Crossing the Mirage: Passing through youth, BS Murthy [free reads .TXT] 📗

her. “But there is more to it. Soon after we were alone, as there was a brawl outside, I wanted to leave, but she wanted me to stay as otherwise it amounts to paying for her for nothing. When I told her not to bother, she said it would matter to her if I don’t make it with her and sensing that I didn’t believe her, she told me she rarely gets to sleep with a decent man. Oh, what a lesson in love and life that was for me.”

“Oh, how are these women supposed to fleece of their customers?” she asked.

“Not all of them as it seems,” he said. “If Cal is formidable for its structural grandeur, it’s the women who provide it its splendor. I may say Bengali women are apart with most of them being above average and any connoisseur of the fair sex would second my opinion. Like the statistical line of poverty, if ever an empirical line of beauty is devised, I’m sure you would find very few Bengali women below par. Maybe, it’s the Bengali way of celebrating the charms of their women by centering all their festivities on various goddesses. Where else are Durga Puja, Kali Puja, and Saraswati Puja celebrated with such pomp and pageantry?”

“Oh how lucky,” she said mirthfully, “you weren’t hooked by any!”

“Well, my ardency for the Bengali beauty was dampened by the domineering nature I noticed in many,” he said. “But yet I couldn’t take my eyes off them, especially during the times of Durga Puja. Nights come alive during those thirteen days while life ceases during the daytime. You should only see to believe Cal's infectious atmosphere during those days. It’s as though no one stays at home during those nights. Millions are ever on the move from one puja pandal to the other till the wee hours. Once I got naughty and came out unscathed with the skin of my teeth. With my hand on Gopal’s shoulder, I squeezed the breast of a teenaged beauty as I passed her by but as she cried foul and before the mob could react, I melted in the multitude. Well Gopal wasn’t harmed as the girl didn’t name him and joining me shortly thereafter, he told me I would’ve got lynched then and there but for my presence of mind.”

“So from bottom pinching,” she said naughtily, “you’ve graduated to bosom brushing and commuting by bus would've been handy.”

“But once I tie the knot,” he said heartily, “don’t you think my hands would be tied as well? Well, in Cal, if you don’t want to miss your bus to the office, you should be fighting fit, no matter your gender and age, you won’t board a bus in Cal; you just barge into it that is against all odds. No quarter is asked or given even to the fair sex. They too have to go through the same grind, but once inside, courtesy beckons them at every turn with men offering them seats all over. Oh, what can you make of that?”

“Well, having taken the woman on board,” she said in the lighter vein, “man knows it pays to keep her in good humor, doesn’t he?”

“Don't I know you are naughty,” he said enthusiastically, “but on the trams, one fares much better there, literally that is. It’s a funny sight to see some pretending to be fast asleep as the conductor approaches them for the fare. Maybe, being wiser for his unpleasant experiences on earlier occasions, the conductor prefers not to disturb such. But once their destination is reached, these sleepy bhadraloks alight from it with alacrity. Oh, all this farce, when one can travel from one end to the other for a fare of eighteen paisa! It appears communism doesn’t confine itself to proletariat in Calcutta. It seems to be at work at all levels of its society. Doesn’t the state own all property and isn’t the state our very own? So the state property is people’s own property and why should   pay for the services of what he owns and it could as well be the reasoning of the Bengali intellect.”

“What makes communism tick there?”

“It’s not for nothing that communism is so well entrenched in Bengal’s polity,” he said, assuming the tone of a political pundit. “The philosophy of communism is but the credo of the Bengali: high on rhetoric and slow to takeoff. Could it be any different given the Bengali penchant for artistic excellence? What an artistic people these Bengalis are. Why should things mundane interest them at all? See the creative range of the pandals erected for Durga Puja and others, and you would get to know the brilliance of their ingenuous minds. After all, communism is all about each working according to his abilities and paid according to one's needs. What abilities can an illiterate possess and what more would the poor need than a plate of mori and a cup of chai, that together cost twenty-five paisa. It’s a different matter that the gentry feign asleep, on the trams, to save much less than that.”

“What a city of contrasts the Cal is!”

“The contradictory ethos of the Calcuttans is no less puzzling,” he said. “Even as they come out in numbers to mourn the death of a minor comrade, they all remain immune to the plight of the rickshawala, who doubles up for a mule. One evening, Gopal engaged a rickshaw though I felt odd about it. But after a short ride, to my great surprise, my conscience stopped troubling me, maybe, it’s in communism to cast a shadow on the collective consciousness of the Calcuttans, and well the rickshawalas serve the needy, otherwise too, by pimping for the prostitutes. It’s amusing to see them line up their rickshaws near the pavements at the Dharmatalla and ring their hand bells as a call for service.”

“Maybe, once we taste the creature comforts,” she said intuitively, “we turn insensitive to our fellow beings.”

“Oh, dear, it’s so like the Bengali articulation-- intellectually stimulating,” he said in apparent admiration. “You would come across that at the coffee houses and the tea stalls alike. At the bars, however, it could all be bawdy as intoxication and articulation make a heady mix. Gopal was a little too fond of drink. On occasion, he used to drag me to a bar at the Jaggu Bazaar that he frequented. Once I met there a marwari businessman who was trying to rope me in ever since I began rejecting his supplies. Inebriated by then, he demanded that I tell him why not I favor him by taking a bribe? I told him that my income lets me a drink or two at a bar and a fling or two at some brothel, that too occasionally. And if I start compromising, I said, the easy money could bring me to the bar daily and might lead me to the whores regularly, injuring my health permanently, and the Bengali, who overheard us, began articulating about the corruption of their culture by the marwari businessmen. And this led to a brawl naturally.”

“Oh you, sensible as ever!” she said ruffling his hair and smelled her palm for
Keo-Karpin.

“What a romantic reminder,” he said exultantly, “but I used to feel sad at the Victoria Memorial, designed to uplift Cal's haggard souls. You may remember my friend Soni from my Ranchi days,”

“The papaya lover you mean.”

“Not a bad memory,” he said, “we met again in Cal, and I used to go there with him once in a way. Finding couples all over cuddle around the tree trunks, I used to crave for some fun with Kala but as he was critical of those lovers once, I told him that it‘s all sour grapes, and that he would find the company of a lass far more preferable than mine, if only he could manage one.”

“We shall make it to the Victoria Memorial,” she said animatedly, “well before our lovers’ tag starts getting faded. Why, we shall have our honeymoon in your Cal.”

“Won't I love it,” he said leaning over her shoulder.

“That is after Vasu gets his just deserts.”

 

Chapter 27

Just Deserts

 

Soon they were at the Honeycomb to the hearty welcome of the Chandras.

“What a reunion,” said Chandra hugging Sathya.

“What a pair you make!” Nithya couldn’t hide her admiration.

“We owe it all to you!” Sathya addressed Chandra.

“I feel, we owe it to Nithya no less,” said Prema, taking Nithya’s hand.

“What a twist of destiny!” said Chandra with mixed feelings.

‘Well, to push Vasu into the doghouse.’ Nithya thought with satisfaction.

By the time they sat for dinner, the logistics to stop Vasu in his tracks were worked out.

After Vasu came back, it was agreed that Prema would stay at the Honeycomb till she got her divorce. Well, Sathya would be a welcome guest all the time. That way, Vasu couldn’t cast any aspersions on Prema during the divorce proceedings. Besides, her presence would deter him from stalking Nithya. As Prema was averse to dealing with Vasu anymore, Nithya took it upon herself to deliver the missive penned by Prema for him. It was agreed that Nithya would invite Vasu to the Honeycomb, instead of her going to the Ritz, and deal with him appropriately. Well, Chandra and company would lie in wait just in case. Sathya, who was impressed by Nithya’s spiritedness, thought that Vasu could’ve met his nemesis in her.

The D-day came two days later, and as expected, Vasu rang up Nithya, only to be led into her trap.

“If it were okay for you here,” said Vasu in anticipation, as he came in, “why did you deny me all these days?”

“I called you for a different reason,” said Nithya feigning nervousness.

“Enough of leading me up the garden path,” said Vasu determinedly. “It's time I had you even if it comes to raping.”

“You'll turn cold if you hear the news.”

“Why, what happened?”

“Your letter has fallen into Chandra’s hands and he’s sore about us.”

“Good riddance bad rubbish,” he stated gleefully. “If he divorces you, my absurd proposal would no longer be absurd. Prema could take care of me and I’ll maintain you.”

“But sadly,” she said affecting pity, “Prema chose to desert you to see you get your just deserts.”

“What do you mean?”

“It's what Prema thinks that counts, isn't it?” she said as she handed him Prema’s fatal missive.

Vasu,

When you first disclosed your love, I made it known to you that I loved Sathya. Having told me about his affection for his classmate, when you goaded me to break with him, I believed you acted out of your own love for me. Well, all is fair in love and war, I thought. But it was only after our marriage that I realized you eyed me only for my money. Had I not burnt my bridges with Sathya, I would’ve walked out on you then and there. So I stayed put in a cold storage of a marriage.

When I’d seen you flirting with Nithya, I didn’t care, as we’ve no love lost between us. But when I saw your letter to her, shaming me, I could take it no more. If it was right for you to goad me to leave the man I loved because he slighted my love, you can’t say it’s wrong for me to leave the spouse who demeans me to curry the favor of another woman.

As I have decided to leave you, it’s only proper you shouldn’t have anything that would remind me of you. So I’ve given away to the needy all those goodies that my father gave us. Any day now you would get the summons from the court and it may be wise for you not to contest, for your letter of shame is in my possession.

I’m going in search of Sathya to make amends as best as I can. If I can’t become his wife, it would still be honorable becoming his mistress. My only regret is I’ve dishonored myself by being your