A Handful of Stories

A Handful of Stories

By Deepankar

Published by Deepankar at Smashwords

Copyright © 2012 Deepankar

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the author.

Table of Contents

The Guest Who Stayed

The Insult

Teenage Love

Faith

The Girl in the Queue

Hospitality

Coming Up

Cop Fear

Moved by Music

Charity

About the Author

The Guest Who Stayed

The long weekend was going to begin and my excitement knew no boundaries. Friday was Id and on Monday and Tuesday the opposition party in Maharashtra had called for a strike to protest the latest increase in fuel prices. Five days of absolute bliss awaited me. I had been working like a dog for the past three months, six days a week and all seven days in the last month to complete the project. Having sent the deliverable to the client, I was finally free to do something of my own.

I was looking forward to starting my pet project. I had been nursing an ambition of becoming a writer for quite a while now, but the workload at office was not allowing me any spare time to pen my thoughts. I knew I just had to do it once. Write one story and I’d me on my way. I needed to do it soon before I lost interest. Time was running out. I had the rudiments of a plot in my mind. Tomorrow I was going to give wings to my dreams.

It was nearly 5 PM and I wanted to leave, desperately. I wanted to go home and shut myself up. My manager was a stickler for timings. All my hard work in the past months meant nothing to him. He would’ve grumbled to see me leave early. I forced myself to stay the additional hour to avoid an unpleasant tiff which might spoil my mood. Browsing the net, I watched one of my favorite videos, Alif Allah Chambey Di Booty on YouTube and basked at the thought of five days of leisure and solitude. I thanked God that YouTube was accessible in office. It was the lifeline which had allowed me to survive the past months, grueling as they were. I was titillated fantasizing about my short story winning awards all over the globe. I was smiling to myself when my colleague came and shook my shoulder, ‘What are you smiling at? You can’t wait for the long weekend huh!’ said Crax

‘Yeah man. I just want to chill. Life’s been a bitch off late.’ I was still smiling.

‘Yeah dude. I agree. Hey listen, me, Dud and Ahlin are going for a few drinks. Do you want to come?’

The temptation was great. I wanted to join the guys. I had a unique personality disorder which made it extremely difficult for me to turn down invitations, especially from friends. I liked Crax and the others. They had a sense of humor. But my instinct warned me though I was not sure why. I had a funny feeling in my gut. I had gone out with them a number of times and had fun too. Though our ‘team-building’ exercise had not taken place in the past three or four months where I had nearly become anti-social, we had a history of nice evenings rich with office gossip, criticism of our supervisors, lamentations on the deplorable state of our cities and sometimes they included nuggets of ideological discussions too. Then, where was the question of doubt. The drinking sessions were not very long and demanding. It lasted only till the pubs allowed free drinks during the ‘Happy Hours’. I didn’t mind relaxing a bit. My work was going to start tomorrow. I would be happy if I was able to come up with the title of the story in the course of the evening. Perhaps the company might offer some inspiration! I nodded my head in agreement. I cursed my boss, as part of a necessary ritual, and went around closing shop. The laptop went into the drawer, the papers into the file and a new beginning beckoned me.

We reached the pub with more than an hour and a half left of the ‘Happy Hours’. All four of us were regular whisky drinkers and impatient to forget the labors of the week. The first drink warranted a second one and a third followed in quick succession. The buzz was still at a distance asking us to be patient. I was not planning to get drunk but the mood caught up with me and soon I was on my fifth with the others. I was happy to be in the company of my friends after a long time and though discussing the women in our office was not to my taste, it was fun watching Ahlin squirm under attack by Dud and Crax. I was starting to warm up when the bell rang indicating the end of the ‘Happy Hour’. As always Dud and Crax decided to split right after finishing their drinks. It angered me. They didn’t try to ascertain my mood. I was not happy yet. I wanted to drink more. They were betraying me. I knew they were not leaving because free drinks were not available anymore. Money was not the issue. They had become creatures of habit responding without thinking. They were leaving because they thought they had enough. I tried to coax them but convincing people was not my strength. Anyway, I sincerely believed that bending someone’s will was not a nice thing to do.

Ahlin was the only one ready to go on but he was ambivalent about it, letting the decision rest on me. I confessed I wanted to drink more and he was happy to suggest another pub, quite close by, which served a free pint with a bottle of beer till eleven in the night. Ahlin was the junior most in our team and with his lesser pay a free drink was a precondition, or rather an opportunity, which his conscience seldom allowed him to pass.

That was a moment of truth which I shouldn’t have failed. Mixing drinks was a bad idea. We bid adieu to Dud and Crax and caught an auto-rickshaw to the pub. We had a good time in the pub. The music was loud and the DJ pelted popular rock songs which everyone had heard making his listeners sing too. Ahlin spoke freely in the absence of his nemeses. He confided many in the office were sympathetic to me and angry at my boss for making me slog like an ass. He profusely apologized for using the popular phrase to describe my situation and I loved him for that. He was sensitive for his age, mostly careful with his manners and could hold his drink. Carried away by the moment I asked him, ‘Would you like to come to my place and have some scotch?’

‘Sure, sure, why not’ he said. I was surprised that he readily agreed. It was ten thirty in the night and it would take around an hour to reach my place at Andheri while his place was not more than five minutes by rickshaw from where we were drinking. He was ready to undertake a lot of traveling for a few drinks.

I was kicking myself for making the offer. I figured that we would be up till late if we carried on partying. I wanted to knuckle down and transcribe my thoughts on paper but here I was guzzling alcohol like Captain Haddock. Time was of essence. Today’s party meant I’d have to sacrifice tomorrow’s morning at the very least. I needed every bit of the next five days to leave this shell of mediocrity and show the world the stuff I was made of. There was so much that needed my attention. I needed to complete the story, search for publishers and write letters to them appealing for a break. I had to try, once, before submitting myself again to the debasement of doing work which was an insult to my intellectual capability. I died a little, every day, for the sake of earning a livelihood. I needed to make my escape before mediocrity got to me. But I had made the invitation which was already accepted and I would look like a damn fool if I pretended to change my mind. Ahlin would definitely think I didn’t want to part with my Black Label!

We left the pub at the end of the extended ‘Happy Hours’ and took another rickshaw to Andheri. I was thinking hard during the ride. The evening had not revealed to me the promised title, instead I was feeling pangs of hunger. I suggested having dinner in a restaurant close to my place. Afterwards, having decided to go all the way, I bought six cans of beer, a bottle of red wine and a two liter bottle of Coke because Ahlin wanted to drink scotch with Coke. When I pressed the button of the seventeenth floor inside the elevator of my building, a dread came over me which I couldn’t fathom. My hands were sweating. Half a dozen glasses of whisky and beer had not succeeded in exorcising the ghost which was watching over me that evening. I decided to get totally smashed. It seemed to be the only way to outrun my creeping anxieties. I had some weed which I put to good use making a few rapid joints. There was no holding back anymore. Rock music and Indian pop alternated as did scotch and marijuana. I was expecting Ahlin to leave when the bottle of scotch got over but he passed out before that. I left him curled on the sofa as I went to bed confident he would be gone in the morning.

An intense thirst woke me up next day. My mouth was parched and my head was throbbing like a piston. I checked my cell phone, it was nearly noon. My first thought was of Ahlin and sounds from the TV, which had not reached my ear drums yet, overwhelmed me with an intolerable cacophony. My mornings were usually peaceful where silence ruled. I was a confirmed TV hater who kept the bloody box only to watch cricket. I came into the living room to find a shirtless Ahlin gorging on toast, eggs and apple juice. The TV was showing a movie where Dharmendra was running around wearing a leopard skin with a sword in his hand. The long weekend had started disastrously.

‘Hi! You slept well?’ Ahlin asked. He courteously offered me the toast and eggs but I declined. I had to clear my mind first before working up an appetite. I was irritated at his presence and left the room without saying anything, afraid that I would offend him, if I started talking. I saw that the kitchen had become a mess as a result of his endeavors but ignored it as the cook was going to come and would fix it. I was taught to treat a guest like an angel of God and hence had extended the warmest hospitality to my friend. After all he had come to my house for the first time. But I had done my part last night. This was supposed to get over. I wanted to be alone.

The cook came and I asked her to make lunch for two and dinner for myself. I told myself it was no big loss since I would need the afternoon to recover. I had to clear my mind cluttered with carcasses of hallucinogens before I could start working. It was obvious that my friend had stayed to have lunch. I finished my yoga and with a clearer head came out to have lunch. Amiability was back in my mood and we had a few laughs on the excesses of last night. Ahlin offered to help with the dishes but I told him it was not required since the maid would clean them.

‘I’ll finish the movies then,’ he said and went back to his spot on the sofa. He was immensely content flipping channels, watching three movies simultaneously. I wanted to start writing immediately but his presence was exasperating. Wasn’t he supposed to leave now? I left him in the living room and went inside to start working. I opened my laptop only to have Microsoft Word stare at me mockingly, challenging me to create something. How do I begin? What about the title? It was nearly an hour before the words ‘Teenage Love’ came into my mind. I had to work quickly. The plot line was thin. I needed to capitalize on my thoughts and create a perimeter for my story before it escaped me altogether. The grating noise from the TV was hurting my unaccustomed ears. The pest I had brought home was destroying my concentration. I could’ve managed to ignore his presence if I had tried really hard but somehow the image of Ahlin lounging around in my apartment made me upset.

Sleep overcame me in the absence of work. When I woke up again it was late evening. Alien noises had again invaded my sanctum. Ahlin was still there. I came out of the bedroom and saw his Blackberry was hooked to my speakers. He was playing the worst kind of trance music, the kind one gets to hear in upscale supermarkets and he was still shirtless. Although the weather was sweltering, I felt his bare torso showed a lack of respect which infuriated me to no end. He casually said, ‘I wanted to wake you up but was not sure how long you had been sleeping. I helped myself to a little wine. I hope you don’t mind.’

The red liquid swirling in his glass seemed to add insult to injury. I wanted to scream at him to get the hell out of my house and only my gentle upbringing stopped me from doing that. My parents would’ve been ashamed of me if I had treated a guest badly. Food was the next thing on my mind. Since I had not counted on his staying for dinner, there wasn’t enough food for two. I figured this augured well for me. Obviously he wouldn’t come back once we stepped out. ‘Let’s go out for dinner,’ I said.

We went to the same place where we had eaten last night. It was a quiet dinner. I remained silent preoccupied with my thoughts or rather a lack of it. A slight frustration was growing inside me. Ahlin ordered a drink and I had one too to give myself a fillip. One became two and two became four as that restaurant had ‘Happy Hours’ till 9 PM and gave us a free drink with each one we ordered. Alcohol was my weakness and I was ashamed to succumb to the temptation at this crucial hour. But I was confident of writing after going back. The lines were coming back to me. Four drinks couldn’t make me forget my mission! I was elated at the thought of working and was more than glad to pay the bill at the end. As I extended my hand to say goodbye, Ahlin cried, ‘Oh gosh! I have forgotten my phone. I left it on the table. Guess I will have to come with you. Sorry man. I hope you are not pissed at me. I was planning to push off, you know.’

This was becoming a nightmare. My thoughts began to darken. I saw a conspiracy in Ahlin’s behavior. It was a very long weekend. He must not have made any plans and hence wanted to park himself at my place. He was going to ruin it - my dream, my ambition. I couldn’t allow this spoilt brat to waste this golden opportunity. Anger and frustration were clouding my mind. Something needed to be done. I had never imagined Ahlin to be the imposing kind. This was killing me. I had to get rid of him.

As we walked slowly towards my apartment, I kept thinking about the approach I was going to take. A part was still hopeful that he would be gone after picking up his goddamn Blackberry but the rest of my mind was convinced that he was going to stay. My entire career as an author was at stake. I had mentally prepared myself for this big launch and if I couldn’t write this weekend then I was never going to be an author. There would be another project, longer hours at work and I could kiss my dreams goodbye. I looked at the back of his head in sheer vengeance. At that moment I wished him dead. We came back to the apartment and as expected he exclaimed, ‘Ah! Friday night. I forgot. My favorite TV show is going to come now. I hope you don’t mind if I watch it here.’ He wasn’t really asking. He had assumed it was perfectly alright for him to crash at my place. I was a fellow bachelor like him, aimless and having nothing better to do than eat and sleep.

A cold anger enveloped me as I went inside my bedroom. I tried to work on the story, the lines which had fleetingly appeared but anger made me dysfunctional. I felt I was being used. I had to get out of this situation. But how could I? I thought of telling him directly that he should leave so that I could work but was afraid he would ask why, and I’d have to reveal my secret since I wasn’t good at lying, either. And if I didn’t have anything to show for my efforts then I’d become a laughingstock at office. What was the alternative if I couldn’t tell him directly? How long could I wait for him to realize he was not welcome? A day was nearly gone and I simply couldn’t afford to waste another. I would have to do something tomorrow, howsoever drastic it might be.

I gave up trying to force words on Word which mocked me with the two words that I had written in the entire day. ‘Tomorrow,’ I told the software, ‘You’ll respect me and so will this world. Once I am done with my story it’ll be the greatest. Everyone would want to read it.’ I was not struggling for fame. I was fighting for defining my existence. I watched Strangers on a Train as I coldly evaluated the options I had. There weren’t many but Hitchcock was giving me ideas. It had been done before and there