A SUPPRESSED LIFE

The auditorium was full of people and instead of clapping they were pointing fingers at Manu in unison. He repeatedly tried questioning them the reason of their unrest, but neither his shouts; which were enveloped by the noise of many mouths taking all at once, nor his random hand gestures had any effect on the exited crowd. In his mind he tried scanning the reason, but caught sight of a group walking to one corner of the auditorium. A man among them was holding on to something. Manu tried concentrating on the object, but realized that another group was getting on the big stage that was erected in his honour.  At that moment he saw that the man was holding his latest painting, without any notice another man slashed at the painting with a sharp object. The disrespect that was meted to his creation churned his heart and a painful “no,” came out of his mouth, while he saw their glee etched faces.

Manu’s eyes opened and he saw his reflection, blood red eyes, wearing a brown suite and positioned on a sofa legs and hand sprawled all over, in the body length mirror, which hung in the one corner of the room. He gave a sigh realizing that he was in his house. “Thank God,” was the first words he said out loud to no one in particular, and signed a sign of relief that what he viewed was only a dream, a bad one, but only a dream.

No sooner the respite subsided, the next moment a question, “why was I sleeping on the workshop sofa?” got hold of him. Like a flood, the incident of three days ago came flooding to his consciousness. He partially covered his mouth with his right hand to conceal a sheepish smile. Manu quickly jerked his body, so as to free himself from the bind of thoughts and got to his feet. The quickness caused him to wobble, and in reaction he recoiled back to the sofa. He fumbled first, at both of his trouser pockets, then the side pockets of his coat, and finally going through the inside pockets of his breast coat, where he found what he was looking for; a cigarette pack. Putting the cigarette to his mouth he searched for the lighter and not finding it among his clothes he got to his feet gingerly, so as to minimize the strain on his head, had few too many. Manu walked to the side Elmira and opened the cupboard; by now he had regained sense and remembered where he kept his things. Manu lit the cigarette and took a long puff. He relaxed after exiting the smoke from his nostrils, but not before the smoke traversed the length and breadth of the body. Still feeling unease, he decided to sit on the side table that lay next to the Elmira, and rested his back with the support of the wall. Closing his eyes Manu kept inhaling and exhaling from his cigarette till he felt certain that he was ready to stand firmly on his feet. 

Once certain, he opened his eyes and got to his feet, and looked about the room. The first thing that caught his eye was the stack of open magazines and newspapers that lay on the side table beside the sofa. His face tighten, Why the moral policing? After all isn’t it my life. The open newspaper depicted a sequence of images that showed him falling in the middle of a large hall. He inspected his clothes, they were identical to the one he was shown wearing in the picture. Dropping his cigarette in an ash tray that was filled with cigarettes, Manu took the newspaper in his hands and went through the report. The newspaper reported that Manu stumbled in front of the cameras while entering a cinema hall. Why such a hue and cry on a mere stumble? He nonchalantly threw the magazine down on the floor, “titillating,” he commented. Another picture of him in a magazine caught his attention. On going through the news piece he remembered the accident, which happened of six months ago. Why? He thought and quickly rummaged through the stack of open magazines and news papers, while half way through the pile he knew who had strategically placed them. Manu heard a knock from the bolted door as in on queue.  “Who is it?” he asked suppressing his smile, knowing very well who he was.

“Joshi” the voice said.

“What do you want? Let me in peace.” he replied

“That I can’t give till you mend your ways.”

“What wrong did I commit?”

“You very well know.”

“I don’t know, please enlighten me.”

 “Just look at the stack of gossip material I had laid out for your entertainment.”

“There is nothing, where is it? I can’t find.”

A silence ensued, and then a light chuckle followed from outside the closed door. The sound of laughter made Manu resolute that he was not going to be the one who breaks the silence.

“On the side table.” Mr Joshi who stood beyond the door said.

“What table?” Manu replied.

“The same side table that is adjacent to the sofa.”

Manu walked to the sofa, sat on it and watched himself making a face on the mirror that hung on the opposite wall, but said nothing.

“The same sofa that has served as you bed from last night,” Mr Joshi added.

Manu took a drag from his cigarette, and settled himself for the long haul.

“Open the door,” Mr Joshi said.

Manu kept quiet, and looked at his reflection on the mirror. What he saw disturbed him, I am getting old, he thought. He started to hide a few strands of white hairs under the mass of black hair that completely covered his boyish face. Although he was nearing fifty, but his lean body and full set of hair; mostly black, made him look no more than thirty five years. While he was carefully rearranging his hair, he heard the sound of receding footsteps that died down after a while, which indicated that Mr Joshi had left for the time being. Manu smiled to his victory. 

Manu concentrated on his hairs and admired the elegance with which he had accomplished the work of hiding the sparse white hairs, and his memories took him to a time long in the past where the colour of his hair was the least of his worries.  During those times he was known by the name of Jatin, the name given by his parents. Manu knew about famous artists and their pen names, and was also aware for the reason, why artist did that? In the same sense, he wanted to conceal his identity, because he believed ‘little mystery leads to curiosity, and the prying people talk, which increases popularity and from there hopefully to success, fame and money. There was no other reason for the name change, but things got interesting when he started to taste success, and in no time the prying fans got hold of the information, that his birth name was Jatin. So naturally the subsequent question arose, why the need to change the name? It was then that Manu researched, and he being a Hindu, so the first place he searched was religion. He stuck gold, and decided to stick with the adopted name when he found that in earlier Hindu texts Manu is referred to the archetypal man or the first man.

In the time when we he was referred by the name Jatin, he had freedom, was careless to an extreme, got up when he wished, slept when he felt like. Actually, there were only two things around which his life revolved: painting; his love, and Meeta; his life. Meeta entered his life when he was in school. It so happened that while walking home one evening after taking a dip in the village pond following a heated game of football, an old white ambassador car stopped beside Manu and a bearded man from the driver asked, “Son, can you guide me to Shastri ji’s house?” He was not in mood to reply to the driver’s question, as it was not regular that he lost a game of cricket and that to that cheat Madoo; the neighbourhood bully. Although he was not that great at cricket or any other sport for that matter, but the one thing which he despised more than anything was losing, he hated it. The anger he felt after the loss led him to the pond where he bathed to cool off the frustration. He was about to give his piece of mind to the driver as some of the residual anger was still present, but stopped short when his eyes fell on the pretty blue eyed girl sitting on the back seat, “sure,  I can take you there.” he said in his best behaved tone. On getting a questionable look from the driver, “Shastri ji is my grandfather,” Manu added.

“Ohh...is that so,” Manu heard a male voice from the back of the car. Turning to the voice he saw an elderly man, sitting next to that blue eyed girl, somewhat similar to his grandfather in age. “Come and sit at the front seat and lead us to your house,” the elderly man said.  At first he discretely tried stealing glances at the blue eyed girl; who was about her age, through the rear view mirror. But once she started to reciprocate to his glances, he grew confident and took the driver through a longer route to his house, so that he could prolong his little adventure. Actually Meeta was two years his senior, that fact became apparent to him, only when they started dating, in college, many years later.

The burning sensation on his fingers forced him to come out of the past. He noticed that the cigarette’s filter was completely burnt, and was gnawing at his hand. Throwing the fully burnt cigarette to the floor he got to his feet, opened the door and exited the room in which he had barricaded himself. Manu felt stronger both mentally and physically to answer the question which he was sure Mr Joshi would like to throw at him.

On reaching the dining room, he saw Mr Joshi sitting comfortably on a sofa sipping tea, “That was quick.” Mr Joshi said placing the cup down on the mahogany table, “I thought it would take some more hours to get you out of the workshop,” Mr Joshi added.

After getting comfortable on the sofa opposite Mr Joshi, “Shambu, tea,” Manu said.

“Sometimes I wish, I summon a bulldozer and take down that workshop wall.” Mr Joshi further added.

He observed another stack of open newspaper and magazine similar to the ones that were back at the workshop. Mr Joshi is ready with his ammunition, he thought. Manu lit a cigarette took a drag, enjoyed it, as he knew it was going to be the last pleasurable thing he was going to have and got ready for Mr Joshi’s rant.

Nothing happened; silence followed, any moment now, he thought.

In the silence the only sound audible was of, first, Shambu’s steps of approaching from the kitchen to the dining room, and then, of the cup being placed on the old mahogany table. Manu did not have to wait any longer, as soon as he savoured the first sip of the ginger flavoured tea, “What were you thinking?” Mr Joshi stated, and then pointing at the heap of gossip magazines, “don’t provide them any more material” Mr Joshi added.

Taking another sip from the tea, “I don’t understand, what are talking about?” Manu said.

“Do I need to elaborate, you are an intelligent man” Mr Joshi said.

He gave Mr Joshi an ignored look, as if to say, seriously man I have no idea.

Mr Joshi responded by giving a knowing smile, and picked up the newspaper that depicted his latest misdeed from the stack placed on the table, “Manu stumbles at the red carpet, a few too many pegs,” Mr Joshi read a headline from the article.

“They will decimate you,” Mr Joshi said     

Although he had grown accustomed to Mr Joshi’s harsh words, but somehow ‘decimate,’ word piqued his consciousness.  “We came from dust and dust we shall be,” he replied with a straight face. 

Mr Joshi observed him for a few moments, “You understand the agenda here?”

Biting his tongue Manu knew he had let emotions do as they please. He knew Mr Joshi too well to get annoyed by his comments, as he knew that the intentions behind the anger were true, and let out a sheepish smile.

“Don’t give them anymore ammunition,” Mr Joshi said picking up a newspaper that had vividly captured another misfortune, “you are making your own pyre,” Mr Joshi added.

Manu knew it was the increase in frequency of such incidents that had instigated Mr Joshi’s anger; otherwise public relationship hazards like these were the precise moments in which Mr Joshi revelled.

Mr Joshi got up from the sofa and started pacing to and fro in the dining room. Manu felt two emotions, apprehension and compassion. Apprehension, because he was not sure what Mr Joshi had planned, and compassion, as he could see the strains which his constant irresponsible behaviours were causing. So he kept quiet and let Mr Joshi speak.

 “Do whatever you wish but don’t blame me later.”

Manu kept quiet and waited for his chance.

 “I just want to add one more thing, cancel tomorrow’s interview,” Mr Joshi said.

“Why,” he retorted, and regretted speaking out. Another thought spurred, what the heck, and decided to stick with his convictions.

“Because it is the right thing to do in the present situation.”

“No more blinds.”

“And let the people and critics burn you.”

“Let them decide, not you or me.”

“See, I can’t see you getting slaughtered and do nothing.”

“I just want the truth to prevail, nothing more.”

“And what truth is that?”

“That I am like any other common man who just happened to stumble under the influence of alcohol.”

Mr Joshi replied “There are two mistakes in your statement, first, you are not a common man and, second, this is not your first time, actually this the sixth time in the last four months.”  Pacing quietly for few seconds, “does it occur to you what society expects from you?” Mr Joshi added.

Manu shook his head in disagreement.

“Do you even know what a star is?” Mr Joshi added another question.

“I don’t know and I don’t wish to know, all I want is independence of making mistakes,” Manu replied.

Mr Joshi kept quiet for a few moments, and then added “sadly that privilege you can’t have.”  

Manu took a long drag from the cigarette, “What do you suggest?”

“Go out of the city for few days”

“How many days?”

“Till your news gets stale”

“Would you be kind enough to recommend a place also?”

“Your wish; I will get the necessary arrangements done.”

“What if I do the opposite to what you suggest?”

“This is my humble professional advice that, you leave the city for a few days till your stupor fall news is overtaken by some other breaking news.” Mr Joshi said and left the dining hall.

Some time elapsed.

Manu sat glued to the sofa, in his mind an avalanche was brewing threatening to tear out any moment. It was the agitation that was troubling Manu, because before leaving the workshop he had prepared himself that he will not get flustered. And that was exactly what was happening.  In his heart Manu knew what Mr Joshi was saying was correct. Both of Mr Joshi’s suggestions, of not giving the interview and the advice of getting out of the city for a few days made perfect sense. Then why do I feel bad? He silently questioned himself. See I have acknowledged it, then why do I keep feeling the pain?

He got up from the sofa, lit another cigarette and walked towards his workshop. At that moment another thought entered his mind. With fame comes great responsibility. He kept hearing this advice throughout his childhood, till the initial years of adulthood. Was this the source of his discomfort? Was being a famous painter reason of his freedom to be being taken away from him? He remembered how the people closest to him becoming cautious with every new success of his, and came up with their do’s and don’ts lists, much to his chagrin. Things became so chaotic that he felt being choked, so he discarded some of his so called well wishers, with the exception of one, should have thrown him out when I had the chance, Manu thought with a mischievous smile. The truth was Mr Joshi was more a friend than a mere manager, after all his association with Mr Joshi had stood the test of time, and was in its twentieth year.

Bolting the workshop door from inside, he sighed realizing that he was back amid the secure surrounding. The calmness that had descended due to the familiar surrounding evaporated the moment his eyes fell on his new project, ‘faces a self portrait,’ the title he had given to the project. The canvas placed on the tripod was littered with eyes, nose, ears, and mouth of various shapes and depicting various emotions. But somehow he was unable to pick the right emotions, and do justice to his creation. Manu quickly turned to the opposite wall to the full body mirror, and proceeded to the fridge; picked up whisky bottle, that lay on the top of the fridge, and held the empty glass that lay adjacent to the bottle, and returned to the sofa. Once settled he fixed himself a stiff drink and downed it in one go and made a face in reaction as the whisky traversed throughout his body. Then Manu remembered Mr Joshi’s statement, till your stupor fall news is overtaken, mimicked the line, and fell in deep thought. Manu recalled all the painful experience he endured, the humiliating act to which he was subjected and the taunting mannerism he had encountered over the years in his quest to become a painter; which by seer hard work and persistence he had become and over period of time got very good at the art. Putting the glass aside he got hold of the whisky bottle, and put it to his mouth, took few gulps, and closed his eyes.

Next morning Manu was by the window looking at the clear sky, when he heard a knock on the workshop door. He ignored it.

“Will you please open the door?” Mr Joshi said from outside the room.

Silently he came back to the sofa, poured an average sized drink, and took a small sip and savoured the taste. Making a face as if to say, I can’t get away this time, Manu drink in hand tip toed towards the door, opened it and very quickly sat on the sofa.

“Open the door, I want to talk,” Mr Joshi said again.

“Come in, the door is open,” he said and resumed sipping the whisky.  

 Manu heard a slight chuckle from across the door, the next moment a freshly faced Mr Joshi walked in bringing along the sun rays through the open door that fell in such a way that divided the workshop into two, darkness and brightness.  Manu sat in darkness and Mr Joshi stood in bright light. He took another sip from the glass, and looked at Mr Joshi.

“So what have you decided?” Mr Joshi asked.

“Regarding what?” Manu replied.

“You very well know.”

“Enlighten me please?”

“Will you please stop answering me in questions?”

 Manu remained silent.

“You know how infuriating it is?” Mr Joshi said.

A smirk was about to adorn his face, but Manu hid it just in time, as he wanted to elongate this serious persona of his. The truth was he had already thought it over and had also decided on the location, but he loved these situations, seeing Mr Joshi helpless.

“Come on Manu, I am asking you something.” Mr Joshi said half pleadingly.

Manu was finding it difficult to control the joy he was getting in watching Mr Joshi in that state. Without any notice Mr Joshi’s eyes altered just a wee bit, and glanced at the canvas that lay in the middle of the room. Manu caught a slight un-appreciating look in Mr Joshi’s eyes and questioned himself, can he spot the deficiencies? The answer came in the next heart beat, surely not. Just them another thought spurred in his mind, although he is not an artist, but maybe being with me all these years he have developed an eye? And to recheck his first assumption, Manu observed Mr Joshi a second time.  This time Manu found nothing and thought, maybe he is over thinking. The inferiority bug had bitten Manu so to distract Mr Joshi from finding the flaws in his new creation and also to take his thought away from the creative block he felt that barred him from completing his painting, Manu decided to convey his decision. With that intention he got up from the sofa, walked to the Elmira, opened it and giving a look to Mr Joshi pointed to a dart that was stuck on the map of India. Manu left the room when Mr Joshi nodded in response.

“Ms. Pinki is here,” Mr Joshi said as he was half way through the open door.

Manu decided to meet her, and walked past the dining room to the office where he knew Pinki would be waiting. Although, he did not like her, and thought of her as an unwanted nuisance, nevertheless went ahead to meet her, so as to full fill a promise he once made, of giving guidance through her painting career, under the influence of alcohol. It so happened, that Pinki somehow found out about the bar he visited regularly, and befriended him there. It was during one of these sessions that he promised her of, his help, and little by little she found entry into his house.

Manu sat in front of her in his office, he did not understand how? But for the first time he noticed her physically, and liked what he saw. Pinki must be in her mid thirties, he thought noticing her shoulder length black hair. In matters of heart Manu’s life was empty, the little love he found through his affair with Meeta was on and off and mostly turbulent. And once he got over her, Manu never tried to form another love relationship. The one solace that helped him throughout that depressing period was his work, which utilized most of his time. Thereon he devoted more and more time on his work. However, there were times when he felt the urge for closeness with woman, and for those times he had made prior arrangements. Manu gave a big sigh observing Pinki fuller breast that felt like wanting to come out and breathe in the open. The moment he realized the thought he jerked his head and fixed his eyes to the mango tree which was visible through the office window. His momentary lapse felt like being caught naked in front of a large crowd.  

A little later walking in his garden, Manu recalled that during his absentmindedness he had revealed his travel plans to Pinki, so what, he thought and concentrated on the accolades he would be bestowed with once the world re-acknowledges his greatness. Because he believed the new project ‘faces’ would firmly establish him as a great painter. In that moment his face lost all its friendliness, do these critics know the myriad of pains an artist goes through in the process of creating art? Recalling the words ‘lost his touch’, which was in one of the reviews of his last exhibition, his hatred for his critics intensified, do they even understand his love affair with his art. It is so easy for them to sit on their easy chairs and condemn me and my art. The anger was consuming and his body started to shake uncontrollably. He noticed Pinki entering the drive way talking with Mr Joshi. She still here, he thought. He called her out, she might still be useful, and he contemplated on the thought with a smile adorning his face.

Half an hour later as Manu stood under the shade of the mango tree overlooking window of his office, Pinki has certainly been helpful, a contented smile adorned his face. The sex with Pinki has released the suppressed tension that had bound his body and soul. The smile had enveloped him fully, and the cheerful Manu noticed Pinki looking at him through the office window. He could clearly see the expectations in her eyes, as she set her hair in a bun. Smiling Manu looked at her and smelled her residual fragrance which was all over his body.  I am energised to prove every one wrong. Manu is back.

Manu looked at his white shirt and brown trouser; the same ones that he had been wearing from the last three days, I need a shave and a bath.

As he entered the bathroom, the thought of taking Pinki along on the vacation appealed to him. Manu stepped under the shower, let me breathe her scent one more time. Finally he turned on the shower and let the water rinse his body.