THE OTHER SIDE OF LIFE
-
Saptarshi
Basu
(a piece of fiction)
My father once said - for people like us, it’s not the food what makes you strong but your
hope. The day it dies, you are gone.
Walking back on that crimson evening with neon
lights passing by, I suddenly remembered him. A man of few words he was, and
plentiful beatings. His acute bony structure swayed back and forth like a bamboo
tree in that alcoholic trance as he kept on beating me. Till both the stick and
the man would succumb. To pressures of unknown dimensions.The last time I saw
him, his silent legs swayed like a pendulum from our ceiling fan. Perhaps, his
hopes died that day. As for me, it was now on all time high. Arjun Sir has
accepted to look at my manuscript contradicting Mallick Da’s prophecy. Also, my
faith on the present government exceeded my faith on myself. Million dollar
investments, new factories, special packages for the poor – the banners
coloured the wind with good news. I dreamt of extinction of my dreadful days.
Then I looked at my watch and birds flying home, and panicked. I might miss the
appointment with Dr. Shetty at Amherst clinic, I thought. I walked rapidly to
the bus stand. I took the shortest path while meandering through narrow
streets. I saw a young couple kiss in that broken light of the evening, and I
cursed the whole generation. A generation without shame. A generation too bold.
They fear nothing, and they respect nothing.I ran like a leopard at the glimpse
of the bus and hung myself at the foot-stand. Sweaty bodies cling to each other
in home returning rush. Like a swarm of mosquitoes over an oil-stricken head.
Flat buttocks and bulged bottoms sharply pointed towards the pavement. I
elbowed a few fat men and grumbling women, squeezing myself inside. Somewhere,
I was deeply happy. Even after a gloomy sale something fruitful happened today.
The bus moved in halts while remaining tilted to one side. Like an absent
minded professor on his evening walk. I dreamt of uninterrupted happiness. The
prospect of having the prosperity of three square meals a day .Of perfumed
smell of freshly bought school books for Binu. Of a life less ordinary. ‘Dada,
please stand properly’ the petite girl with small conical breasts and long
eyelashes scolded me. I was standing on one leg next to her. Her face grimaced
as she measured me carefully. With such abundant happiness in my heart, I was
in no mood for a skirmish. I turned back to the right side where hungry smell
of freshly baked samosa wafted inside the bus.
The hunger was
growling inside as I came down from the bus .But with just six rupees left with
me, I had little option left. I went to a nearby tea stall and drank vigorously
from the jug. Water soothed my empty stomach a bit. I lighted a bidi and walked
briskly towards the clinic. Dusk slowly engulfed the shallowing brightness.
Street lights reflected on speeding car windows. Like your past haunting and
taunting you and speeding away in the present .The milky white appearance of
Amherst clinic looked grey in that gloomy darkness as I entered. Rich cars were
parked on the alley beside petite fashioned bushes. The bushes looked like little
children hiding in the dark .Rich people with rich cars. I walked into the
general ward and waited just outside Dr. Shetty’s chamber. Tired ailing faces
roamed on the corridors. Some howling and screeching ones lay on the floor.
Poor people with rich diseases. Fat nurses with uncovered legs roamed and ran
up and down .With serious expressions and jumping heart. A child kept playing
with the IN and OUT outside the doctor’s chamber. His mother concentrating on
her makeup while periodically threatening her son. Rich people with rich
diseases. Their names formed strangely inside the mouth of the matron and
spitted out at the top of her voice. Mr.C Aslaaam , Mr C Aslaaam, Mr K
Mooonshi ,Mrs. S Bannorjeee...
. I was thinking how to manage without the doctor’s fee when the attendant
called me in. A gorgeously clad bulky lady was coming out and I squeezed myself
by her side. The doctor was in all smiles looking at me. ‘Hey, how are you
PannaLal, sit...sit...and how is Binu’ while scrubbing something deep inside
his mouth with a toothpick. ‘Well, Sir...very good Sir...With all your
blessings, Sir’ suddenly I was at a loss of words. ‘See PannaLal, I must say
Binu’s case is a promising one. We shouldn’t lose hope.’ Dr Shetty stood up
from his chair and called for the attendant. ‘Tea?’ he asked and I humbly
refused. Drinking tea without the doctor fees didn’t seem like a good idea.
‘See...all we need is the money’ he again started. ‘So when are you thinking of
getting all the money for the operation’ .I was always weak in maths, weak in
most of the subjects I must say. That complex calculation was too tough for me.
I dropped out at class ten after my father’s suicide. I feebly smiled at the
doctor and said that I was trying hard. ‘You must’ he increased a few decibels
and then suddenly looked immersed in his thoughts. I was thinking how to break
the word of the missing fees to him. I already knew the futility of this visit
but happened to succumb to the doctor’s fixed check-up dates. Only that the
patient was not with me today. I was watching those smiling faces of children
in the posters hung all across the room, when suddenly he spoke again. ‘I
think, you shouldn’t do any further delay. If the operation is done
immediately, Binu can walk, go to school, and enjoy his life. Think this way’
he said, pressed his lower lip with the upper and stopped. His gaze was now
fixed on me. I was feeling guilty you know, of being a father. Of being a
helpless father. I felt weak in my head. Baba,
will I ever go to school? - Those words
of Binu again started pestering me .Vibrating on the hollow walls of my head.
‘PannaLal, are you listening?’ the doctor raised his voice. ‘Yes Sir, yes
Sir...very well Sir...I, Sir...try, Sir...’. And then in that final moment of
truth, I had to say about the missing fees. I begged, pleaded almost went to
his legs. ‘Ok, ok...bring it next time’ he made an angry face and called the
attendant. ‘Call the next patient in’ he ordered. I rubbed the dust off my
glazed trousers and left.
I reached our bustee, our slum somewhat around nine.
Eyes heavy with sleep, head reeling, my legs painfully darted in the muddy
dust. Endless darkness wrapped our pigeonholes where even your shadow leaves
you alone. The thick air smelled of fart, daylong sweat and cries of domestic
violence. Tired, drunken husbands assaulting the modesty of their wives. Trying
to eliminate their day long shame by shaming their wives. Erasing inflicted
insults with inflicted pain .A few scuffles, catfights here and there. Some
hand rickshaws called it a day and waited silently for the next morning. A
thick stagnant cloud emerged from its footstand. Madan and Mukul were sitting
there, sporadically emitting balls of dense smoke. The clogged municipal drain
carried bits of everything and remained undulated. Like a dead green snake.The
smell coming out of it was mixed and confusing. As I crossed the cowshed which
stood at the junction, I stopped .Painful cries of Mangala, the Bihari Doodhwala’s wife pierced the silence of
the night. It goes on night after night. Somewhere in my heart, I have a
fondness for her. I don’t know how it grew, but looking at her deep kajal -filled bovine eyes my heart
occasionally skips a beat. Her enormous asset inside her crisp silk blouse is also
an attraction. Her gait very much resembles Budhia- their cow. Sluggish,
dreamy, peaceful. Months later, when hell broke loose on my life’s boundary, I
felt her softness on one sudden winged evening. When tenderness burst into
flower and the worm waited to return in my doomed life.
A few children along
with their mothers responded to the call of nature behind the bushes and
shrubs. I could hear their grunts, groan and moaning. I thought of Binu and
mother .They would be eagerly waiting for me. And for their dinner. I neglected
a few friendly calls coming from behind and briskly walked to Nimai Da’s shop.
Six rotis, a shady looking curry and a bottle of Fifty Up- our economical
country liquor. Mostly, this was my night’s ration. I cajoled Nimai Da to add
the amount to my already humongous pending credit and ran home.
Shadows of hunger smeared
my walls as I entered. The damp smell of half-dried vests and underpants
welcomed me home .Binu lovingly took my bag away and searched for an invisible
candy. Binu shaped autumn cloud searching for a candy. My mother cried, shouted
and complained for the water problem moving into its sixth day. I emptied her
bed pan in the drain. Then Binu and I sat for dinner, and mother took it in the
bed. Silence proceeded. There was a lot of ambition packed into my hot little
room. Binu with his elephant shaped autumn cloud ambition, me with my erotic
novel ambition and mother with her early death ambition. The dinner was
finished off quickly and then Binu silently went to bed. ‘How was your day,
Baba’ he asked. As I went to kiss him goodnight. A soft tired smile laced his
face reminding me of her mother. I
smiled and said it was good. Same question, same answer. Night after night. Father
and son. Asking him to close his eyes, I stroked his hair for a few minutes.
Thinking about Bakul and her fairy tales. Her sleepy voice. Binu wouldn’t sleep
without them. That rich prince who came on a large white horse with wide wings,
that princess who was kidnapped. All such stories. With happy ending always.
Where at the end, evil loses and good wins. Within minutes, Binu was deeply
breathing, his eyes closed, his mind roaming on a dreamy land .Binu shaped
autumn cloud watering soft yellow flowers at heaven’s door. Giant sized insect
shadows hovered on my walls. Busy burning themselves on the flickering flame .I
put out the kerosene lamp and made two large pegs in the moonlight. While
silently watching the moon playing hide and seek behind the Gulmohar tree. In that moonlight all trees glistened naked and
dark as if they had unclothed themselves, and the green things on earth seemed
to hum with greenness. Just after finishing off the first one, a loud bang
occurred on my door. I opened and saw Babu standing irritated. He has come to
take me to Bula Di,our local Counciller for complaining about the troublesome
water supply. He quickly came inside and finished my second peg as I searched a
decent dress. My underwear kept for drying from the very morning was still wet.
I cursed my luck .For not finding a proper dress for such an important visit. A
woman is very much needed at home to do all such stuffs. Like drying your
underwear and cooking for you. I got hold of a torn pyjama and a pale looking
shirt and changed into it. I thought of applying perfume on my sweaty body but
the bottle was empty. Perhaps, it was empty for endless times. And then we went
straight to Councillor Bula Di’s decorated office.
Saptarshi
Basu, a Gold Medallist in Mechanical Engineering, has been in IT industry for
last 8 years and has worked for the top 3 IT companies of India (INFOSYS,TCS
& WIPRO). However, writing has always been first love, his passion. His Debut
novel- LOVE {LOGIC} AND THE GOD'S ALGORITHM is now a national best-seller in
Infibeam, a premier online store.
His second Novel , AUTUMN IN MY HEART published by Vitasta Publishing
with Times group (Times of India) launched in november'11 has already created a
lot of stir due on causes of broken heart and homosexuality.
About Myself:
Saptarshi
Basu, a Gold Medallist in Mechanical Engineering, has been in IT industry for
last 8 years and has worked for the top 3 IT companies of India (INFOSYS,TCS
& WIPRO). However, writing has always been first love, his passion. His Debut
novel- LOVE {LOGIC} AND THE GOD'S ALGORITHM is now a national best-seller in
Infibeam, a premier online store.
His second Novel , AUTUMN IN MY HEART published by Vitasta Publishing
with Times group (Times of India) launched in november'11 has already created a
lot of stir due on causes of broken heart and homosexuality.
Saptarshi
Basu does motivational speaking and was invited from Jaipur Engineering College
and Research Centre (JECRC) to address their Annual National Tech-Fest
Renaissance -March, 2012.He was also invited as a guest poet to international
Poetry festival at Guntur, India.
Blogging and
travelling are the biggest pursuit of him.He had subsequently travelled and lived in London, Toronto, San
Francisco, Dubai till he came back to Kolkata, his hometown.
Saptarshi Basu also does screenplay writing for movies and writes columns
for some online magazines like Asiacha- an international journal, museindia and
others .
His children’s fiction ‘ The Zoo-break
Adventures’ has been taken up by a renowned international animation company to
be made into an animated series.
SOME OF THE PUBLISHED COLUMNS OF
SAPTARSHI:
MEDIA COVERAGE OF SAPTARSHI BASU AND
HIS NOVELS:
The novels have been widely reviewed by media
in leading newspapers like The Hindu, Times of India, The Telegraph, Mumbai
Mirror, Political and business Daily and others.
A comprehensive list with pics is given here:
THE HINDU :
PTI (PRESS TRUST OF INDIA) :
TIMES OF INDIA :
THE TELEGRAPH :
MUMBAI MIRROR :
"DOGS BARK, BIRDS FLY, I WRITE"
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