in the morning when you leave. You can pay me then”, he said as he left the room.

He was groggy from being woken up but his hunger made him open his eyes fully. He looked at the appetising burger and devoured it in no time washing it down with an occasional sip of the milkshake. Charlie was right. “The burger is excellent indeed”, he said to himself, as he got up and walked towards the window after finishing his simple dinner. He called his wife back home as he stood near the window. “Will reach by lunch time tomorrow darling” he said. The neon light was still flashing the VACANCY sign. It was late at night and there was not a single car seen on the deserted highway. “It’s time to sleep”, he thought to himself heading back to the comfortable bed.

He slept peacefully.

Next morning Sergeant Johnson led his search team across Highway 62. “Yet another missing person on this God-damned wretched highway. I wonder why folks still use this route”, he thought to himself. The GPS tracker showed this stretch as the last place where the victim’s phone was used. But this was an empty stretch of land. No building no sign of anything was around the two mile radius of the last place of GPS tracking. “I wonder why he stopped here.” the Sergeant wondered. “There is nothing here. I remember somewhere in this vicinity there was that motel which belonged to Dave and Melanie’s son Charlie. That was some 30 years ago. When the highway was bustling and motels did terrific business. But now there’s nothing. Wonder why the guy stopped here. There isn’t a soul around anywhere nearby,” the sergeant walked away confused, not knowing where next to conduct his search.

 “Another missing person on Highway 62” he sighed as he got on to his jeep.

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar

Kidnap

She kept looking at him and carried on laughing. Her mouth was gagged and there were bruise marks on her face. Her hands were tied at the back. She knelt in the corner of the old store room. And she laughed and laughed.

“Stop it!!! What the hell is wrong with you,” he asked her, taken aback by her behaviour. “You’ve been kidnapped and a ransom demand has been made to your father. And here you are, laughing away hysterically.”  He just couldn’t believe her.

“What can I do,” she said, trying to control her laughter, but failing miserably. “This whole thing is so funny. I just can’t help it.” She burst out into heavy laughter all over again. “I am trying to visualise my dad’s face when he gets this video. I wish someone recorded his expression as he saw this video,” she laughed.

He stood there watching her laugh despite her situation. It was then he realised how much she hated her father. Four months ago they were strangers to one another. They had met in an online group on Beat Literature and had gotten close to one another. He loved her knowledge and passion about all things Beat. And she loved his spontaneity, wit and style of writing. They soon began to communicate with each other even outside the group. It was just over a month since their introduction in the group, that they met in person.

He found her attractive and was drawn to her almost instantly. She too seemed eager and keen to be with him and to get to know him even better. It was an instant and intense attraction between them. Gradually as time went by, she opened up to him. He found out that her mother had passed on. And that she blamed her father for her death. That accident had created a rift between her father and her and that she was pulling herself more and more away from her father. Sometimes she would tell him about her outbursts at home and he felt she was deliberately making things tough for her father. It seemed to him, that she would do anything to antagonise her father.

It was her plan.

At first he was shocked. Too stunned to even react. But she kept on pressurising him. He knew how convincing she could be and ultimately gave in and agreed.

He would “kidnap” her from her yoga class one evening and keep her locked in a far off desolate place. He would film her being roughed up and tied and gagged and send the video to her father from an untraceable number. And then ask for a fancy sum as random. “Naturally we will split the money” she told him. “After all I want my share too,” she said with a smirk on her face. “And your share will be useful to you too. Dont tell me that you don’t need the money,” she looked at him in the eyes with a smile that sent shivers down his spine. Sometimes her coldness, her ruthlessness, scared him. He agreed.

As per her plan , he fake-kidnapped her on a Wednesday. They had earlier selected a desolate bungalow, a couple of hours drive outside the city. They went there and then he tied her up gagged her gave her fake injury scars on her face and then shot the video. She put up a fantastic performance as the hapless victim. He promptly sent the video to her father from his phone, after successfully ensuring the call could not be traced back to him. It was all working like a dream.

As they sat together waiting for her father to respond, he suddenly got worried. “What if your father refuses to put the ransom? Then what?” From what all he had heard from her about their relation he couldn’t be absolutely sure that he’d agree to pay.”Oh he will surely pay,” she reassured him. “He has to show the whole world how much he cares for me, although I know secretly he’d wish I was dead,” she added with a deadpan face.

It was a Friday.

Finally her father responded. He was willing to pay the sum as demanded by the kidnapper. They both saw his message and were elated. “At long last,” she exclaimed !!! “My worries will be over. With half that amount I don’t have to be with him any more. I can live on my own.” He too was happy that her father had agreed. But this was the toughest part of the whole plan, he realised that.

“I will make it really tough for him before he gives the money,” he thought out aloud. The day for payment was decided as Monday. It will be a weekday and nice and crowded in most places.

He hatched an elaborate and complicated plan to get the money. He kept sending instructions via text messages to her father making him run from one end of the city to the other, never giving him a clue what the next step would be. Finally after making him run for more than a couple of hours he asked him to step on a local train and throw the bag from the train near a bridge. Her father did exactly as he was instructed.

It was evening when he came back to the storeroom where she still was “kidnapped” and kept. He had a gleam in his eyes as he dangled the bag containing the ransom amount in front of her. Her expression mirrored his, as they excitedly emptied the contents of the bag and began to make two separate piles. That’s when he noticed she had a revolver in her bag. For the first time he’d seen that. “What’s this for,” he asked with a surprised look on his face. “Oh it’s always there with me, for protection,” she replied calmly. “Is it real?” he was worried as he asked her. “I wonder what else I don’t know about you,” he looked at her with an uncertain smile.

She smiled and fired a shot from her gun in the air. A chunk of the ceiling cement fell near both of them, startling him. She laughed out loud again.

And then there was another shot.

He turned around to see her father standing at the door of the storeroom with a gun in his hand. He was pointing it at his daughter and she pointed her gun back at her father.

As he stood perplexed in the middle of all this, she quietly got up and went closer to her father, her gun still pointed at him. Her father’s gun too remained pointed at her. Their cool and calm demeanour was enough to unnerve him. “What the hell is happening here,” he screamed at her!!!

“Nothing my darling, just settling a few old scores,” she smiled as both she and her father stood next to each other and turned their guns simultaneously on him. She and her dad looked at each other and smiled.

4 years ago…

It was a busy Monday when they left the city. “Hopefully the highway wont have much traffic,” he said looking directly at his wife. Their 19 year old daughter was seated at the back seat excited about going for a short break out of the city in their new car.

“Please look at the road and drive,” his wife admonished him lightly, a tad embarrassed at his show of affection. He looked straight towards the road and smiled knowingly. They were all happy that day.

Out of nowhere a speeding car came from the wrong wide of the road and crashed straight into them. Before he could steer the car away the crash happened, loud and hard, making the car turn turtle. The sounds of screeching breaks and shattering glass all around buried their screams and shrieks.

It was nine hours later that she opened her eyes. She found herself in a hospital with bandages and drips all around her. Her father too was injured but less than her. When she gingerly asked about her mother, all he did was to shake his head, unable to stop his tears from flowing out.

It took father and daughter some time to recover from the physical shock of the accident. About eight months later he finally spoke to her about it.

“I got the number of the other car. I will find out who was driving it. His car didn’t suffer much. Neither did he. He waited for sometime but didn’t budge an inch to help us. I cried out to him to help us out of the car but he didn’t. He looked at me and sat back in his car and drove off. Your mother would have survived had he…” her father’s voice trailed off as his eyes swelled up again.

She held his hands tightly and looked at him. “We will find him papa, we will,” she said as she squeezed his hands tightly.

Present day:

Flies hovered around his dead body. There were two bullet marks on his forehead. One each fired from the two revolvers. The revolvers were thrown in the lake 23 miles from the region of the storeroom. He lay there stripped of all his identity and belongings.

She made two cups of black coffee and put them on the tray containing the almond cookies. She carried the tray to the balcony where her father was sitting, watching the evening sun set. She sat next to him and rested her head on his shoulders. Neither said a word. But their silence that evening spoke louder than anyone else.

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar

Amrita-Imroze: Love Unconditional

Amrita Pritam was married at a young age. Married to a cloth merchant in Lahore, her marriage was a loveless one and she moved with her family to Delhi after partition.

Once in Delhi, Amrita began working with AIR on a radio programme of Punjabi poetry. She however soon fell head over heels in love with the famous poet / lyricist Sahir Ludhianvi. Theirs became a much talked about love story. Sahir and Amrita were truly in love. However the objection to an eventual culmination of this relationship came from Sahir’s mother. Amrita after all was previously married and had two young children. Sahir left her, but love never left Amrita. She continued to pine for Sahir hoping that one day he’d change his mind.

Meanwhile, at ten years younger to her, Imroze was besotted. Not just by her beauty, but her poetry as well. As he watched her walk to AIR from his terrace, he decided he would offer her a ride to AIR on his motorbike. Soon he also took the task of dropping her children to school. Once, after being booked for triple riding, he changed his scooter for a car. But his love for Amrita would never change.

Imroze’s love for Amrita was perhaps one of the most endearing and heart touching examples of true love sans any condition. There were no promises, no questions asked or answers expected. It was a love that blossomed in its purest form since there was no expectation of an emotional reciprocation. This was unconditional love at its deepest.

Amrita eventually moved in with Imroze. And gradually began to understand the depth and true nature of his love for her. Amongst her poems many were dedicated to him. In one poem she wrote that maybe she spent fourteen years of her life (with Sahir) only to wait for her one true love (Imroze)

Amrita and Imroze never married or formalised their relationship in any other way. They stayed together, lived together, loved together and were with each other in a very special way. Amrita was always conscious of the age difference between a Imroze and her. She once asked him to travel the whole word and see it and experience it before talking of love. Imroze merely walked around her seven times and told her he’d seen what he needed to. No one could ever love Amrita the way he did.

As their years together drew to its inevitable end, Amrita acknowledged his love and his presence in her life with one of her most beautiful poems Main Tenu Phir Milan Gi (I Will Meet You Once Again) where she talks of an eternal cosmic plane where the two of them would unite forever.

Today at a ripe old age of 93 Imroze still lives in the same house where spent time with Amrita. He brought her two children up and saw them settle down in their own lives. The day Amrita passed on was the day he wrapped up his canvas and brushes and never painted again. That chapter of his life was closed forever. However like Amrita mentioned in her final poem, he believes he’s still with her at some cosmic level. Till date she is mentioned by him in the present sense.

Maybe Amrita had a premonition about this as she wrote the following lines as her deepest expression and acknowledgment of his love for her and her reciprocation:

Kaise Iska Karz Chukaaye

Maang Ke Apni Maut Ke Haathon

Umr Ki suli si hai humne

Baat qufr Ki kee hai humne

A love like Imroze’s cannot be found in any age. A personality like Amrita is a rarity. Their story is one of unconditional love, which is a blessing not chanced by everyone.

❤

The Window Seat

He always loved a window seat. Even if it meant sitting right behind in the bus. The jerks and bumps would be more he knew but he didn’t mind as long as he got to sit by the window. He loved gazing out in the open on a speeding bus. Meadows, fields, cottages, hillocks passing by in a blur of green and brown. Those images made him happy. He usually hummed to himself on such journeys. One song after another.

Today he had a mixed compilation playing on his headphone. It was a “‘my favourite love songs” mix he’d done a while ago. Cat Stevens, Joni Mitchell, Judee Sills, Van Morrison and a host of others. He hadn’t heard this in a while now. He was looking forward to listening to it as it’s playtime was almost similar to his journey time. A little under an hour.

As Charlie Rich’s soothing vocals sang “The Most Beautiful Girl” his mind started wandering. Going back to happier times he spent with her. SHE was the “most beautiful girl” to him. She meant everything to him. They had so many plans together. His thoughts took him back to the time when they were both struggling newbies in a new town. A chance meeting at a local supermarket had started it all. A love affair that was way too deep, intense and fulfilling to be called that. In a matter of a short time they were living together in a cramped studio which they shared. Life had looked promising ahead.

Meanwhile in the same bus

Joni Mitchell’s Clouds was playing on her earphones. She was happy that the old gentleman by the window side had exchanged his seat with her. She hated aisle seats anyways. People always would bump into her, sometimes unwittingly and sometimes otherwise. Hence she jumped when the old man offered her his window seat. It’s easier for me to use the loo you see, he explained. Not that she needed any explanation.

Her mind was filled with all that was happening in her life at that moment. She had to sort out all the mess that her work and personal life had been in. A trip back home to her mom always revitalised her and now she was heading back to town, ready to face her struggles.

She was surprised Joni Mitchell was on her playlist. She was never much of a fan of “HIS” type of music. HE loved Joni, Van, and so many of those singer-songwriter types. She on the other hand preferred good old 80s pop. Madonna and Culture Club could seldom be topped in her books. She however didn’t skip the Joni song but heard on as she sang

“I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now,
from up and down, 
and still somehow it’s clouds illusions I recall, 
I really don’t know clouds at all”.

The song seemed to reflect her present state of mind.

She remembered those times shared with him. In that tiny studio apartment. It was cosy but they had so much of love filled in that space. They dreamed of making it big in the city together. For each other. With each other. How they naively believed all they’d ever need was love. Her mind got agitated when she remembered all those times when things went horribly wrong. The same cosy studio felt cramped and choking at the times when love flew out of the window. She couldn’t deal with his moods his tantrums his questions. She felt the need to move out. And breathe…

…………….

The bus carried on its journey towards its destination. Stops came and went. People got in and out. Kids were singing, men and women talking, discussing arguing. Everything was like always. Routine. Regular. Usual. And in the same bus sat two people, who lived in the same city but in different worlds. Moving on with time but still carrying an old memory, an old smile, an old love tucked somewhere deep in their heart. At times those memories would be stirred up by something like a song or a movie or even a line uttered by someone somewhere. Those memories made their hearts a little warmer in their cold world. The world is full of inexplicable coincidences. Sometimes we get to see and experience them. Most of the times we don’t.

They both got off at the same stop. The final stop and made their way to their respective directions to their respective worlds. They hadn’t seen each other in the bus. Both unaware that they occupied each other’s thoughts throughout the journey.

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar

Pani Puri

Tears kept streaming down his eyes. He was embarrassed by it. Especially since she was sitting right opposite him at the table. He knew her eyes were on him. But he couldn’t help it. The tears refused to stop. 

“Still can’t handle the spice eh,” she laughed as she looked at his hapless face. She knew the pani puri was way too spicy for him. Her trick had worked. 

“And yet you don’t go easy on them do you,” he countered, trying to mask his obvious embarrassment. “You load them up as much as you can, just to see me this way.” 

She laughed out loud, looking at him lovingly. It had been so many years since she’d seen him from so close. His crinkly eyes, all teared up, his salt and pepper hair, more salt now than pepper actually, his boyish expression. She loved having him so near after all these years. 

“I knew her way before I knew you,” he had told her husband. “We were in college together, you know.” He worked with her husband for about 3 years now and yet it was only a month ago when he came to know that she was his wife. 

“So how was she like in college,” her husband asked him, as the three of them settled on the rug on the floor after the pani puris. 

“She…she was amazing,” he wondered aloud, looking at her sparkling almond eyes as he reminisced. He spoke on and on about her, as her husband heard in rapt attention. She felt partly embarrassed hearing about herself from him. And yet another part of her remembered her old self lovingly, almost as lovingly as he seemed to remember. 

“Why are you such a fraud,” he asked her. “You step out of your Mercedes in a Khadi kurta and torn jeans and chappals, screaming hoarse about socialism. Do you realise how fake it sounds?” 

“I just don’t get your logic. Because I come to college in my dad’s car means I can’t talk about socialism? Do you even hear yourself to realise you make no sense whatsoever,” she angrily retorted. 

Their college days were filled with such daily banter. Her left-leanings amused him more than it irritated him. He was an unabashed “commie-basher,” as he loved to call himself. His ambition knew no bound as he wanted to succeed. Success and speed. That was his only mantra those days. As they sat together in the college canteen, he’d be drawing up business plans for his own future company, whilst she’d sketch the couple next to them. Sometimes she would show him one of her writings. He’d dismiss them as “typical teen-angst a-la Sylvia Plath”. Naturally she’d be furious. But by the end of the day they were back to holding hands, whispering sweet nothings.  

She rushed to college that rainy day looking desperately for him. Her father had arranged her marriage with a friend’s son who had his own IT firm. The boy has a bright future, her father beamed, as he held her confused face in his palms. He will keep you very happy,” he added, without waiting for her answer. 

She couldn’t see him anywhere. Even their common friends hadn’t seen him the whole day. She kept wondering where he could be. And then it dawned on her that she had asked him to get ready to meet her father one of these days to talk to him about the two of them. “I’d rather run away than talk to him without having made a mark for myself,” he’d joked then. “Maybe he wasn’t joking after all,” she thought to herself as she waited the whole day alone in the college canteen. 

He wasn’t to be seen for the next few days. She waited, tried his home phone but got no response. Every time the phone rang at her place she’d run to pick it up hoping it was him. But he didn’t call. He didn’t come. Her father announced her wedding date on the day of her engagement. It was a short and sudden ceremony. She smiled throughout the evening, holding back the tears that were fighting to come out. She had never seen her father so happy. And yet all the while he didn’t call or arrive. 

He finally arrived on the evening before her wedding. They sat together in one corner of her room. Her house was filled with relatives and guests, everyone busy with last minute work for the big day. Her cousins were in the room with them, so they had to keep their voices down. 

She held his hands tightly as those tears found their way out of her sad eyes. “Why why why?” The only words she whispered in the middle of her silent sobs, her head bowed down. He was trying to tell her about an opportunity in the USA which he was working on and how he wanted to surprise her. But by the time he had come with his surprise, it was too late. 

“We can still run away you know,” he whispered, looking around to see if anyone else in the room had heard him. He knew it was a futile last attempt. 

“Go away,” she jerked his hand off hers, in a silent rage that was eating her up from inside. “Go, just go.” 

The beep of her mobile brought her back to the present day. 

“Thanks for a lovely evening. Although the pani puri was too spicy for me as always, I loved being at your place. You’ve truly made it a beautiful home. And your husband is such a wonderful person. And I am not saying this because he’s my boss. I genuinely mean it. I didn’t take the USA contract after I left your house that day. My life didn’t turn out the way I thought it would. But I’m happy to see you’re happy. Always stay this way.“

Tears kept streaming down her eyes. She was embarrassed by it. Especially because her husband was sitting right next to her. 

“The pani puris must’ve been really spicy,”  he consoled her, as he wiped the tears off her face and hugged her. She shut her eyes as she hugged him back right, and her tears still flowed. They had been held back for many years. 

NB: “Pani Puri” is a spicy tangy Indian snack

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar