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.