Chapter 1: The Anonymous Call

“This will not make the cut,” Gazal put the telephone down, half dejected, half exasperated. It has been two months since her piece made it into the Diglet Dossier. She was eager to hear this byte from Khabrilal, her private investigator, hoping there would finally be light at the end of the tunnel, but to no avail.

For quite some time, waiting for the next byte, eyeing the anonymous line every now and then and putting down the call – this has become a ritual Gazal goes through every day. You cannot manifest imaginary incidents when your work demands realism. True, that truth is stranger than fiction. Still, she finds it incredulous that a society as diverse as the Indian populace cannot conjure up a single meaningful story to pursue. There have been a fair share of bytes regarding miscreants, traffic violations and petty robberies in the city, but nothing that stands out of the ordinary. Only if she had…

?“Gazal, breakfast is ready! It’s already 10 AM.” Gazal was snapped out of her reverie by Mummyji calling her to get ready for work. She always waited for the clock to strike 10:10, hoping that the smiling face of the clock would translate??into her having a fantastic day. However, that has not helped her yet.

?“Get ready for what, Ma? It will be the same boring day at office. Do you know how anxious it is to stare at the clock and while away your time when you have nothing productive to do? At least here, I get to loll on the sofa, watch TV and daydream about my next piece.”

“That’s called an idiot box for a reason. Ye sab chodo na. Have a taste of what I’ve made today – Chhole Kulche, your favorite.”

“Ma, you know I’m on a diet na. Chhole Kulche on a winter morning. Will you be serving Gajar Halwa next?” Gazal said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Says the girl with circles so dark around her eyes that it looks like faded mascara.” She definitely gets her humor from her mother.?

Gazal gave a nervous laugh. She’s been telling the family that the dark circles are due to her long sleeping hours, an inevitable side-effect of the Work from Home culture. She has become nocturnal, going through reams of news daily to see what’s cooking in the city. It’s her body that’s betraying her camouflage. The little they know, the better, she thought.

“Abhi Chawla ji ka phone aaya tha. He is expecting you in the office in an hour. I don’t understand why my girl cannot have two minutes of relief at home. It is always either Mr. Chawla or that wretched investigative job that calls her back. And, it doesn’t pay well.”

“It pays enough Ma. And it’s not a job. It is a creative pursuit that helps me tackle my creative, investigative vein.”

“That’s another one of your glorified terms for freelancing. The other day, I was talking to Meena ji. Her son just got placed in a reputed firm. Says it pays well.”

“Mumma, you will feel better once I get a shot at fame with my investigative story becoming the talk of the town. Call it a work in progress, for now.” Gazal was reaffirming her belief in her work. Convenient truths can be a good distraction.

“Whatever happens, we will still be here to support you. Now, chop-chop. You don’t want to miss the cab.”

Gazal went to her room and had a final look at the mirror. Today will be a good day, she repeated thrice, coupled with deep breaths. Overlooking her room’s mess – newspapers scattered helter-skelter, the board turned yellow with maps and post-it notes – she picked up her handbag and dashed to the entrance. A good day it will be, right?

“Stoppp, I missed the flip-phone,” she said to herself as if rejigging her memory. These last-minute revelations are all too obvious nowadays. An ordinary Nokia? 3310 with changing set of SIM cards, her flip-phone was an ordinary, yet dependable companion connecting her to Khabrilal and anonymous callers having some interesting news bytes for her. Her landline is more discreet, one that she uses sparingly. It is an artefact of a bygone era that she still holds dear. She grabbed her flip-phone, thrust it in her jeans and started her journey to Regal Square, the home for Diglet Dossier.

A journey through the metro is better than one with a cab. You get to observe daily lives of people in astonishing detail. As perceptive and inquisitive as she was, the common man interested her. Gazal had a way of sensing the room, the kind of girl that can look through your eyes and understand what’s going on. Going to places around Delhi, she met strangers with an air of informality that made her instantly likeable. When she handled the conversation, words did not have to be prized out of people. That’s why she was an irreplaceable asset to the news agency, coming up with a story in the wee hours of the magazine going to print.?

Today has not been eventful yet. The daily life of people looks nothing out of the ordinary. The huddled-up travelers, people glued to their smartphones and the automatic relay of stations approaching on the line – this would present the perfect place to be unnoticed and yet observe everything. And still, nothing eventful, yet.?

Anyways, you will be in the office in 10 minutes. Let’s get this over with. Gazal mused, looking out of the window, seeing the sun ablaze, orangish amongst the clouds on a wintery morning.

Trriinggg, trriinggg, trrrriiinnngggg

Her flip phone was buzzing. That’s odd. It had been silent for two months. She had almost lost hope of it ever buzzing again. Has someone actually gone through her indiscreet advert and decided to call her now? You are always fascinated by things you don’t understand. Here goes nothing.

Gazal picked up the call in the most nonchalant way possible.

?“Am I talking to Goofy Din?” asked a voice.

“Yes. If you have reached here hoping to get some discount for a trip to Singapore, you are calling the wrong number.”

“Ohh! And here I thought you were looking for an interesting piece. Maybe I have called the wrong number. Sorry.”

“Wait! You are at the correct address. Mister?”

“Avacado. I saw an advert asking for leads for a story.”

“That’s an interesting name. Yes, I gave that ad, in the hope of getting my hands on some interesting story to pursue. I have had my share of failed follow-ups. I’m not interested in some run-of-the-mill story about how Raju stole Rani’s earrings. Mr. Avacado, do you have anything interesting for me?”

“I have something interesting to tell you. Something for you to have a shot at, something that has been haunting me for years. Something that can only be told in person if you are willing to take a chance. So, what’s your take?”

?“Okay, I can come over. This better be interesting.”

“Meet me at Chivalry Café by Dwarka Complex in an hour. You’ll recognize me when you reach there.”

The ten minutes to Regal Square will have to wait now. The day suddenly got interesting.

Gazal will now have to take a leap of faith and reach out to this anonymous caller. How will she recognize him? What is that haunting revelation he wants to tell her?

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Until next time, folks!