THE FLAWED MAN
Everything
is going to be all right, I recited the statement third and final time looking
intently in the mirror as I styled my hair in side parting; as my mother had
started to do all those years ago. Mother was long gone, but like a devoted son
I had taken her style of combing to heart, and not altered it one bit. After
getting done with my hair, I concentrated on my pencil moustache, and combed it
perfectly. Then I fixed my attention on my nose; you have the prettiest nose in
the world, my mother used to say, but which my confidants told me made me a butt
of joke among the people. I smiled at myself in the mirror, what do these people
know? Because I knew the power of my crooked nose, one little tweak and the
other person would dance to my tunes. As I tugged the white shirt in my blue
jeans and patted my flat tummy admiringly at its reflection in the mirror, I
heard a knock on the door, “Gopal sir, some people have come to meet you,” Abhi
my man Friday said, “should I let then in?” Abhi asked feebly. I was about to
admonish Abhi for not implementing my orders; of not disturbing me while I get
prepared for my special day, I stopped, he has lived long enough with me to
understand the importance of situation, I contemplated, “who is it, Abhi,” I
asked in a calm tone. “Mani Ram and a few others,” Abhi answered. I smirked at
myself in the mirror, it will have to wait, I thought. “Serve them tea,” I said
and quickly changed into a white kurta pyjama. In my haste to get the things
done with my guests I was about to exit my bedroom leaving behind the one item
which had become a part of my clothing, a small metal piece, keeping it close
to my body had increased my rate of success in my professional career. I bent down
to pick up the metal piece and kept it in my right pocket.
“We
have proof he is doing something illegal,” one of the complainer said as I sat
in my drawing room listening to the complaint from five of the leading business
men of the town.
“A
week back he presented a lot of gold as gift at his nephew’s wedding,” another
person added.
“Not
only that one of my neighbors was invited to his son’s birthday, he said what
lavish arrangements were made,” the first complainer added.
“You
have to do something.”
“Please
help us.”
Very
quickly all the five business owners started to talk in unison, the cacophony
produced that could be disconcerting for many a person’s was the situation I
particularly revelled in, as I enjoyed the feeling of venerability expressed by
the common folks which gave me the chance to lead. How else are politicians
supposed to works if everyone is doing their work orderly? I let them plead
some more, before raising my hands, as a command to lower their voices, “what
do you want from me?” I asked, knowing full well that all the five complainers were
the rivals of the said shop keepers, and it was their jealous towards the
shopkeeper’s new found success that made them come knocking at my door. And
that they wanted me to intervene in the matter by making some calls so that the high flying shop keeper’s wings are clipped.
“You must bring forth the truth,” a shop keeper
said.
“You
can leave I will think it over,” folding my hands I got up from the sofa and
left the drawing room.
I
walked to my study, kept the door ajar, sat on a chair, normally I would have
opened the bar cabinet and fixed myself a stiff drink, “not today”, I said to
myself, and contented myself by lighting a cigarette. Hearing a knock on the
door, “Abhi come in,” I said, in between my puffs of the cigarette. “What’s his
story?” I asked.
Abhi
narrated that Chandu, the owner of the biggest electronic shop in the town
worked as an assistant in one of Mani Ram’s shop; one of the complainer, a few
years ago. No one knew how and from where, but the Chandu a commoner, became
Chandu the proud owner of the biggest electronic goods store in town. His two
children were transferred, as if magically, to the best schools of the town,
while he and his wife became frequent and the sort out guests of most happening
parties. His new found wealth became the reason of birthing many a number of
rumours by the locals about the sinister ways how he amassed so much wealth so
quickly. All came to head, when during his sister’s wedding six months ago he
displaced a naked show of wealth that brought local’s jealously to the surface,
and made him the recipient of hatred from his fellow merchant class which left
no place for Chandu to hide. Abhi quieten and stood there as the disclosure was
complete.
“Tell
Tripathi to meet me tomorrow morning with the tentative budget plans,” I said
after contemplating on the matter for some moment, “he sounds helpful enough to
my ears,” I added, before commanding Abhi to leave me alone. I extinguished my
cigarette, my thoughts veered on the main focus of the day, for which I was
preparing myself from the last week, and changed back into jeans and shirt
ditching the kurta pyjama along with the metal piece.
As
I put my jeep into gear, and released the clutch, letting the vehicle move
forward towards my destination, I smiled; my first genuine smile of the day, as
I observed the bouquet of roses, the responsibility of arranging that I had
entrusted on Abhi.
Meera,
the girl for whom these flowers were, was the love of my life, only Abhi was
aware to this confidential information. The infatuation with her started on the
first day of school many years ago, when I laid my eyes on her. From there on
day after day I would plot situations just to get close to her, with time days
changed into months and then years, but somehow I couldn’t muster enough
courage to express my deepest desire to her. Having said that, I succeeded in building
a friendship first with Meera and then extended the extent of that friendship
which included her parents also. This patient relationship building gradually
gave me the right to enter her house anytime of the day. I jammed my foot onto
the breaks which brought my jeep to halt, as in my daydreaming I was about to
hit a stray dog who was crossing the road. The screeching sound caused by tyres
meeting with the tarmac shook me and thereafter I drove on in the present.
The
lowered gate at the railway crossing made me power off the jeep, as I waited
for the train to pass through. I lit a cigarette, this was my second cigarette
in under half an hour, a thought occurred to me, was my smoking a way of passing
time, or was I tense? As my brain worked up to provide an answer to my query, I
believed that I had caught a glimpse of Meera. In my restlessness of making it
certain whether that was really Meera and trying to reach her quickly, I honked
twice letting the traffic know that I was in a hurry, and forgot for a brief moment
that I was stuck behind the railway crossing gate that would open only when the
designated train would pass through. Trying to avoid the angry stares that I received
from the fellow drives, I waited patiently for the train.
By
the time my second cigarette was finished, the railway crossing gate was being
opened, allowing me to move in the direction of my goal, but somehow a doubt
clanged to my thought, will I find Meera where I was planning to find her,
catching her unawares at her home? My plan was to call up our friendship and
discuss my willingness of marrying Meera with her and as well as her parents at
their residence. Not knowing whether to trust my instincts, that I really saw
her, I decided to carry on with my original plan of going to her place.
This
time it was really her, I was hundred percent confident, as I saw bare headed Meera
ridding her scooter getting off from the main road, and taking the dusty road.
Where is she going? I thought, as I tried to remember which of her relatives
lives in that direction. Not coming up with an answer, I decided to follow her
discretely. Half an hour had passed since I had started to follow her, still I
could not make out where she was going. A question arose, is she in any kind of
danger? If she was, she could have come to me, I thought, very quickly I got my
answer, although she acknowledged me as her friend but maybe our friendship was
not so deep, for her to trust me with her deepest secrets.
I
noticed her scooter slowing down, as I saw the tail
light blinking, and decided to stop my jeep. As I looked around, I
observed myself standing at a secluded place; where ever I looked I saw no
house, no civilization, nothing. Then I noticed her wheeling her scooter towards
a mud mound, and placed it in such a way that it was not visible from my
vantage point. I realized that the place was infected by a series of uneven mud
mounds behind which a person could hide himself. In my process of looking at the
terrain a second time, I lost track of Meera, she has gone behind one of these
mounds, I thought, but why? The two worded question lingered as I hid my jeep
behind one such mound, and traversed the region on foot in search of Meera. One
thing of which I became certain with every succeeding step, she can’t have any
sacred reason of being here in the first place, and I started to entertain the
prospects of another man in her life, the mere thought bore my heart. In order
to be undetected I walked in circles, always taking care of my back.
I
heard heavy laboured breathing that made me dread the scene which I was sure to
witness any moment now, as my steps inched closer to the source of the sound.
The breathing felt intense which made me certain that the reasons of the noise were
behind that very mound; I peeped and was greeted by Meera’s rhythmic bouncing
buttocks that spurred in me the contrasting emotions of disdain and attraction in
equal measures. Next I saw the elongated face of the curly haired man who
matched Meera stroke for stroke. I looked at his face for what felt like
forever, his perspiring forehead partly covered by his falling locks, his
closed eyes, his thin eye brows, and his sharply formed nose, all combined into
a handsome face. A portion of my brain provided me with the reason why Meera
fell for this good looking guy, instead of someone like me, but in the same
second I felt a rage that willed me to pick the brick sitting at a few paces
and break the other man’s beautiful face. As I was contemplating what to do
next, I saw him open his bliss filled eyes, and saw me. That look seemed to suggest,
what a waste your life is, look at me; I am living life in all its glory.
I
was on my fourth peg of whisky but that up and down motion of Meera’s back
refused to disappear from my memory, even the issuance of order to Abhi, of
getting rid of that man failed to lift the shame of impotence that had engulfed
me. I constantly kept scolding myself for showing weakness for being unable to strike
down that proud face.
The
next morning I woke up with a head splitting pain thanks to the number of pegs
I had consumed. Thereafter, I went to the bathroom brushed, shaved, and took
bath, while drying my body I remembered the previous day’s incident that
brought a feeling of nausea. The next moment I recollected the terrible order
which I had issued to Abhi. I exited the bathroom in haste wrapped in a towel
around my waist to undo what I had started the night before in my moment of
madness due to being gripped by the sentiment of inferiority from that other
man. “Abhi...Abhi,” I shouted, while entering the lobby, “Abhi,” I said once
more, and stopped mid-sentence, as I observed a neatly folded newspaper placed next
to the tea pot. The nearer I reached the table holding the newspaper, clearer
the photography became, as the newspaper was folded in a way that highlighted
the photograph. As I picked up the news- paper that same face from yesterday
smiled at me, Ramesh Singh, a student of the Government College met with an
accident; resulting in his death, late last night on the way to his home. His
motor cycle collided with an oncoming truck; the truck driver is still
absconding. The police inspector refused to say anything in the matter, the
newspaper reported. I slumped into the sofa, my limbs refusing to abide my
command.
Abhi
came to lobby and saw me in that position, “what happened, you ok,” Abhi
enquired. “What a terrible thing I have I done... what a terrible thing I have
done.” I kept repeating as if in a daze.
“Don’t
take responsibility for that,” Abhi said as he made me sit up straight on the
sofa, “accidents keep happening.”Abhi added.
“But”
I said feebly.
“The
truck driver must be drunk, or may be Ramesh himself had consumed alcohol,”
“Could
it be?”
“What
else explains him not being able to notice an oncoming truck?”
“You
sure, this killing is not on me.”
“Forget
about all this,” Abhi threw the newspaper aside, “you must get ready and
complete what you could not complete yesterday,” Abhi added.
I
buttoned my kurta, patted its sides, and taking a step back I admired my
reflection in the mirror; placing the metal piece in my right pocket I stepped
out of my house into the new day with purpose, neither does one need to snatch
nor does one need to beg, what yours will reach you in due time, I thought.
What else explains the reason behind Ramesh’s death, this only means Meera is
to be mine, I contemplated.
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