Our protagonist is a bachelor and professional goalkeeper. After a traumatic event in his past he tries to stay away from any serious relationship with the opposite sex and keeps himself busy protecting crows' nests and helping little girls find mouse holes for their lost teeth. But despite all his efforts he gets involved with someone who knows the exact cure of his malady.
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4.
The routine
of my daily life sometimes undergoes changes. Usually I would get up very
early, go running, do a good amount of exercise, shower, breakfast, go for
practice session etc. But during parties and get together, sometimes, I ended
up drinking too much. Those days, I would sleep late, and the entire day would
be out of sync. I never enjoyed those days.
Somehow I got this idea that except for
taking care of our health, all our other activities were fruitless. Regardless
of how talented one was, whether a Dostoyevsky, or Da Vinci, Bade Gulam Ali or
Einstein, if the body fell apart, all other talents would be in vain. Those who
did drugs or alcohol to show off their talents were ignorant. Talents had no
roots if the body was not strong enough to support it. Dostoyevsky said in his
old age, “Now I realize how precious health is!”
When you are healthy you are not even
conscious of it. But a slight misalignment would repeatedly announce its
presence. That’s what happened on my irregular days. I would get irritated at
myself. Getting injured in sports was one thing, but deliberately overdrinking
and being sick was stupidity. Those days I would feel irritable and out of
sorts.
On one such irregular day, I was trying to
wake up and cursing myself for my stupidity, when the doorbell rang. Who could
it be? It was about 9 am. I wasn’t expecting anyone.
When I answered the bell, I was surprised to
see Bandana at my door. She wore a very pretty blue housecoat with yellow polka
dots. Her hair was open, and she had a wide-eyed look. She offered me a bundle
of letters, “Your mail. Came by courier.”
I was surprised, “You needn’t have troubled
yourself. Shambhu could have brought them.”
“I went downstairs. Shambhu game me a few
letters, I saw a few of yours too, I just thought I would bring them over. Did I
disturb you?”
“No, no. No at all.”
“May I come in?”
“Sure, please do.”
She came in, closed the door and looked at
me, “Is it good for sportsmen to drink?”
I hesitated, “It is perhaps not good for
anybody to drink.”
“You were very tipsy last night. Isn’t it
risky riding a motorbike in that condition?”
“Yes. Very risky. Reflex is diminished, Eye
sight is blurred.”
“Then why do you drink?”
“I only do it occasionally, not every day.
We have to follow so many taboos and regulations. Sometimes I just feel like
breaking some rules. No smoking, no junk food, no late night…no end of ‘no’s.”
“But those ‘no’s are for your good only?
Aren’t they?”
“That’s true.”
“I am the daughter of a drunkard. From
experience I know that you need a heavy breakfast to get over the hangover. But
yours is a bachelor’s den. I don’t think you do much shopping or cooking
either. Wait, let me see in your fridge.” She opened the fridge and turned to
me, “Nothing but half a loaf of bread and a pinch of butter. No fruits, eggs,
milk, nothing.”
I was ashamed, “I only finished those
yesterday.” I said.
“I see. Go shower and then come to my
apartment. I’m cooking breakfast.”
I was surprised and embarrassed, “Oh, no.
There is no need for that. I will manage it fine.”
“How would you manage? That loaf also has
fungus. You’ll have to throw it out. You don’t have anything else. What is the
problem having breakfast at my place?”
“But it’s a hassle for you.”
“I wouldn’t have invited you if it were a
hassle.”
My ears always hear the unsaid messages. I
felt Bandana wanted to tell me something. In that case why shouldn’t I listen?
So I said, “Ok. I’ll come.”
Bandana’s face brightened up. Her first move was successful. Now the second
step.
I was sure Yogeshda and Richa both would be
absent from the apartment. Most likely the maid would not be there either. I
was not a libertine by nature, but I had been the victim many times, so I was
familiar with the plot.
After half an hour when I rang their
doorbell, Bandana herself opened. She looked very sober, with serious
personality. Her looks had no license, eyes had no clues, face had no naughty
smiles. But there was a deep thirst in her eyes as she stared at me for a few
seconds, then said, “Please come in.”
The breakfast was sumptuous. There were
milk, corn flakes, orange juice, apples, a bowlful of pomegranate seeds,
bananas of Singapore variety, scrambled eggs on toast, and stuffed buns.
“Goodness! This is too much!”
“You don’t have to worry about dieting. So
eat well. We have to calculate calories of every spoonful of rice.”
“Yogeshda must be at work?”
“No, he is off to Singapore. Then Indonesia,
then home.”
“You don’t have to go to college today?”
“I do, but in the afternoon. I’ve three
classes, one after another.”
“You made all this by yourself?”
“Who else?” My maid had taken a few days off
for her brother’s wedding. Besides she doesn’t know these things.”
I didn’t ask about Richa. She most likely
was in school. Therefore the stage was all set.
But all these preambles appeared old
fashioned to me. There were girls like Madhurupa Kakkar, who, after five
minutes of chitchat would wink and say, ’Let’s do it now.” They didn’t like all
this preparations nor had any time for them.
For them, it was like a matter of eating when one was hungry. They were
always in a hurry, never had any patience. After all it was only a matter of
five or ten minutes. No big deal.
In a gymnasium in Himachal Pradesh, polo
player Nitu Sorabji was once giving a press conference. Nitu was not a big girl
but had a very strong personality. Her team had won an important match the day
before. She boasted conversationally, “I can do everything on a horseback!”
Apparently she could eat, sleep, change clothes, everything. Then she joked,
“If I wish I can even have sex!” I was not one of the reporters but for some
reason I put in, “Even go to the toilet?” Nitu gave me an angry glance and
ignored my question. But she did notice me and after the meeting she approached
me, “Where are you staying?” I told her the name of the hotel. She turned away
and said, “Check out and come stay with me.” I had never been so surprised in
my life. But I did stay with her for the next three days. One morning, looking
at the beauty of the mountain range from her balcony, she said, “You know, love
making is good. But romancing and courtships are waste of time.” I replied
carefully, “People prefer different things in life, Nitu.” She said seriously,
“That’s right, but basically we are all animals.” I didn’t argue but just said,
“Animals don’t have happiness or sorrow, laughter or tears, love or
imaginations. Have you seen any animal writing poetry or drawing pictures or
cooking tandoori chicken?” Nitu smiled, “But you are the animal I like.”
I said softly, “You don’t have a maid, why
did you go to so much trouble for me?”
Bandana was staring at me deeply. She smiled
and said, “My nano car is parked downstairs in the garage. And right next to it
is your motorbike. Have you noticed?”
I didn’t quite get it, “Is it that small
grey car?”
“Not grey, deep yellow.”
“Yes, yes. Yellow.”
“They stand next to each other but there is
no relationship between them. Because they are inanimate, right?”
I smiled, “Yes, of course. Inanimates have
no relationships.”
“But look at us. We are animates, we are
next door to each other, yet we are so cold, not too different from those
inanimates.”
I still didn’t get her meaning but agreed,
“Yes, relationships have become very passive nowadays.”
“You don’t take tea or coffee?”
“No, I don’t have those habits.”
“Quit alcohol too, please.”
I didn’t understand her strategy. Nowadays
nobody stops another person from any personal habits, even if they are bad or
dangerous. No one cares. Everybody looks after his own. This kind of
interfering is unexpected and unwanted. I was at a loss.
Bandana softened herself with a sweet smile,
“If you do drink, please don’t ride the bike. Take a cab instead.”
I politely nodded, “Yes. Of course. You were
saying something about relationship… ?”
“I was thrilled to learn that you took all
the trouble to find a rat hole for my daughter!”
I stared at her, not understanding. Was
there something wrong with my brain? Rat hole, rat hole… suddenly I remembered
that morning.
I was working out in my shorts and sneakers
when the doorbell rang.
I pulled a towel around me and went to the
door to find Richa. She looked up at me with great anxiety, “Look, I lost
another tooth!”
“That is good news.” I said, “That means you
are growing up.”
“But I can’t find a rat hole.”
“Why do you need a rat hole?” I was
surprised.
“Molinadi said to put the tooth in the hole
of a rat.”
That was true. I remembered hearing it in my
childhood. We too did it. But now nobody remembers or believes in such things.
“Who is this Molinadi?”
“Our maid.”
“So she couldn’t find you a hole?”
“No. She has many in her house but she lives
far away.”
I saw Richa holding the precious tooth
wrapped in a cotton ball.
“How about our doorkeeper Shambhu?”
“He said there are no rat holes here.”
“Then we have a problem.”
“We do. If mom or dad hears about it they
would be very mad.”
Richa’s pitiful face touched me. I said,
“OK. Come on. We will search and find a rat hole. Kolkata has so many rats,
there must be many holes too.”
Happy Richa gave me a toothless smile. I put
on a T-shirt and came down with her. Our apartment complex was quite large,
with a fairly good size compound. There were many types of flowers and shrubs,
all carefully tended. We roamed all around looking for a rat hole. Richa was
clutching my right arm. The back of the building was weedy. There were some
large mango and neem trees.
Suddenly Richa said, “You know uncle, Brinda
has stopped talking to me?”
“Why? And who is Brinda?”
“My best friend. Brinda Madhavan.”
“So why has she stopped talking? Did you
have a fight?”
“Because Abhishek kissed me!”
“Abhishek kissed you?”
“Of course!”
“On the lips?”
“Don’t be silly. On the cheek. You don’t
know anything.”
“But why did that stop Brinda’s talking?”
“She was jealous.”
“My God! What will you do now?”
“I posted my picture on Facebook and wrote
‘I am alone now, my best friend Brinda is out.’”
“You do Facebook too?”
“Of course. You want to be my friend?”
“Sure. But Brinda didn’t reply in her
Facebook?”
“No. She doesn’t have Facebook. Her parents
don’t like social networking, so.”
“Your parents don’t mind?”
“Mom doesn’t like, but dad started my
account on Facebook.”
“Is Abhishek Brinda’s boyfriend?”
“No way! But she has a crush on him.”
“Really! Is he very popular?”
“Oh God! He is a celebrity! Do you know how
many music competitions he has won? Abhishek Kanwar is a big name now.”
Even after a long search, we couldn’t find
any rat hole. But we did meet many squirrels, lizards, ants, spiders and
crow-myna-sparrows.
I said, “No Richa. No rat holes here.”
“What shall we do now?”
I remembered seeing a large size rat near
the Gulmohar tree on the way from my morning run. Perhaps he had a hole there
too. I held Richa’s hand, “Come on, let’s see if there are any in the park.” I
crossed to the road in front, “So, is Abhishek a singer?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like singing and dancing?”
“Not that much.”
“Can you sing?”
“No. I have asthma, so the doctors ordered
not to.”
“Asthma? It is not a serious disease.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Please tell my mom. Because of asthma she
does not let me do anything.”
“OK. I will tell her. Is she very strict?”
“That she is.”
“You are scared of her?”
Richa smiled, “How did you guess?”
“And dad?”
“Silly. Dad is never scary.”
“With us it was exactly the opposite. We
weren’t scared of mom, only of dad.”
“Are you serious? Does anybody fear dads?”
We reached the tree; I said, “I’ve seen a
big rat here, many times. I’m sure there is a hole nearby. See those calla
lilies near the railing? Perhaps hidden there.”
“Why did you fear your dad? Was he very bad
tempered?”
“Not exactly. But he was very serious. Those
days it was expected to fear your dad.”
“What do you mean ’expected’?”
“Means it was the rule.”
“But why such a rule? I’m not at all scared
of my dad. Why would I fear him because of a rule?”
“No, of course not your father. He is such a
friendly person and I know he pampers you a lot.”
“That’s true, but mom doesn’t. Dad bought me
such a beautiful cell phone. Mom took it away.”
“What do you need a cell phone for?”
“Dad worries about me a lot. What do you
say, the bad guys kid… kid... what is that word?”
“Kidnap?”
“Yes. He worries about someone kidnapping me,
or if there is a fire in the school, or if the school bus is late or if I
suddenly fall ill, or if there is an earthquake… ”
“Well, bad things can happen.”
“Mom took my phone away. She said,
'Thousands of kids go to school everyday without any disaster, why can’t your
daughter?’”
“That is true too. Do you miss your phone?”
“Yes. Mom did say that I could get it back
when I grow up. But by then there will be so many new features. What would I do
with an outdated phone?”
“That is a good question too. But this does
not mean your mom loves you any less.”
“No. She loves me a lot but not as much as
dad.”
“Then you better forget about that phone.”
“Yes. When I grow up, I will buy myself an
iphone.”
“Excellent. See this watch on my wrist? My
grandfather gave it to me. It was his wedding gift. Fabre Leubar Zenith. It
runs slow, I have to wind it. But I still love to wear it.”
Richa examined the watch, “What do you mean
you have to ‘wind it’?”
“This watch doesn’t run by itself. No
batteries. We have to wind it to make it run. Old stuff. That was the
technology in those days.”
“Why do you wear it then?”
“That is called attachment.”
“What is that?”
“You feel sad to throw away your old clothes
or shoes?”
“No. We donate them to the orphanage.”
“That’s good. Too much attachment is not
healthy. Like this watch, we collect all kinds of useless things.”
“You know what mom says? She says that you
are a good man.”
“How does she know?”
“That I don’t know. But she said one day,
‘That goalkeeper uncle of yours is a good guy.’”
At last, behind the thorny shrubs, we
discovered the rare rat hole.
I drew Richa’s hand towards it, “See it?
It’s Jerry’s house.”
“Who’s Jerry?”
“Don’t
you watch Tom and Jerry?”
“Hehehe! But uncle, what if Jerry bites me?”
“He won’t. See I am putting out my hand. You
do too. Then carefully drop that cotton ball with your tooth.”
Richa clutched me with one hand and very
carefully extended her other hand, releasing the tooth carefully in the hole.
I stood up, “Done!”
“Uncle, will Jerry eat my tooth?”
“Probably not. Perhaps he will smell it a
bit, try to chew it perhaps, then discard it.”
“Then what will happen to the tooth?”
“Are
you feeling sorry for it?”
“A little bit.”
“There is your attachment.”
“I am thinking if the tooth will remain in
the hole or something else will happen to it.”
“Perhaps a tooth tree will grow out of it.
Hundreds of tiny shiny teeth will sparkle on its branches. Everybody will call
it the ‘smiling tree’ and say ‘See how it is smiling.’”
Richa burst out laughing and held my hand
close, “Thank you uncle. I gave you a lot of trouble, didn’t I?”
“No. It was a sweet adventure.”
I hadn’t expected to remember all these
details. I smiled shyly at Bandana, “I was sure you would get mad hearing about
the rat hole.”
“I was indeed mad in the beginning. Even
lectured Molina for teaching Richa those nonsense stuff, but later on when I
thought about it I realized how one can learn about the environment through
such small actions.”
“Very true, Ma’am.”
“But what kind of crazy grown up are you? My
daughter asked you and you dropped everything else and started looking for a
rat hole?”
“Nostalgia perhaps. We too used to drop our
teeth in rat holes.”
Bandana smiled innocently, like a
teen-ager, “And those teeth grew into tooth trees with tiny little teeth,
smiling all day along, right? Richa even wrote up a story about it. “The Day I
Lost A Tooth And Gained A Friend.”
“Really? Did she post it in Facebook?”
“Of course. And she received a lot of
praises too. …But, you didn’t finish your food. Don’t you like English style
breakfasts?”
“I do. I usually eat this type only. Bengali
style loochi-parota-sabzi is another form of junk food.”
“Then why didn’t you finish? You don’t have
calorie problem?”
“True. But I really have eaten a lot. You
cooked for five and I ate at least half of it. Thank you.”
I noticed there was no beckoning in her
eyes. No nod towards the bedroom. It was surprising. I had expected something
in her invitation. But human body had become too easy nowadays. Often it came
without asking or wanting. And all women had the same bodies, boring, unromantic,
and too easily available. I had expected it out of habit. But perhaps it wasn’t
the body. Something else? Bandana’s eyes had an attraction, no electricity but
there was depth in it.
And that was what I was wary of.
Just when I was getting up from my chair that surprising thing happened. Suddenly I heard a bird chirping, “Hi uncle, good morning!”
At the bedroom door stood a little girl
wearing a thin smile.
“Hey! You aren’t in school?”
“How could I? I have a fever. I was
sleeping. Mom, can I have an egg toast?”
Before Bandana could say something, I spoke
up, “Absolutely. Come along. You need to feed a fever.”
Yogeshda was absent, Molina was absent but
Richa was home. I didn’t understand Bandana’s strange plan.
And I smelled danger.
From far, far away somebody threw a hammer
at me. It came towards me turning round and round, straight at my head. I
moaned in surprise and pain. That hammer was the word ‘Barendra’. From far in
my past that word had haunted me.
Earlier, I used to dream that I was on a
steamboat where someone in the dark was shouting, ‘Any of you non-Barendra,
please get off the boat.” The order sounded immutable. I was panicky and felt
lost. The ship would not take me. I was not a Barendra. I was to be left
behind, all alone.
I had prayed many times to God to make me a
Barendra. Not Lev Yasin, not Muhammad Ali, not even Don Bradman. Why didn’t He
just make me a Barendra?
Occasionally, when I passed by their house
in the evenings, I tried to peek in their door without getting in. Almost every
time I would see a pair of fancy sandals left by the door. My heart would skip
a beat. Sandals outside, harmonium sounds inside. Two sweet voices intertwined
in song like mating snakes and lost in each other.
Alas! A goalkeeper had nothing to give to
this world. He only blocked some goals, got beaten some times. Nobody cheered
his name. He could only mumble, ‘Could that man save like me? Could he stop a
penalty shot?'
One day Auntie saw me and looked very
embarrassed, “Oh my God. You are here? Come in come in. Today they all have
come too, the house is full.”
I asked in surprise, “Saw a couple of
rickshaws waiting outside. Who have come?”
“They live near Kolkata. Just came to
visit.”
It was clear that she felt very uneasy. And
because of me.
I said, “I see, you have visitors today. I
better go then.” “Come by another time.”
said auntie with relief.
Small town, nothing stayed a secret for
long. Soon we learned that Nandan Sanyal’s parents had come to visit.
Two days later, the bolt from a clear blue
sky. They had met and liked Sati for their son’s bride!
I first felt as if someone was punching in
my head. All knock out punches. I was reeling but didn’t fall down. Then it
felt as if someone had turned off the main switch inside me. All was dark.
After that came the third feeling of a mad bull stomping like crazy inside in
an unbearable rage, terrible frustration. There was no other sense, no
conscience, no pity, no love, the bull stomped on all in his madness.
I remember dragging out my bike in that half
crazy state. It wasn’t a racing bike, but it tried its best to keep up with my
craze and run as fast as it could. Faster and faster, beyond the town, beyond
the community, beyond all civilization, beyond even the world, further the
better. I don’t even remember how far I went.
But how far could one go in a handful of
world? At the bottom of a hill, in a deep dangerous forest, I alone laid with
my bike with punctured wheels. I don’t know how long I stayed like that.
Afternoon passed on to evening. Evening went over to night. Mosquitoes and
gnats sucked me dry, something crawled over my feet, some animal breathed on my
face, perhaps a leopard or a hyena.
Early next morning I returned home exhausted
and utterly demolished. My folks were not too worried as I was supposed to be
away on a tour.
Couple of days later Priti stole in,
“Runuda, I’ve something to tell you in secret.”
“Yes.”
“My sister is crying a lot.”
I tried to control myself. What was the use
of crying now Sati? Why didn’t you think about it when you sang duets with him?
“Are you listening?”
“Yes. I heard. Why is she crying?”
“Because her wedding is all set.”
“Great. That is good news. Let her get
married. What do I care.”
“But she is not happy. Not at all. She has
written you this letter. Read it.”
I read it. Only one sentence, written on a
page torn from an exercise book, “Take me away.”