Panorama

As the bus came out of the city, crowded with people, buildings of various proportions in equally various conditions, the road lined with small shops and street vendors standing behind their carts, dirty and stinking side drains at places overflowing, some men shamelessly urinating on the compound walls surrounding vacant plots filled with rubbish and garbage, torn old cinema posters fluttering wildly as the vehicles pass by them, I caught a breath of fresh air and a view filled with greenery of farm fields with saplings of maize swinging in unison. But soon I got a whiff of the foul smell of the smoke emanating from bidi, which someone at the front portion of the bus was merrily smoking in defiance of the rule of no smoking in the bus.

I remembered an incident that happened when I was an undergraduate student in Belgaum. I had two very close friends with whom I was huddled in a small restaurant to drink a bottle of rum that one of my friends had been able to obtain from an ex-military person. All the ex-military men get their monthly quota of liquor at subsidized prices in the military canteen and some of them sell it at a higher price, yet much lower than the actual market price. We were not sitting in a bar. It was a small restaurant serving snacks, but the owner being a friend of the friend of mine, had allowed us to sit there, after the business hours. The two friends with me were Krishna Hulkund and Subhash Vannalli, both my classmates since I joined the pre-university college. Subhash was not a smoker, but he ate ghutka. Krishna and I used to smoke. After the first round of drinks, surprisingly Subhash lit a cigarette and let a stream of smoke on the face of Krishna, which the latter didn’t like. With a wince, he shouted, “Hey! Stop it man. I don’t like this.”

Subhash laughed and said, “What difference does it make Krishna? You too smoke.” Krishna was known for his quips, and he retorted immediately, “You ear ghutka and spit. What if someone chews ghutka and spit in your mouth? Would you like it?”

I heard the conductor as well as a couple of co-passengers reprimanding the villager who was smoking bidi and he was forced to throw it out. I left a sigh of relief. Although I smoke, I hate the smell of smoke that the smokers let out. Again, I felt the whiff of fresh air gently nudging me and my mood was elated. I felt Vani’s thigh and shoulder touching mine, giving the pleasure that I had never experienced before. Along with four of us, another three passengers were sitting on the last seat, meant for six people. If I were sitting with some strangers, I would have felt miserable, like being crushed. However, now I thanked the seventh passenger in my mind, for creating such a pleasant situation!

Nirupama and Mohan were continuously chatting with each other. When I stole a glance at Nirupama’s beautiful face, a bunch of long hair fluttering on her cheek, I felt, after all, I was not as happy as Mohan was. I started humming the ascending and descending notes of Rag Bridavani Sarang, trying variations, while gazing at the lush green farm fields in which women wearing saris of bright hues were working. When I thought I had got the notes right, I broke into singing a cheez, set in that raga. I was well aware that Vani was listening to me attentively and gazing at me.

“This is Sarang. Isn’t it?” Suddenly she asked me. I was surprised at her knowledge of music.

“Yes. Have you learnt Hindustani Music?”

“Long back, when I was in school, my father used to force me to attend music classes in the evenings, but I could never sing. Of course I like the film music, especially the old melodies,” She replied, with a bright smile.

“I too used to like film songs. But I have graduated to classical music now. I think it is a process of evolution. Some are stuck at the first level itself,” I said, without any intention to offend her, but I had to hastily add, “Of course, I love the old film songs even today.”

“I like the lyrics of the old songs along with the melody,” she said without taking any offense.

“True, in film songs, Bhakti songs and Bhavageet, lyrics is more important than melody. The musical content is secondary. But in classical music, the lyrics are secondary and musical content is all important.” I agreed with her with further elaboration.

“How is the new couple enjoying?” Nirupama suddenly asked this question bending towards us with a naughty wink. It embarrassed me and disappointed me too, for it meant she was distancing herself from me. When this thought crossed my mind, I felt ashamed. She was in love with Mohan, not me. She had got what she wanted. She didn’t know that I liked her better than Vani. I couldn’t blame her. But was she pushing me towards Vani? I kept questioning myself.

“We’re friends and not a couple like you,” Vani replied flashing a smile at Mohan.

“It’s only a matter of time,” Nirupama persisted.

Why didn’t I say anything? A thousand things passed in my mind, which could have found expression if someone else was in my place. I could never respond in time, could I? I could have said that I couldn’t fancy Vani even if I were to stay with her for ages, that I actually didn’t know about the trip, that if sufficient advance notice were given to me, I could have refused to come, that in fact I fancied Nirupama and not Vani, that all of them had tricked me into joining them in this excursion, that the name Nirupama is musical, containing the notes ni, re, pa, and ma, and I loved music, that I could have…What the hell!

Immersed in my thoughts as I was, I missed a couple of exchanges between Nirupama and Vani. The bus took a right turn on to a smaller road, leaving the National Highway and soon there was no longer a smooth ride. The speed of the bus decreased considerably to lessen the impact of bumps and was swerving now and then to make way for the overtaking and oncoming vehicles. The road, though not smooth, was a good sight, meandering and lined with huge trees. In the dappled shade of some trees, some village folk were idling by the side of the road, and as the bus passed by them, all the faces turned towards us. I pushed back all the thoughts of the present to the remote recesses of my mind, and began enjoying the view through the window, and the cool breeze that kept gently stroking my face.

A few miles into the North Canara district, the surroundings changed dramatically, with vast plain areas replaced by thick, seemingly impenetrable forest. Trees rose to such heights that sitting in the bus, it was not possible to see their tops at places. Many trees had a girth of several meters. There were teak trees, which stood erect with big leaves sprouting all around. I could recognize some sandalwood trees also, but a large number of trees were unknown to me, being a city dweller as I was. But that hindered the least my pleasure of watching them in all their glory. At some places, the woods were interspersed with these forests are swampy fallows, where the water was covered with white lotuses and white cranes hovering above or brooding, and this made the scene immensely delightful and soothing. The droplets of rainwater dripping from the leaves of the trees, shrubs, and creepers, the drains flowing with clear water, were all the sights that were so pleasant that I forgot for a while all about the adventure I had been dragged into undertaking. The villages were far apart, sparsely populated and very neat and clean unlike the villages on the plains of north Karnataka, which were perpetually filled with the rancid stink of cow dung and human excreta, and which turned into virtual hell during the rainy season, for the dirt roads were flooded with the water overflowing from the gutters, if there happened to be any.

“Isn’t this beautiful Harsha?” Vani tried to break the ice and chat with me. Although I didn’t like to be disturbed thus, I couldn’t be rude to her. I turned towards her; her face was so close to mine that she was peeping into my eyes.

“Yeah, not just beautiful, it is romantic!” God! What did I say?

She warmed up, and leaned on me closing the small gap between us, and held my right arm with both her hands and beamed at me the brightest of her smiles. Then she asked me in a whisper, “Are you romantic too?”

“Ah, my idea of the romantic seems to be different than yours,” I said hardening a bit and trying to restrain myself. I thought she would be disheartened, but she was not at all put out, for obviously she understood from my words what she wanted to them to mean.

“Is anybody hungry?” Mohan asked looking at us.

I nodded indicating that I wasn’t and others did not reply. I shifted my gaze to Nirupama to find that she had dozed off on his shoulders with a smile on her face that had not yet faded. I felt a pang of jealousy and immediately turned away to look out of window. Soon I was once again immersed in relishing the delights of the panorama of landscape.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Out of Bounds

Mohan dropped his cigarette on the ground and stamped on it hurriedly as if he had remembered something of importance suddenly and said, “Harsha, we need to buy something too. Come on.” As I was wont to by now, I followed him without a question. He entered the hosiery section for men and purchased undergarments for both, although I didn’t need one. When I asked him why are we buying them, he replied, “We’ll need them where we are going.”

“Where are we going?” I asked him in a raised voice with alarm. I had thought we would be going straight back to the campus. “Shsh…” he silenced me, and said, “Have you seen Jog Falls? This is the appropriate time to see it. It would be wonderful now.”

He smiled conspiringly, watching the intrigued look on my face. And then added, “This’s the opportunity boy! The girls are coming with us. In fact, it is the other way round.”

“But I don’t have sufficient money,” I protested.

“Did we ever have? By the way, the girls are going to spend it,” he replied.

“But…”

“No ifs and buts pal. I want to bed that Vani. She behaves with me as if I am nothing. We’ll exchange partners once we are settled in the hotel in Sirsi. I want to teach Vani a lesson,” he said with a revengeful tone.

Although I couldn’t understand why Mohan was angry with Vani, I was excited at the prospect of spending time alone with Nirupama.

“Will she agree?” I was asking about Nirupama and my voice had softened almost to a whisper.

Mohan laughed tauntingly, for he’d discovered my secret desire, and quoted a popular idiom in Kannada, “Will anybody ask the chicken before grinding the masala?” Masala is the mixture of spices used in cooking chicken curry.

“How much for this?” he asked the salesperson pointing towards the t-shirt hung behind the counter. I didn’t hear the reply, for I was already deep in my thoughts. The idea of going on a trip with the girls was indeed titillating and it was giving me Goosebumps. However, I was at the same time afraid of undertaking such an adventure. I knew, in the heart of my hearts, that it was wrong. Going with the girls such a long way, staying at the hotel, and then… it was all very wrong; certainly against all the customs of our society. Dating is unknown in India, and India would never adopt it, of which I was sure. My parents would never approve of it; as a matter of fact it would be outrageous as well as sacrilegious to them, even more so to the parents of the girls. If they ever found this out, they would be shocked to death. Am I afraid of going on a date or of being found out? I tried to be analytical in my thinking, but couldn’t go on like that. I wanted to go, but I also didn’t want to go. What I really wanted, I was afraid to admit. Yes, there was some security, for either Vani or Nirupama would not be able to force me into marrying either of them. Why, they must have understood that it was within my knowledge that Nirupama had slept with Mohan and Vani, with Bhaskar during our trip to attend Virupakshappa’s marriage. No, they won’t have courage to ask me to marry, for I would not be the first to sleep with them. God! What rubbish was going through my mind! I cursed myself.

On the other hand, I couldn’t really refuse to go with them. How could I? I had created an image of myself, that of a modern, courageous, rebellious and uninhibited person, who would not care about scruples in matters concerning sex, in order to obtain the appreciation and esteem of my friends. If I were to refuse to go, I had to give Mohan a valid reason, or at least a plausible one. Then I would have to withstand the worst of his disappointment. The other friends are sure to hear about all this and would be disillusioned. Worst, I would be a butt of jokes among friends due to what they would perceive as timidity and cowardice.

“How do you like this colour Harsha?” Mohan asked me loudly and I started, all thoughts fleeting in my mind suddenly vanishing. It was a light blue coloured t-shirt that he held high in his hands.

“Very nice and sober,” I replied.

“This is for you,” he said and hastily added, “Don’t refuse, for you would require it there.” He was referring to Jog Falls.

Presently I saw the girls approaching us. Mohan walked towards them and took Nirupama along with him to the cash counter to pay the bills and Vani kept coming towards me. “Let’s go out,” she said as soon as she was a couple of paces near me. I strode towards the entrance along with her, very conscious of one of the salesperson staring at us.

“So this is your first visit to Saroja’s house. Isn’t it?” She asked as we came to a halt on the pavement to wait for Mohan and Nirupama.

“Yes, and I didn’t know that till you told me in the bus,” I said, somewhat testily, looking at a car that was passing by.

She laughed heartily and said, “And I presume you do not know where we are going now?”

“I didn’t until a while ago.” Before I could add something, Mohan and Nirupama arrived carrying polythene bags. It was almost noon, but the sky was as cloudy as my mind was. Mohan and Vani started discussing something about lunch and I, being aware that Nirupama was looking at me, lit a cigarette.

“It is too early to have lunch. Moreover I am sure none of us is hungry. So let’s first jump into the bus to Sirsi. We can think about it later,” Nirupama joined the discussion understanding that I would rather enjoy my cigarette than have small talk with her.

At the Central Bus Station of Hubli, as soon as we reached the platform from which the buses would leave for Sirsi, luckily we found that a bus was about to leave. Only the last row was vacant. The girls sat between Mohan and me, of course Vani by my side. Then I suddenly realized that I had not even decided to go with them or not. I was just thinking and thinking endlessly, and the decision that Mohan had made had become final. The bus plunged forward with a jerk and Vani, losing her balance, gripped my arm tightly with both her hands, her cheek resting on my shoulder. I said to myself, to hell with everything, I was going!

******* ***** ***** **** ** ***** ****** ******** ***** ***

Saroja, the lotus!

When we reached Saroja’s house, I found her waiting for us. I got down from the autorikshaw first as I was sitting at the edge of the seat, hanging would be more appropriate. I wondered how the four us could get into the autorikshaw, meant for, at the most three persons apart from the driver. I was the skinniest of the four and that’s why, I thought while getting out. Saroja’s house was located in the bazaar area and if she were not waiting for us at the small door between two shops, I wouldn’t have been able to spot that door. She gave us a very warm welcome.

Although she had been my classmate for more than a year, and was part of our group frequenting the university canteen almost every afternoon, I knew very little about her. Born and brought up in Hubli, she was essentially a city girl. She wore skirts, t-shirts, and jeans and high heels. Well below five feet, she was slender but curvy, with swells and depths at appropriate places and proportions. She was neither fair nor dark; her complexion could best be described as the colour of pale cinnamon. She corrected her myopic eyesight by powerful lenses, but whenever any boy was around, she would remove her glasses. It was evident that she was worried about the dark circles around her eyes, but never guessed that they didn’t in the least reduce her attraction. Yes, she was attractive, but not very beautiful. On the long corridors of the university, we the boys observed many times that her casual gait changed into catwalk as soon as she found that we had spotted her. This was a topic of prolonged and hilarious discussions amongst us in the hostel.

Another thing peculiar to her was her speech, that is the habitual manner of speaking. She had a very soft and very feminine voice. She wasn’t a chatterbox but she used to quip now and then. If you were not attentive, you are certain to miss out what she said, for she delivered her quips at express speed. Aside from all her mannerisms, she was very kind, considerate and condescending to her friends. We used to make fun of her, behind her back and sometimes right under her nose, but none of us could have disliked her.

Her house, though with a small and narrow entrance, was sufficiently spacious with two stories. Though the furniture were old and worn out, they were covered with artfully decorated covers. She stayed with her mother and an elder sister; both were present when we visited her. Her sister must have been only a couple of years older, but not even half as much good looking as Saroja. I couldn’t ask any personal question as to where her father was, what was he, did she have a brother or not and so on, neither in the presence of others, nor in person, for it would have been grossly inappropriate to do so. Asking very personal questions immediately after getting introduced is very common in this part of the world, but somehow, I had come to consider it as bad manners and as violating personal liberty. It might well have been the influence of the western literature and philosophy to which I had been exposed.

I began enjoying the get together, for Saroja and her mother were wonderful hosts. Saroja’s elder sister kept somewhat aloof, busying herself in the kitchen preparing breakfast for all. I observed that she smiled but very rarely and that a deep melancholy glued to her face as though eternally. In contrast Saroja was radiant and loquacious and she chatted with all of us garrulously. Their mother, in her early fifties was obese but surprisingly very agile. She too spoke with all of us, enquiring about our families, parents, family-properties, and our plan for the future.

“As far as Saroja is concerned, she need not work. We have sufficient income to take care of all our needs. Whenever she wants to marry, I can give my son-in-law, whatever dowry he may demand,” She said happily without noticing that Saroja was feeling uneasy and embarrassed.

“Two blocks each on the either side of this house were owned by my family and have come to me as parsimony,” she continued, “My parents were one of the richest family in this whole region once upon a time. But they lost much of their property just by their magnanimity. They land and buildings to educational institutions run by the maths.”

“Mother, what is the use of mulling over the past now?” Saroja interjected agitatedly.

“No dear, I am just giving some information,” her mother brushed her away and continued again, “Not that it matters now. But even now we’re left with sufficient and you needn’t get master’s degree to obtain a job. That is what I am trying to tell them.” I could see a scowl on Saroja’s face.

Oblivious to Saroja’s feelings and unconcerned about her remarks, her mother, this time looking at me as if she were addressing me alone, began with a renewed enthusiasm, “Our family is very liberal and modern in outlook, in spite of the fact that we belong to a conservative caste of Lingayats. Saroja is a very lucky girl. She may marry any person of her choice irrespective of his caste.”

Now even I was feeling embarrassed. Mohan and Nirupama were engaged in their own chat in whispers and probably didn’t hear anything. So were Saroja and Vani. Saroja was by now resigned to the fact that she could not bridle her mother’s cackle. I was left alone in the direct line of fire. Was she offering me something, or was she sounding me or was she indulging just in a small talk, I couldn’t figure out. Although Saroja looked busy talking to Vani, I knew she had all her ears to the dialogue between her mother and me. She would steal a glance at me now and then as if trying to know what I was going in my mind. But I was nothing but perplexed.

“Look, we have everything that is needed for a comfortable life. But what I do not have is a male child. That’s why my only condition to my future son in law will be that he should stay with us, as my son would’ve, if I had one,” Saroja’s mother was still concentrating on her speech and on me, as I suspected then.

To my relief, and perhaps to the relief of Saroja also, her elder sister entered the room with a big tray cluttered with plates of dosas, upama and sweets. She kept the tray on the teapoy and went inside without saying a word. My guess was she was to bring another tray, perhaps with cups filled with tea. Saroja’s mother had to cease her babble and she now addressed her younger daughter, “Saru, don’t just sit idly. Ask your friends to feel at home. Serve them breakfast.”

Saroja, with a relieved look in her eyes, got up and handed a plate to each of us and served chutney and pickles. I hadn’t had my breakfast and was starving. I said, “As far as food is concerned, aunty, I always feel at home, especially when I am not eating at my own home!”

Everyone laughed as I took my plate from the hands of Saroja and said, “Looks delicious! What are you waiting for, friends? Let’s attack!” I was surprised myself by what I had been able to do and say. All of us began to eat silently, for unlike in the west, it is considered bad manners to talk while eating in this part of the world.

It was not a breakfast, but what these days is called a brunch. Everything tasted so good that without anybody goading me to eat, I ate to the content of not only my stomach, but also heart. If you are compelled to eat in the hostel canteen everyday, you are certain to feel the way I did when I was offered such a delectable food. At about eleven, we took leave and decided to walk down to the bus stop instead of taking an autorikshaw. Saroja asked us to stay for the lunch; in fact she was begging her to stay till evening. But Mohan whispered to her that we’d some other plan. I didn’t know of any plan that we had, and I thought he was just making an excuse.

While walking back to the bus stop, the girls saw a readymade garment store and Mohan permitted them to go inside on the condition that we wait outside the store. He wanted to have a cigarette badly and I wanted to be with him alone, so I could clear some of the questions that were pestering me.

“Where is Saroja’s father?” I asked him as soon as he lit a cigarette staring at the back of the girls entering the store.

“Don’t you know?” he feigned surprise and said, “Her father left her mother for another younger woman. Now he visits them once a week, on Sundays. While studying for his graduation, he was staying with his maternal uncle, who was Saroja’s grandfather. The old man had taken pity on her father because apart from being very poor, he was a distant relative. The old man wanted him to marry Saroja’s mother, which the young boy obeyed dutifully. But when he completed his education and got a good job, he began to think that the old man had duped him into marrying his daughter. Then he fell in love with some colleague of his and married her. Saroja’s mother took everything into her stride and contented herself with taking care of her daughters.”

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed, but felt relieved that I didn’t ask any question about Saroja’s father while at her home. “How ungrateful people can be!”

I also lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. I had to ask another question and this was the only opportunity. So I asked it, “Her mother was continuously talking about Saroja’s mother. But Saroja has an elder sister about whom she didn’t even make a single reference. Why is that?”

Mohan, who was staring at a girl wearing tight jeans and t-shirt, turned his face towards me as if forcibly, and replied, “She’d been engaged once. Even the marriage invitations cards had been distributed. I’ve heard that it was a love at first sight for both the boy and girl. But at the last moment, the marriage was cancelled because of what Saroja’s father has done. Since then, Saroja’s elder sister has lost all interest in marriage. In fact she looks like she’s lost all interest in life. It is very painful to see a daughter in such a state of mind. Isn’t it?”

I was shocked speechless. I remembered all that Saroja’s mother was telling. It was not a blabber. She wanted at least her second daughter to be happily married. The melancholy filled face of Saroja’s sister came to my mind. I began to feel very sorry for her, for Saroja’s mother and Saroja herself. How could she look so happy in the university, having such difficulties, trials and tribulations at home? She was indeed a very brave girl. My respect for her multiplied that instant, but there was a bitter after taste to the scrumptious food I had had at her house.

*** *** *** ***

Another Journey

“Harsha, I want to take you somewhere. Be ready at eight tomorrow morning and meet me at the bus stop,” Mohan whispered to me one evening while returning from the city. I understood that he wanted it to be only between us. I was so elated by this, for he’d chosen me over Bhaskar that I didn’t even ask him where he wanted me to go with him. I didn’t even care to tell this to Vijay, which was as bad as Mohan concealing something from Bhaskar, if not worse. To some extent I was intrigued too, but I did not worry about it, as I felt as though I had attained a hard fought victory. At long last, I had been able to win the confidence and true friendship of Mohan. I couldn’t help recapitulating the days when Mohan and Bhaskar used to treat me as an outsider, used to disappear without giving me even a semblance of an excuse and behaved as if they didn’t owe an explanation to me when they reappeared. But although both of them were co-conspirers, I, in retrospect wonder why I held Bhaskar alone responsible. Now was my chance to go with Mohan and Bhaskar would get the taste of his own medicine!

Next morning, when I had finished bathing and was dressing up, Vijay woke up and looked at me in surprise. “God! It is just seven-thirty and you are up and ready?” he asked.

“I am going out Vijay, I have a personal work,” I replied with some guilt.

“You didn’t say anything about it last evening,” he said accusingly.

“I thought of it only this morning. I didn’t want to disturb your sleep. I was going to tell you before leaving,” I replied defensively.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes and asked, “Is it some date?”

I didn’t want to disappoint him, so I said vaguely, “Something similar.”

He looked satisfied and said, “Anyway, there’s only one lecture today. Have a nice time!”

Thus relieved, I rushed to the canteen and had upama and a cup of tea in hurry. When asked, the proprietor of the canteen told me that Mohan had just gone out.

I ran towards the bus stop near the hostel, but he was nowhere to be seen. Intrigued, I ran through the botanical gardens towards the main bus stop of the university. I might have taken not more than ten minutes to reach the bus stop and I was panting and gasping furiously. I found Mohan talking to Nirupama and Vani near coffee shop behind the post office. They were sipping coffee. I slowed down to equalize my breath and ambled towards them.

The first to notice me was Nirupama since Mohan had his back towards me. She smiled brightly and said, “Good Morning Harsha, you are in time.” Mohan too turned his head and smiled at me and as I approached him, put his hands around my shoulders. “Well, you seem to have been running,” sensing my fast breath and body heat, he observed. Vani smiled at me and said, “At last, we have got you!”

I didn’t understand what she meant by that but I ignored it and addressed Mohan, “I thought you asked me to come to the hostel bus stop, so I took time in getting ready.”

"Never mind. You aren’t late,” he said warmly.

“You want coffee?” Nirupama asked. I nodded in refusal. The bus screeched to halt as I was nodding and we had to run again to catch it. I wanted to ask Mohan where we were headed to but he sat with Nirupama, leaving me to sit with Vani. It was only after a while, I heard Mohan say Hubli while buying the tickets from the conductor, that I realized that the bus was going to Hubli and so were we.

Vani was sitting on the window seat and I, at the aisle. She was wearing a light pink sequined sari and a matching blouse. She wore a small garland of jasmines in her plait hanging by the side of her right cheek. The cool breeze through the window that brushed my face gently, brought the scents of jasmines, which always inebriated me and made me nostalgic. The feel of her thighs and shoulders, when they brushed me now and then, excited me by the softness of her feminineness and I craved for more and more of it. She too looked elated, happy and content with herself, smiling to herself continuously. I began humming the notes of Rag Bhoopali to myself and she looked at me. “You look very happy today?” she asked.

“Do I?” I asked her in reply and then said, “Perhaps not as happy as you are today”.

“You know what? I want to be happy and I always try to be happy,” she said very enthusiastically.

“And succeed, don’t you?” I again asked her with a mild laugh.

“Why are you so serious and taciturn always?” she enquired after staring out of the window for a while.

“I didn’t know that I am serious always. I am not tongue-tied, but I am not given to say everything that comes to my mind.”

“But I like to talk, anything and everything that matters or that doesn’t matter.”

I didn’t respond to that and kept looking out of the window, enjoying the buildings, electric and telephone poles, lush green trees and shrubs rushing by and the horizon keeping pace with me, cautiously avoiding looking at her full cheeks, small nose with a shining nose-stud and her large dark eyes.

“By the way, would you be surprised if I say that I do not know where we’re going?” I asked her.

“Why, I certainly would be. Didn’t Mohan tell you?” she replied with amazement in her eyes.

“Well, he couldn’t, perhaps,” the reply was more to myself than to her.

I looked towards the seat in the front where Mohan was sitting. I noticed that he had put his hand around Nirupama’s shoulders, his cheeks almost touching hers and I imagined him whispering endearments in her ears. I too wanted to do that to a girl, but Vani wasn’t Nirupama, I thought. And Nirupama too wasn’t someone whose fleeting glimpse I had always had since my childhood. Suddenly as though I was roused from a sweet dream, I asked myself what the hell was I doing there in the bus, sitting beside Vani, talking to her intimately. Only a couple of months ago she had slept in the same room as Bhaskar, and during that trip to Mantralaya and back to Ranebennur, Vani and I had exchanged only a few words. Why Mohan had replaced Bhaskar with me? Was it a gesture of his gratitude for helping him? I was totally befuddled. I remembered that at the bus stop, neither of the girls was surprised to see me. In fact they were expecting me and not Bhaskar. Mohan and the girls had all conspired together to have me. What the hell was going on?

“Look at you. Again you have become thoughtful and mute,” Vani said trying to draw my attention by tapping on my shoulder.

“What are we going to do in Hubli?” I asked her.

“We are going to Saroja’s house. She’s invited us. She’s invited you too,” She replied smilingly.

“What about others?” I asked her innocently to which she replied with an intriguing smile.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***

If you must...

Most of the seniors were gone now, but quite a few remained, like a pain in the ass! But some of our own classmates but studying in different departments were assuming the role the seniors, forgetting quite easily what rigmarole they’d undergone when they were juniors. Some of them had developed intimacy with the local lads who were scum of the college going students. They would beat an unsuspecting and innocent boy just for the heck of it. A boy was beaten up on the campus just because these so called leaders could not tolerate his mannerism of twirling his moustache. Another boy was beaten by accusing him of staring at one of the members of the gang. There were now at least three gangs excluding ours, which was not violent at all.

I would never have thought of our group as a gang back then, least of all a violent gang. Our group was a defense mechanism, which neither I nor any other member of the group would have thought as such. It was a group of friends, and persons like Mohan and Bhaskar, being on friendly terms with many bad characters, could just use the right amount of noise and threats to keep others at bay. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have enjoyed the security and respected that our group commanded. It wasn’t notorious too, for a couple of boys like me in the group were academically successful too.

However, we did have a fatal attraction towards some bad things. Once late in the evening, after we had a few more drinks than what we normally would have, we missed the last bus. There were six of us, and we didn’t regret missing the bus. I was thinking that we could take an autorikshaw, but Mohan suggested that we could have another couple of drinks and walk back all the way to the campus. All welcomed this and I had to remain mute.

As we approached a hotel opposite the bus station, we saw a couple of women standing behind the grilled divider and staring at us. All of us looked at them, but Mohan stared at them hard. One of the women, who was hardly five feet tall but an enormous bust, smiled at him. As we walked past them, Pavan said, “Boy! They are waiting for the customers”.

“How’d you know?” I asked him.

“I know them by sight, by instinct,” he replied somewhat proudly.

“They might have missed their bus like us or they may be waiting for someone,” I said.

Now Bhaskar intervened, “It is not the case Harsha. Did you see the basket they were holding?”

I turned back and saw that each of the two women held a basket, not a vanity bag.

“Yes, what of that?” I asked him.

“It is the trade mark. They are from rural areas. They come with a basket so that people in their villages might think they were going to the city for shopping. After the business, they do shop here,” Bhaskar replied with a wink.

Now Mohan halted abruptly, turned back and began eyeing the short woman. She was still smiling at him invitingly. Mohan decided something and said, “I am going boys. Anybody interested in joining?”

Bhaskar objected, “No brother, they do not look clean. It is not safe. Please don’t even think of it”.

“Don’t worry. I will just talk to her and come back,” saying thus he walked towards the woman.

“Mohan, do come back. Don’t do anything rash,” I too warned him. He didn’t even look back. Although he was walking straight, I knew that he was stiff.

We watched him approach the short woman and stand by her side. Although he was of average height, he seemed to tower her. We watched her making some gestures while talking to Mohan, suggesting the hotel behind her. “He won’t come back!” Pavan said for the first time.

Suddenly the woman walked towards the grilled narrow entrance of the cheap and filthy hotel located on the first floor and Mohan promptly followed her. Soon, before we could even shout to him, both of them climbed the stairs and disappeared. “Oh shit,” Bhaskar cursed while Pavan looked at us as if saying, “Didn’t I say so?” I was too astonished to say anything. Vijay too looked bewildered.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Pavan said and started going away. All of thought he was going to pick up the remaining woman. But he walked to the counter of a liquor shop, bought a quarter of whisky and poured it into a half emptied bottle of water and came back. “While we are waiting, we may as well have some sips,” he said, handing me the bottle and lit a cigarette.

I took a large gulp from the bottle and coughed because it was too strong for me. Bhaskar immediately took the bottle from me and began sipping. After a while Pavan took the bottle and handed the half smoked cigarette to Bhaskar. Barely after twenty minutes of climbing the stairs, we saw Mohan descending them. His shirt was no longer tucked into his pants. He walked very fast to join us.

“Why did you do it brother?” Bhaskar erupted in anger.

“Hey, come on, I just couldn’t resist the urge brother,” he replied calmly and lit a cigarette.

“How was she Mohan? Cooperative?” Pavan asked without any curiosity. He seemed to have that experience. He might have had some derision in his tone, which I couldn’t grasp at that time.

Mohan saw the bottle in Pavan’s hands and he almost snatched it saying, “I need a booster now.” He took a couple of sips before going back to the question that was asked of him.

“It was ok brother. But damn those women, they are too businesslike. Act as if they have absolutely no time. She didn’t even care to remove her clothes. To remove each piece of cloth on her body, she demanded a price that I couldn’t afford to pay. Then she straightaway lied on her back, lifting the sari and spreading her legs. It was over in a matter of moments.” Mohan replied glumly.

“That’s why we tried to dissuade you brother,” Pavan said.

“That and the safety reasons,” Bhaskar said which might have been regarding police raids, I thought till he added, “It is not healthy.”

“Come on boys. Nothing will happen. Forget it. Whatever it was, I needed it. I got it,” Mohan said in a conclusive tone.

“You could have always resorted to Nirupama man,” Vijay rejoined.

“What do you understand about these things mama? Men like different varieties,” Mohan said looking mockingly at Vijay.

We walked nearly six kilometers to reach our hostel close to midnight.

After three days, Mohan came to my room and said, “Harsha, I need to talk to you.”

I was alone in the room and I could guess what he was going to say. “Problem Mohan?”

To my shock he closed the door, bolted it and lifted his lungi to reveal his private part. There were boils on the tip as well as the shaft. “This, and I am having burning sensation while peeing,” He said.

“Didn’t you use any protection that day?” I enquired to which he nodded in negative.

“Well, let’s go a doctor. This can’t be ignored.”

“Now?”

“Right now!” I was glad that he had chosen me to confide in rather than Bhaskar. I was glad to help him.

We went to a private hospital, waited for a couple of hours before the doctor called us in. After examining him, the doctor wrote a prescription and sternly advised Mohan, “I hope you have learnt your lesson. You’ve been very wise to come to me immediately. It could have been worse. Never do it again, if you must, ask your parents to marry you!”

Mohan was very grateful to me that I’d taken him to the hospital in such a hurry. I told him reading from what the doctor had scribbled on the case paper, that he’d contacted urethritis, although I didn’t know what the hell it meant.

In a couple of days, Mohan said, the boils had disappeared and the painful urination had ceased. I had read a lot of these things in the meanwhile and I told him what the doctor hadn’t, “If you must, use a condom!” though I knew it was not hundred percent safe.

***   ***   ***   **   *

Humbug

Yet another one of our seniors was Saradgi who had approached me with a request, so politely that I couldn’t refuse it. He wanted the notes in English he’d obtained from his seniors to be translated. Though my senior, he would address me as ‘sir’ and behaved very servilely. He was very submissive and worst sycophant. Although his fawning and bootlicking came on my nerves, I couldn’t refuse to help him, for saying no to the people had always been more or less impossible to me. So late every evening, after my ritual drinks and dinner, I used to go to his room and sit comfortably on his bed holding the notes while he sat on the chair drawn up to the table, taking down whatever I dictated.

Swarthy complexion, frail body and a balding head made him a very ordinary looking, if not ugly looking, person. His passion was to impress upon all those who cared to listen to him of his struggle to get education because of his poverty. He talked of his poverty so much that sometimes I felt he enjoyed doing it or that it was an obsession with him. He would talk of how he worked as a manservant doing cleaning, running errands and even dishwashing. He would frequently refer to the days when he absolutely didn’t have anything to eat. He said he was an orphan, but with the help and encouragement of some well-wishers, he had been able to complete his graduation and take admission to the master’s. He for ever sought the sympathy and help of others.

But my serendipitous mind or clairvoyance perceived him to be a humbug. He wore good quality clothes, always clean and pressed. He wore leather shoes that always shone. He shaved everyday and looked fresh anytime of the day. Where was he getting the money for all this? Once I posed this question to Sharan, his classmate. He said Saradgi was getting several money orders every month from different people. He had told all those people of his so-called miseries and all of them had been credulous enough to believe him and in good faith were sending him money to sustain him. The amount so received by Saradgi was double the money the other guys were getting from their parents.

By the time Saradgi gave me this information, I had completed almost two months in translating the notes and the task was over. He’d not offered me even so much as a cigarette for the time and energy I gave him. Of course, after hearing him pour out all his trials and tribulations, I did not expect him to even buy a cup of tea for me.

One evening I found Satish, another senior of mine, holding the photocopies of the notes that Saradgi had written to my dictation. I could recognize his handwriting immediately, for I had seen him writing for a couple of months.

“Ah, good to see that Saradgi is sharing the notes with you!”

“Yes, thanks to you all the ten of us are reading the same notes,” he replied with a smile.

“Why only ten?” I asked with curiosity.

“Because only ten have given the money. You have charged too much. Two hundred each must have been two thousand for you,” he replied.

“What! What are you talking about? I didn’t charge even a single rupee for translating,” was my shocked response.

Now Satish also looked surprised. He thought for a moment and then said, “Saradgi has collected two hundred rupees from each of ten of us, who wanted to get the notes translated. He said that you had demanded two thousand rupees for the work. We’d to contribute. Now from the look of your face, it seems you have done it free of charge and he has duped not only us, but also you.”

I was dazed at the revelation. Moreover, it hurt me hard that I had been deceived. Those boys who had given money would be blaming me that I took the money from them. They would at the same time be grateful to Saradgi for sitting every night for such a long period and taking down my dictation, in lieu of his contribution of money. In effect, he had got the work done by me absolutely free and sold to his classmates and had made a couple of thousands, a fortune in the eyes of the students. What could I do now?

“Listen Satish, now that you know what he has done, all those of you who have coughed up money, should recover it from him. I can’t ask him because he never promised me anything, nor did I ask him for anything. There was simply no deal between us. You get it?”

He considered that for a long moment. Finally he said, “I will tell the other guys about this,” and left.

I stayed looking at his back, frustrated.

***

Backlink Directory

Holi

I never wanted to see some of our seniors again on the campus but that was not to be. Some of them returned as research students. Thanks to the rules, they were at least not staying in the same hostel as I did. Although I was never in their firing line, because of the solidarity of our group, I had seen them thrashing innocent boys without even an apparent reason. I had seen them threatening not only the hostelites, but also some of the teachers. They were a menace to the campus, but they enjoyed being so. They had once beaten up a conductor of the last bus that reached the campus at the stroke of midnight. Many students returning late from their native places had the advantage of reaching the campus at the cost of less than a rupee. Even for students visiting the movie houses to watch second show, the last bus was very convenient. However, after the conductor was roughed up, the service was stopped. I was certain it hardly made any difference to the culprits, but a large number of others suffered.

The day of Holi, the festival of colours, spawned terror among the teachers living on the campus. I remember being a part of the crowd of the senior hostelites that went on rampage in the campus. Most of the houses of the teachers were locked; obviously they had escaped the torture of facing the drunken students. Those who were in didn’t dare open their doors. In the hostel all types of drinks – whisky, rum, and gin -were poured in a bucket that is used for washing, and water was mixed. Everyone would drink from the mug, again used in the bathrooms, and nobody could know how much he drank. Once the buckets were emptied, the boys sufficiently stiff and uninhibited, would start playing Holi and within minutes it would be difficult to recognize who is who. All would start using obscenities and there would be hooting, roars of laughter, and mad dancing. It was permitted to act crazy for one day. All this was under the supervision and leadership of Sadanand Mane and Javed. Javed smoked grass too along with the so-called cocktails that was prepared in the bucket. He would empty a cigarette by rubbing it holding with the filter tip up and then suck the ready mix into the cigarette in one strong gasp. Amazingly, it took him hardly a few seconds to prepare it.

The procession was naturally towards the girls’ hostels, kicking and beating the doors of the already abandoned residences of teachers en route. Everyone hooted and shouted obscenities. There were some brave teachers who stayed back and opened their doors and allowed the boys to colour them and then they would give some money too. It was collected by Sadanand and was to be used for their evening parties. When nobody answered the knocks or rather kicks on the door, boys would yell at the top of their voices and someone began removing the bulbs fitted above the door or to the inside of the porch, which quickly assumed the form of a ritual. Hundreds of bulbs were collected and carried in a lungi that one of the guys had lent, happily remaining in his underwear, which fortunately was not a short, v-shaped one.

The procession reached the house of the Vice Chancellor and after one long hoot by the crowd, some one called VC addressing him politely, “Will you please come out VC sir?” One of the security guards said that the VC was not home. But who would believe him? Another fellow shouted the name of VC. Soon everyone was shouting the name of the VC. Some started shortening and distorting the name. In this part, the first name is distorted by suffixing a ‘ya’. Like ‘Basavaraj’ who is called endearingly as ‘Basu’ will be ‘Basya’ when used derogatively. It was unthinkable for me to use such derogative language for the VC, but every once seemed to enjoy it and more and more abuses flew out of the crowd. At last, the VC came out and asked, “What do you want boys? You should behave yourself. Please don’t shout,”

“It is Holi today sir. We just came to greet you sir. If you can just allow us to put some colour...” before Sadanand finished, the VC said, “I have already taken bath. But if you insist, there is no problem. Just make it quick.”

Instantly a few fellows rushed to him and in no time his face and clothes displayed all the colours. But that was not the end. Some guy had brought a battered tin box and he began to beat it in rhythm. All the boys had now surrounded the VC and started dancing. And someone had brought a safety pin, which he pressed on the bum of the VC, which made him jump and cry in pain. Some of the onlookers might have thought that the VC too was dancing with the boys, for the whole nasty business was repeated again and again till the security guard rescued the VC and took him inside.

They crazy procession retreated and continued towards the girls’ hostel. The gates were closed, but some girls were peeping through the windows of their room. I don’t know from where Javed had acquired a long staff and he held it between his legs swaying up and down. Boys started whistling, hooting and dancing behind him. It went on for another hour and the procession with Javed at the head covered all the three girls’ hostels. Just when we were crossing the third hostel, a police jeep was spotted at the corner and the procession was promptly broken. Boys ran helter-skelter and there was confusion and turmoil all around. Out of the jeep that screeched to halt just behind the disappearing crowd, two hefty constables came out waving their canes. I thought a couple of guys got some blows. My group had slowed down after the procession had crossed the second girls’ hostel and was left far behind in the procession, due to which we were fortunately saved.