A MAN NAMED- NOBODY

Nobody knew he should not have gone, but he did, grinding his teeth at the thought he looked at the road from the passenger seat of the taxi. He knew he was not being cynical as it was all too apparent in the way everyone behaved; their pretentious happiness and being extra sweet to one another. It became obvious to the writer in him who delved into human emotions on daily basis.

He took out a cigarette from the pack, lit it and took a long drag.  Nobody inhaled deeply letting the nicotine traverse the length and breadth of the body. The relief was instantaneous, relieving him from the heaviness he felt ever since returning from the get together.

Nobody left the taxi at the market, walked up to the liquor store and purchased his regular bottle of whisky along with a few eatables to go with it.

On the walk back to his house he got recognizable glances from the passer-bys; being a resident of the locality, which he consciously tried to avoid. Reaching his house, he opened the gate and looked at the littered leaves on the porch, the tree has lived more than my thirty five years, he thought, and walked towards the main door. As Nobody took out the keys from his pocket with the intention of opening the iron lock, he stopped, as his mind conjured up some disturbing visuals of a time gone which he successfully subsided taking a few deep breaths.

While closing the door from the inside he questioned the timing of the thought very well knowing that the reason of his sudden agitated state was the remembrance of his parent’s car accident that resulted in their death. There loss had left a void which nevertheless Nobody tried filling, first by trying his hand at various jobs in the hope that working their will make him busy. There was a time when he even contemplated marriage and registering his name at various matrimonial website in a bid to overcome the loneliness.  

But to his chagrin all his endeavors failed, jobs failed because money never became a driving force for him as his parents had left enough money for him in the bank which helped him in leading a decent if not an extravagant life. And secondly the idea of marriage never took off as botched up to repeatedly in his quest to open up to strangers despite his best attempts.

It took Nobody many months to convince himself that writing; which was always a passion, could become a viable money making option. So he pursued writing, got better at it with time, and started to make contacts in his chosen field. He knew he was not a best-selling author but had two fiction books to his credit, one a collection of fictional short stories, and other a novella. On top of that his features and articles were regularly published in various newspapers and magazines, both online and offline. Another reason that tilted the scale in favor of writing was, it paid for his cigarette and whisky bills. Nobody, smiled at the thought, as he placed the whisky bottle on the table, who wants a long life, was more of a statement than a question.

He went to toilet to take a bath.

Drying his hair with a towel Nobody came out of the toilet clad in a t-shirt and shorts, and entered the kitchen taking along the whisky bottle. Then placing the bottle on the cabinet, he opened the refrigerator, took out the water bottle along with the ice tray, and placed it adjacent to the whisky bottle. Nobody went to the washbasin and cleaned the previous night’s whisky glass. Placing the cleaned glass on the kitchen cabinet he uncorked the whisky bottle poured himself a medium sized peg, dropped three ice cubes, and filled the remaining glass with water. Taking the glass in hand he exited the kitchen.

Nobody, entered the bed room, switched on the light, put down the glass on the side table and sat on the bed. He lit a cigarette kept it in his mouth, opened the note pad, made notes regarding the nuances, behavior patterns, lingo used and dressing sense he picked up from observing the crowd at the mall along as well as his ex-collages mates also. Happy with his work, he placed the pad aside, took the cigarette out of his mouth, and dropped the ash in the ashtray. He extended his arm to pick chips from the open packet left from previous days drinking session. As soon as, he took a sip from the whisky, his neck jerked; a reaction which his body had developed overtime to the first intake of alcohol.

He got up from the bed and switched on the television, and kept zapping through the channels as he found nothing to his liking, finally stopping at a movie channel. Taking another sip from the glass, he increased the volume to understand the dialogue. A smile adorned his face with the realization that it was a foreign language film, which he tried to understand by reading the subtitles. Nobody, quickly grew tiresome of the tedious process of simultaneously reading the dialogue and watching the action unfolding on the television screen so he shifted attention back to his glass finishing it in one big gulp, and flushed some chips in his mouth.

Nobody, returned to the kitchen fixed another drink; this one little bigger than the previous. Once back in his room he took a sip from the whisky, and inclined himself comfortably on the bed supported by two pillows. Resting in that position he lighted a cigarette. Taking a long drag he closed his eyes and released smoke slowly from his mouth and nose.

A sad music piece took his fancy. Nobody, opened his eyes and watched the television, a romantic scene was being played out in the movie. The more he watched the more engrossed he became as the movie made an emotional connect that transcended any language barrier. Tears began to trickle down his cheeks which developed into weeping. After many failed attempts to stop the tears Nobody, went to the toilet, washed and dried his face. A calmed Nobody, looked at his face in the mirror, “really,” he said to his reflection.

Sobered he came back to the bed, and took a sip of the whisky. He held it in his mouth for a few moments and then let it down the throat. Nobody, took the television remote, enough of this, and zapped trough the channels finally settling at a comedy program. Placing the remote down, he lit a cigarette and enjoyed the comedy along with the whisky till the landline ring disturbed his peace.

He stood his ground reluctant to get up from the bed wishing that the ringing stops of its own, but as soon as the ring quieted it started again. Sticking to his guns Nobody, refused to budge from the bed, the ringing stopped a second time. Happy that the difficulty had passed he finished his glass and went to kitchen for a refill. As he was about to pour the whisky, better to take the bottle to the bedroom, he thought, and acted on his reasoning. The initial reluctance of keeping the bottle in the bedroom from the start was due to the fact he being a heavy drinker tried limiting the number of pegs.

Seated comfortably on the bed, and enjoying his whisky, Nobody took out a cigarette from the pack. Noticing that only few were left, he put on the pajama over his shorts with the intention of buying a new pack of cigarettes. He pocketed the wallet and headed outside taking the house keys along. Nobody went to the nearby vendor, purchased a new pack and returned home.

He had barely bolted the main door of his house when the telephone rung, who could it be? He thought and looked at the wall clock, 10:49 pm, it read. Should I pick it up? He contemplated. Maybe the person who had called earlier has called back? He was mulling over the problem when the ring died down.

The relieved Nobody bolted the door, and went to the kitchen with the intent of finding something to eat. What he found in the fridge; bread, butter, some eggs and yesterday’s curry, failed to suite his craving, feel like eating something spicy, he thought. On deciding to order the food from a restaurant he went to the table in the lobby; where menus card were placed, selected a chicken starter, called the restaurant and placed the order. Contented with his work Nobody placed the receiver down, and was about to return to his room when the telephone rang. He picked up the receiver thinking it to be a return call from the restaurant, “hello,” he said.

The next moment closing his eyes he made a face, why did I pick up the phone? “Namaste Aunty,” he said. Still repenting on picking up the phone, “Aunty the ringer was down by mistake,” he replied. Immersed in thought Nobody tilted his eyes to the left side for a few moments, “I was dusting the other day, so maybe by mistake the volume got reduced while I cleaned the telephone,” he said. A smile came on his face because he knew he had to carry on with his fictions story a little longer, “come on, you don’t believe me? Get a magnifying glass and check it with your eyes,” he said and bit his tongue the very next moment, what if she comes tomorrow? He thought, “You won’t find a single speck of dust,” he added. Nobody heard for some time, “yes, just had aloo ki sabji and chapati,” he said. Every passing moment increased his tension as he was fighting a two way battle, one; concentrating hard to avoid the detection of being drunk by consciously controlling his speech, and the second; trying hard to control his sensed as alcohol had started to show its effect.

 Nobody heard something that made him focus hard on the new information that was being feed to him, “sorry Aunty, I have planned an outing with my friends,” he blurred. A silence developed, “next time sure,” he added quickly to fill the empty space. He heard intently, “sure, sure”, he said a little relieved. “Good night Aunty”, he said and hung the receiver. He took out a cigarette from the new pack, lit it and enjoyed with satisfaction unmoving from his position by the wall till it burned out completely. The doorbell rang, food delivery, he thought.  He opened to the main door, received the parcel, paid the bell, closed the door, and returned to his bedroom with the food.

The chicken felt good, and he ate three pieces one after the other in succession. Nobody again zapped through the channels, and finding nothing to his liking mute the television placing the remote aside least bothered which channel played. He kept taking bites of the food in between the puffs of cigarette and sips from the whisky.

Nobody opened his eyes, and observed the switched on lights and the television. His outstretched right arm dangled close to the partially filled whisky glass which contained his half smoked cigarette.

He understood that he had passed out while still in sitting position. Nobody felt thirsty, a response to his excessive drinking, went to the kitchen taking along the chicken starter. Opening the fridge he took out the water bottle, and drank to his heart’s content. Before returning to the bedroom he placed the chicken starter in the fridge. Back in his room Nobody switched off the television and the lights, straightened the pillow and went back to sleep.

Nobody jerked into sitting position as opposed to the deep sleep he was engaged a moment ago. Extending his left hand he picked the note pad, placed it on his lap and started to write quickly. And stopped, only when he was sure that he had taken down everything he remembered from the dream. This process served two purposes; one they served as therapy and the second it worked as a breeding ground for further stories. Instead of mulling over the reason for him dreaming about having sex with his former lover and subsequently wasting time, he decided to leave bed and get read.

He went to the kitchen and half emptied the bottle of cold drink, to quench his thirst and bringing the taste buds back to normal. Nobody went to the toilet; brushed, shaved, bathed and exited the toilet only after looking at his presentable refection in the mirror. He glanced at the wall clock which read; quarter to six, on the way to his writing table.

Nobody had a deadline tomorrow of submitting his story, so with the intention of completing the work he powered on the laptop. The fictional short story; a love tale among college goers was although complete but to him something felt amiss. Basically it was the research for the story that propelled him to go out for the get together so as to fill the gaps he believed the story possessed. He kept working with the new prospective he had attained from observing his target audience from close quarters. Nobody paused only once when he felt hungry, but decided against stopping as he was close to completion and stopped finally when he was sure that the story was done to his satisfaction. Relieved he lit a cigarette and went to the kitchen, on the way glanced at the clock, it was ten o’clock.

After surveying the fridge Nobody, prepared a onion cucumber sandwich, sprinkling it with oregano; packets of which he found lying in the fridge from last week’s pizza, and tea. The sunny March morning felt tempting so he decided against having the breakfast inside the house and took it to the terrace; on the way pocketing the cigarette pack and match box.  

He made himself comfortable on the easy chair; which stayed on the terrace irrespective of the weather. After finishing the sandwich; whose taste he was unsure of as alcohol’s taste overpowered any other taste. Nobody lit a cigarette, got to his feet and walked to and fro along the terrace with cigarette in one hand and tea cup in the other.

Nobody engrossed in his walks, stopped, believing that he had heard something. He concentrated and heard a distinct knock on the main door.  Who could it be? He walked towards the stairs and watched the mail man closing the gate, “What?” he asked

“I rang the bell, when you didn’t reply, thought you were not present so pushed the electricity bill under the door” the mail man said.

 He gestured towards the terrace, “sorry, couldn’t hear,” he replied, and gestured with his hands, “thank you,” he added. And saw the mail man closing the gate and walking away.

Nobody ascended the stairs to pick up his stuff from the terrace, entered the house picked up the electricity bill from the floor and placed it along the telephone. He entered the kitchen threw a few chips down his throat; they still tasted funny meaning his taste buds hadn’t regained their normalcy, from an open packet lying on the shelf.  

He went to the bedroom and on opening the wardrobe went through his clothes with the view of selecting the one’s he wished to wear for the meeting with the publisher. The process was taking more time than expected as he couldn’t find his favorite; black shirt, the one he normally wore to his professional meetings. Falling to find it meant; it is in the laundry basket, so he went to toilet and rummaged through the weekly pile of clothes. He picked up the shirt and was about to throw it in the washing machine when an idea came up, why not the full pile? Normally he had designated Sunday’s for washing; story is mostly done, so fastening the washing machine pipe with the water tap he preceded to work. He threw all the coloured clothes into the washing machine, added detergent, and setting the timer for fifteen minutes he came out of the bathroom. Nobody lit a cigarette, sat on the table and started to re-work the story.

When the buzzer rang, signaling that the washing was over, he went to the toilet and shifted the clothes from washer to the dryer. Then he replaced the dirty water with clean water and repeated the washing process with the white clothes. Finally he closed the lid of the dryer, and set the timer of the dryer also.

Nobody went back to the table continuing with the editing of the story. Being engrossed in the work he completely missed the washing machine buzzer. Nobody got up from the table after making sure that he was happy with the final output. He went back to the toilet, took out the dried clothes, filled the dryer again with washed white clothes, and set the timer of the dryer again.

He eased on the chair exhausted more mentally; from editing the story, than physical; from washing and putting clothes outside to dry. Let me close my eyes for a free moment, he simultaneously enacted the action.  

Nobody woke up with a start, and after getting his bearing understood that he had fallen asleep on the chair. It was evening which he deduced by the lengths of sunlight that filtering through the curtains.

Lighting a cigarette he powered on the laptop; which had fallen to sleep for being idle. Ignoring Sharma ji’s email which popped up on the laptop screen, he went through a number of adult sites. Nobody kept puffing at his cigarette while going through various videos which played one after the other. After for a while, when he couldn’t contain himself he inserted his hand in his pajama, and relieved the tension that had been building up inside his body from the stimulus provided by the adult content. It took a few deep breaths that helped returning his heightened breathing back to normal.

Nobody entered the main door holding the ironed clothes and placed them on the dining table as he returned to close the partially open door. On returning to the bedroom he hung the clothes in the closet, ready for the meeting. A smile flickered across his face as he turned towards the kitchen, whisky time. With that thought in mind he went to the kitchen, fixed his drink and came back to the bedroom with yesterday’s leftover chicken starter. While enjoying his drink, Nobody had only one thought in mind; be under the limit, as he wished to be sober for the meeting with his publisher.   

Nobody from his standing position looked at Mr. Purohit, his publisher, an elderly specked man sitting among a pile of paper. Mr. Purohit was in the process of going through his story, “Good story,” the publisher said without facing Nobody.

“Thanks you, Purohit ji” he replied. For a few moments no dialogue was initiated the only sound audible was of Mr. Purohit turning the pages. So Nobody waited.

Putting Nobody’s story aside, “this is a fine story,” Mr. Purohit said looking at Nobody for the first time.

He held back his reply observing that Mr. Purohit was in the process of continuing, “the job of any good fiction writer is to take his audience down the slippery slide, because once they are on it they can’t get out without getting to the end of the story.”

Nobody stood silent, and he saw Mr. Purohit groping at the table as if trying to find something from under the heap of papers, “Are you searching for anything?” he asked after being silent for a few minutes.

Before Mr. Purohit could answer his question, “fond it,” Mr. Purohit said, bringing out a bell from under the pile of papers, and rung it.

No reply came.

The publisher rung it few more time but to no avail, “Sharma ji must have gone to the tea stall,” Mr. Purohit said, gesturing to Nobody, “go and call him” Mr. Purohit added.

Like his publisher’s words, Nobody found Sharma ji enjoying tea at the tea stall. He walked up to Sharma ji who gestured him to sit beside him on the bench.

“Hello,” Nobody said making himself comfortable on the bench.

“Hi” Sharma ji replied as they shook hands.

Taking out his pack of cigarette Nobody gestured Sharma ji to have one, “no thanks” Sharma ji said, and took a sip at the tea, “one thing at a time” Sharma ji added gesturing at the tea cup.

Lighting his cigarette Nobody took a puff. Observing Sharma ji’s compassionate eyes he perceived an emotional speech, and prepared himself. Not disappointing him, “Purohit ji cares for you.” Sharma ji said.

Nobody kept silent.

“He always speaks highly of you, and by the way why didn’t you reply to my email.”

 “I didn’t check my mail box,” feebly Nobody replied suddenly remembering Sharma ji email that had popped up on his laptop yesterday. Noticing Sharma ji’s face, “what was it regarding” he added quickly.

“Nothing special, just a contact number,” Sharma ji replied in a matter of fact tone.

Understanding that his non reply of email had angered Sharma ji, so Nobody said, “whose contact?” mustering all his sincerity.  

Nobody’s emotional act did its trick, “you very well know how Purohit ji tries to promote you to new publishers.” Sharma ji said.

Nobody stood still.

“Why don’t you get a mobile?” Sharma ji said

“I already have a landline then what’s the use of mobile.” He said.

“Like you answer your telephone.” Sharma ji replied.

Nobody took a puff and released smoke.

Sharma ji wanted to say something but paused letting the smoke disperse, “why do you smoke so much? Sharma ji said.

Instead of answering to Sharma ji Nobody shrugged his shoulders, “Purohit ji was calling you,” Nobody said as he tried to break the impasse, and walked towards the publisher’s room extinguishing his cigarette before entering.  

Shouldn’t he be happy? He questioned himself as he walked on the road away from the publisher’s office with not only praise worthy words ringing in his ears which he received for his writing capabilities but also pockets filled with the monetary bonus he got on top of the usual money he received per story. Pondering on the thought, he signaled a taxi to halt.

Nobody took a puff from the cigarette subsequently releasing smoke that too failed to lift the sadness he felt entrapped under, and tried finding the seed of the pain.

Was it because of Purohit ji words? Or was something said at the get together which he did not notice then but is bothering him now? He pondered but failed in extracting an answer. Neither contemplation on Sharma ji caring words, nor rewinding; in his head, yesterday’s telephone conversation helped; on the contrary all this mind exercise got him confused.  

It was the taxi drivers’ words, “we have reached the destination sir,” that brought him out of his dreaming state.

As Nobody was paying the fare an opposing thought, I am happy, came into his thoughts. He completed, I am blessed with such caring friends and family, as he opened iron lock of the main door of his house.

As soon as Nobody bolted the main door of the house from inside the confusion; which had up till then weighed heavily on him, was quickly replaced by the calmness which he derived from the sense of belonging he felt with the house. He eased his back on the sofa in the drawing room.

It was evening, I must have dosed off. Nobody entered the kitchen fixed himself a stiff drink, went to the bedroom, lit a cigarette, took a long drag and released smoke, “you never ask questions, that’s why I am always with you,” he said looking at the filled whisky glass.