

## Ludhiana Diaries

Ramit Gulati

Published by Ramit Gulati at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Ramit Gulati

All rights reserved

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The gathering of the seven ghosts

Chapter 2: The ballad of Govind

Chapter 3: The confluence of three

Chapter 4: The tutelage troubles

Chapter 5: The nomadic poet

About the Author

I wish I could say that I just went ahead and did this all by myself, that there was no one else who helped me in it. But that would be a gross misrepresentation of the truth.

There were many that assisted me in this journey of mine, some with the gift of their love and friendship, some with kind words of praise and encouragement, and some with valuable suggestions for a number of aspects of the story.

Ankita, Bhavya, Utkarsh, Gaurav, Anshuman, Neha, Naomi, Swadesh, Sami, Rahul (Billa Ji), Monty, Supreet, Ashish. Thank you guys, you people rock!

Lastly but most importantly, I would like to express my gratitude towards the universe, who gave me words and then the inspiration to weave these words in to semi-coherent sentences. You rock too man! At least till the next Pralaya.
Chapter 1 – The gathering of the seven ghosts

In northern India, in the state of Punjab, a little southward of the river of Satluj and a little northward of Sahnewal-the paternal village of Dharmendra, lies the city of Ludhiana. And smack dab in the middle of the city, facing the testosterone packed city stadium on one side and the estrogen laced women's government college on the other, resides Rakh Bagh – a park spread out in a couple of acres, circumvented by a narrow rail track which in the years gone by was home to an open-toped single bogie toy train, the toy train that was once the stage where had performed gleeful smiles and excited shouts of the city's children supported by the joyful and satisfied countenances of their parents, one bringing limitless elation to the hearts of its passengers while it took them on dreamy rounds of Rakh Bagh in those idyllic summer evenings, now rests abandoned in some dilapidated wooden shack located in some slumberous nameless corner, a stage long vacated by its actors, and would have been long forgotten too, if it was not for that rusted old track it had left behind to perpetually remind us of its existence.

Besides the track, the Rakh Bagh also has one small gable roofed pigeon house towards its eastern side, and a miniature model of Taj Mahal , known as the Sheesh Mahal towards its western one. Apart from these small attractions, it is like any other park in the country, sections of green with a network of cobblestoned pathways along with an interspersion of various trees.

One of the oldest of these was a Banyan tree, located not far from the Sheesh Mahal, and it was above this tree that on this cold wintry night of December, hovered seven white and weightless figures, white as powdery snow and weightless as vacuum. These were the seven ghosts of Ludhiana, the specters responsible for maintaining the happiness and well being of the people of this city.

The seven of them levitated above that old tree gathered in a circle, their white figures providing a sharp contrast against the pitch black of the sky above.

"Ahem, Ahem," gruffly coughed the heavyset looking white effigy amidst them in an attempt to catch the attention of the others, and quickly it was provided to him.

"I have called this meeting here tonight, in order to welcome to the group, our new ghost of wisdom. As you all know, the old one retired last week, and we now have been sent his replacement. So let us welcome him with warmth, and make him feel as much as it is in our capacity, a part of this group," he announced very formally, and now turned his gaze through his horn rimmed glasses, towards one gangly looking youth who was apparently the city's new ghost of wisdom.

The rest of the group followed suit, and within moments, everyone was gawking at the fidgety young man, as if they were a group of scientists examining some new found specimen. Not that they had any intention of making the newcomer feel uncomfortable by this blatant staring, it was just that they found it quite strange that this youth with shaggy hair, baggy low waist jeans and a longish loose t-shirt was chosen to represent a virtue like wisdom.

The young teen remained in his position, feeling nervous and anxious at this close circuit examination of himself, and would have in all probability continued to do so, if it was not for one of the other figures in the group overcoming her amusement at this point and floating forth to introduce herself to the newcomer.

"Hi, I am Neha, the ghostess of love," said she in a sonorous voice while a benign smile came across her lips and lit up her pretty features. She had the looks of one in her mid twenties and was dressed elegantly in a cocktail dress with her bright and pleasant face framed by thick white curls.

"H..hi..Ankit this side..." the young man mumbled back, before waving at the girl.

This little gesture by the ghostess of love stirred the others in to imitating her actions, and in turn all of them came up to the young fella and gave their introductions.

Firstly there was the Ghost of Wealth-Janu Khan, a tall Pathan of a brawny built with a slightly wearied looking face which was topped by a crop of well oiled hair that were neatly partitioned down the middle. From the stoic grimace on his lips to the dispassionate look in his bleary eyes, this was a man that could breeze his way through the toughest of negotiations without the slightest flinch.

Following him was the Ghost of Freedom-Vibhuti Lal, who looked akin to a man in his mid thirties and was dressed in a very simple looking kurta pajama along with a Nehru jacket. He looked a person of a very pleasant disposition, on his spirited and buoyant face was a child like smile that apparently stemmed from some indomitable set of beliefs he had found within himself.

Succeeding him was the only other female member of the group, Roshni-the ghostess of dreams. She looked too to be in her mid thirties, and surrounding her lively face was a glowing white aura that seemed to be the source from which many a dreams emanated every other second before spreading themselves out to the four corners of the city.

After her, came up a tired and defeated looking ghost, providing a bit of an ironic picture, for he was no one else but the ghost of hope. His name was Arjun, his manners were of a man completely jaded, the introduction he provided of himself to his new colleague was at best laconic, which was followed by a nod that was merely customary, before he quickly disappeared down the back of the group showing that any desire in him to make an acquaintance with this new fella was totally non-existent.

And at last it was the turn of the same gruff heavy set fella whom had earlier given that formal little speech to welcome Ankit to the group. Like before, his overall deportment remained refined and stately as he introduced himself as Jai Prakash, the ghost of contentment. His appearance was of a man in the winter years of his life and he was dressed in a three piece English suit, his horn rimmed glasses and his receding hairline giving him an appearance of an intellectual.

The round of introductions thus finished, the whole group engaged the new comer in some light conversation, whereby they learned that Ankit used to be an engineering student in his mortal life and had died in a bus accident one fateful weekend while he was making his way back home from college. While such a tragic piece of information about the untimely death of one so young would induce much commiseration in the hearts of mortals, for these ghosts who held a deeper understanding of the nature and mechanisms of death, it was nothing but informal gabber.

By now the time had begun to draw itself towards the hour of midnight, and with everyone except the goddess of love Neha looking anxious and eager to make their getaway, the meeting was called to a conclusion by Jai Prakash.

"I am hoping that you can impart him the knowledge he will require to function properly in his new role," was Jai Prakash's parting comment to Neha, before he and the others suddenly flitted away and disappeared in to the pitch black sky.

Ankit and Neha were the only two left behind, still floating over that banyan tree.

"That was a pretty quick departure, I mean not even a good bye, I am frankly offended," Ankit scoffed with a false pout, which apparently tickled the ghostess' funny bone, causing her to break in to a sweet cherubic giggle.

"They do not mean to be rude, they have been away from their mother trees the whole day, and they require spending some time in its proximity lest their energies begin to dwindle away. Each one of us has a mother tree and we need to spend at least a few hours of our day near it to get our nourishments," she informed him, but the stupefied expression on the boy's face told her that he was in need of further edification.

"They must have given you a gemstone, before they sent you here," she asserted upon which the young man fished in to one of the front pockets of his jeans and brought out a shiny blue jewel. He had been given this before being dispatched off on his way here, but no one had explained to him anything about its purpose. It was now that he was about to be let in on its secret.

"I see they have given you a blue sapphire. Mine was a red ruby. Well that is your sorcerer's stone. Like you, each of us was given one before we were discharged for our duties in to the mortal world. You now require burying it in to the soil some place, and within minutes a tree shall spring up in that very spot, and that will be your mother tree. Just as mortals derive their nourishment from food, we ghosts derive ours from the energy that radiates out from our mother trees."

"Oh, so that's why they were in such rush...I get it now.." Ankit nodded his understanding. "What about you though, don't you need to go to your mother tree?" he asked, a little curious. In reply, he noticed her smiling back at him before she began pointing downwards with her eyes.

"Umm..what?" Ankit asked, as he reflexively looked down to check upon the zipper of his jeans and was much relieved to find it in proper order.

He saw the smile recur on Neha's face before she pointed down again, this time though with one of her fingers. It was then that his 'wisdom' finally kicked in.

"oh..this tree..is your.... mother tree.." he felt a bit daft as he now repeated the obvious.

"okay..I get it, I get it..so I guess I can just bury my stone some place nearby, this park seems large enough for the both of us.." He said half jokingly but was hoping for Neha to accede to his suggestion, for what man would not want to have a beautiful neighbor like her.

"Well you cannot actually," Neha replied to his immediate disappointment. "Not that I have any personal objection, it is just that the energy spheres of our trees would end up interfering with each other, and they would both lose their efficiency. That is why, no two mother trees are planted within a half a mile radius from each other," she explained, causing much melancholy to the young boy's spirit.

Energy spheres, efficiency, physics was messing up with his life all over again...Wait his life was over...Damn physics, it was even haunting him in his after life, even ghosts it seemed were not safe from its terror!

"Next I need to tell you about your responsibilities. As a ghost of wisdom, you will try and help people that are standing at pivotal crossroads in their lives. You will need to help them make the right choice, and for that you are given some special powers. There are some mantras though that you will need to memorize in order to wield them successfully."

"The first of these powers gives you the ability to enter and manipulate the dreams of people, in sleep a mind is more prone to our suggestions for at that time its natural defenses are lowered. The mantra for that is – Pravesham Swapnam."

"The second of the powers allows you to temporarily cloak yourself in a mortal form of your choice, if you think that it could assist you in helping someone. You only need to close your eyes, picture the form that you wish to don, and then say the mantra – Dharanam Shareeram. You should be extremely careful though that the person whose form you are donning is not anywhere nearby. Otherwise the two of you, if seen together, can create quite a ruckus as you can well imagine."

"The third of these powers allows to you materialize any object you wish for from within the limits of this city. Once again, you will need to close your eyes, picture the object you want and say the mantra – Prakatam Vastunam."

"And anytime you need to get back to the normal state of affairs, which is to get back out of a dream, or make the mortal form you donned vanish, or the object you have brought forth return to its original place, you will just need to click your fingers together and it will be done."

And so she explained it all to her newly found pupil, who was staining hard to absorb all this knowledge in one go. Neha noticed his discomfort and made an effort to allay his anxieties.

"Do not worry, you will have it all down within the first week or so, it is quite easy. Moving on, the next question is how will you know about the identity and whereabouts of these people standing at pivotal cross roads in their lives and in need of your help? You surely cannot keep an eye all the time on the whole populace of the city. So for that each one of us is given a map. To make yours appear, you will have to say the mantra – Prakatam Naksham. Wait let me show you."

"Before you enunciate a mantra, you need to get in to the proper posture." And Neha raised her arms above her head and with her palms facing the sky she pronounced 'Prakatam Naksham', her voice resonating in the still night air. Just a couple of moments later, a white holographic map of the whole city appeared in the air right above them.

"This is my map. That Ouroboros marks my position, signifying the ability of love to continually rediscover itself. That quill next to me is you. And the rest of the symbols in there tell us of the location of the others. But the most important symbol there for me is of a blinking red dot, that highlights the location of a person who needs my help at that moment. All in all, it is quite a piece of ingenuity, isn't it?" she remarked with admiration before she clicked her fingers together and the map vanished.

"Let us see yours then," she next proposed.

Ankit, much obliged to do her bidding, tried his best to imitate her actions from a few moments before and to his great astonishment, he too managed to materialize a holographic map above their heads.

It was similar to the one Neha had conjured except the conspicuous presence of a rapidly blinking blue dot which was located not far from where they were. The moment it caught Neha's attention, as per habit it sent her in to a state of reflexive alarm.

"Come, let us check this out quickly," and without another moment's delay, she fleeted off, with Ankit trying his best to keep up with her.

Within half a minute, the two of them were hovering over an alley towards the back of the city stadium, the location from where the distress signal had originated. Down on the street were three young boys, involved in an animated discussion.

"Brother ciggies and booze..worthless things they are..utterly detestable.." chimed one of the boys, apparently giving his friend a noble piece of advice.

"yes brother..brother is right..they are utterly worthless..a complete money waste.." The second boy vehemently agreed with the first, as he spat on the ground to show his indignation towards the whole race of cigarettes and alcohol.

What two good and honorable friends these were, trying to stop their friend from going down the wrong path, there was certainly no requirement for any ghost of wisdom here. It must have been a glitch in that map, may be it wasn't so ingenious after all.

"indeed brother..there is nothing good about ciggies or booze..if there is any drug you should do, then its cocaine brother..a royal drug it is."

No, not a glitch, and no, not two good friends, may be one good friend?

"Brother is right brother, a royal drug that will make you feel as if you are standing in the middle of an Armageddon."

No, not one good friend either.

This last mention of the cataclysmic powers of cocaine apparently convinced the third boy to take the small packet that his friends were offering him, before he went off towards an abandoned shack near the end of the street, in order to give this new drug a try in the safety of indoors.

Once he was safely out of earshot, the two rascals exchanged with each other an insidious smile.

"Once the mother fucker is addicted to it, he will be a cow we milk for money every other day."

"yes brother, when the sesame opens.."

"All thieves make merry..." And the two of them, struggled to contain their laughter.

Neha and Ankit were hearing and seeing it all, and it was the ghostess of love that felt the most incensed at what she was witnessing. If it was not for the ethereal laws that forbid her from doing mortals any kind of harm, she would have brought down the wrath of seven hells upon these two scoundrels.

"You have got to do something, you have to..." she pressed Ankit, her face clenched in anger.

For Ankit, this felt like an initiation by fire, not only he had to try and do something for the boy, but he also had to raise his own image in the eyes of this woman he had grown much attracted to in the course of this one evening. Luckily for him, after putting an intense and urgent stain on his faculties, an idea manifested itself in his head.

"What was that mantra, when you need to make objects appear?"

"prakatam vastunam..."

"prakatam vastunam....okay, just in a minute or so make a knocking noise on the door of that shack.."

"huh..?"

"trust me.." and he winked at Neha, before floating away.

Exactly a minute later, the ghostess of love used her powers to materialize a stone before hurling it with great force at the door of the shack. It caused a sharp cracking sound to resonate around the alley.

Neha saw the two scoundrels becoming a little fazed at the sudden noise, alas, if only she was able to hurl that stone at one of their faces. She then noticed the door of the shack being opened, and promptly clicked her fingers to make the stone she had hurled disappear.

The third boy, looking a little shook up himself, came out of the shack, looking for the source of that sharp noise.

One of the scoundrels quickly ran up to him in order to assuage his fears.

"brother it was just a cat, only a cat..you go back..do it..relax.."

And so he managed to send him back in to the same snake pit from which he had crawled out of.

Meanwhile up in the air, Neha was being once again joined by Ankit.

"well, that was no stroke of genius," she said with a shake of her head, clearly unimpressed at this childish plan of using a sudden noise to try and scare everyone away.

"Well the stroke has not been played yet..." Ankit rejoined with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Though it is going to be played any moment now, I think the batsman is on the crease, he has taken his stance..and here comes Waqar Younis from the pavilion end, running in full steam, and it's a...."

"mother fuckers..you sister fuckers..what in fucking hells have you made me sniff..you bastards..." It was the boy in the shack who had just erupted out of it like an angry volcano.

"fucking hell..in this bitter cold you make me crawl out of the warm quilt for this shit..oh come Jaggi we will show you heavens..heavens my grandmother's ass.." he was cursing and struggling to breathe as if suffering from some great irritation in his nose. "I am out of here you mother fuckers..take that fucking drug up your arse.." And he stormed off leaving the two scoundrels totally stunned. They had seen a variety of effects cocaine could have on a first timer but this was a reaction totally unheard of.

Up above Neha watched on, totally floored by this shocking turn in the proceedings. She looked beside herself for Ankit but he was already flying back towards Rakh Bagh.

It was over the eastern entrance of the park that she managed to catch up with him.

"Aren't you going to tell me how you managed to pull that off?" she asked with her curiosity at a peak.

"well..when you made the noise, it distracted him..and I..I replaced his packet of cocaine with a packet of..." and he paused for a little effect.

"come on, packet of what?"

"packet of talcum powder.."

At this revelation she broke in to a rich musical laughter which began to echo in the whole of Rakh Bagh. Ankit meanwhile just kept gazing at her face, in joyous unrestraint or in tempestuous rage she was equally beautifully to him.

"Well that was some idea, I am greatly impressed," Neha complimented when she had finally managed to control her laughter.

"Well, I did that..to impress you only.." he replied sheepishly.

And for a brief sincere moment, there eyes met and their conscience seemed to merge in to one, pulling them closer together, but not close enough for Ankit to steal a kiss from her plush white lips, for as he was about to, Neha pulled away, as if under the effect of some last minute doubts that had crept up in her mind.

"Kiss me later, first go and grow yourself a tree, you treeless Muppet," she said shaking her head, forcing out a nervous little giggle. "Good night for now," and with an inward sigh, she darted away.

Ankit was left behind shaking his head at the city stadium's unlit flood lights.

"Girls, you can't understand them when alive, can't understand them when dead," and he sighed, before fleeting away to try and find himself a suitable place for planting his mother tree.

*******
Chapter 2 – The ballad of Govind

Amar Pura is one of the oldest neighborhoods in Ludhiana and is situated on the southern bank of a black and putrid sewage stream, endearingly known amidst the residents of the city as 'Ganda Naalah'.

The repeated failures of the local government to cover the Ganda Naalah, despite a number of plans and a great deal of public expenditure towards the same, meant that by mid 90's most of the middle class families that lived in Amar Pura began to migrate away to other parts of the city. Strangely, two of the localities that attracted most of these families away from Amar Pura were Chander Nagar and Haibowal, suburban regions situated at the bank of another sewage stream, Buddha-Naalah.

At times the universe works in mysterious ways, making it impossible for us humans to explain some of its orphic doings, putting to us puzzling questions which baffle even the best of our minds, and this particular event in Ludhiana where a vast number of people sold off their houses near one open sewage stream and chose to live in the vicinity of another could perhaps be seen as another of universe's mischievous attempts to perplex and ultimately humble the human intelligence.

Anyhow, this great migration of the middle class away from Amar Pura turned it in to a neighborhood of artisans and lower middle class workers, people whose economic circumstances just were not good enough for them to make the much coveted jump between the two Naalahs.

*******

On a pleasant September afternoon in the year 2002, in one of the narrow lanes of Amar Pura, a dreamy eyed ten year old kid sat upon the doorstep of his house. He was dressed in a pair of maroon knickers and a plain white shirt, a water bottle hung around his neck and a school bag was held by him protectively in his lap, only a little while earlier he had returned from his school and was now awaiting the return of his mother from her work.

His mother worked as a maid in some houses located on the other side of the Naalah, and as her work there usually finished later than the end of his school day, he often had to wait upon her just like today.

Presently in front of him were three older kids playing with their pebbles, and every now and then the little kid would set his gaze in their general direction, attentively watching the movement of those pebbles as they raced around and collided with each other, then after a while he would feel bored and turn his vision towards the end of the lane looking for signs of his mother, doing this for a brief amount of time his mercurial attentions would then divert towards wiggling his bottom against the doorstep underneath to enjoy the warmth which the friction produced, and then suddenly he would break in to a popular Bollywood song of those times "unchi hai building..lift teri band hai..kaise main aaun..dil..dil..gaja..ganj hai..." in his childish dulcet voice, while bobbing his head from side to side and tapping his small feet to the beat of it, but abruptly he would stop with the singing and start watching the pebbles again, this time amusing himself by noticing the gleaming patterns that the sunlight made in them..and so he carried on skipping between these myriad of activities for an hour or so until his mother finally arrived home.

Govind, as was the boy named, greeted her with a loving hug and then followed her in to the house where she subsequently changed his clothes before she went off towards the corner of the room that served as their kitchen in order to make him some lunch.

It was while she was cooking that the young kid came up to her and started tugging at the hem of her kurti.

"not right now, I am cooking.." his mother said peevishly but he carried on with the tugging until she stopped what she was doing and gave him her attention.

"close your eyes.." he simply said with a sweet smile on his face.

"Do I cook this lunch now, or play your juvenile games?" she replied, still a little irritated.

"close your eyes now, cook later.." he suggested in a cherubic sing song, his sugary tone leaving his mother no choice but to accede to his demand.

"okay open them now.." he announced after a few seconds and as she reopened her eyes, she saw that her son was standing there with his small palm thrust up towards her face.

"I got a star today in English Oral test." he revealed, his face gleaming in happiness. As his mother looked closer, she indeed observed that on his palm was a star, apparently drawn there by his English teacher for his good performance in a test.

Govind was one of the most intelligent students in his class, and often came back home with these stars on his palms, or in his notebooks, and whenever that happened his mother always became very happy, which in turn made him happy. She would embrace him with pride, give him a little money for buying toffees and make him one of his favorite sabzis in dinner, and today the kid was expecting more of the same, as he stood there with his palm up, waiting for his mother to put her arms around him.

But as it so occurred, the embrace never came, neither there seemed any joy on his mother's face as she saw that star, in fact it rather had quite the contrary effect upon her, making her somewhat distressed.

"okay..good...." she coldly petted him on his head. "Now go wash your hand..and wash it well.."

This sharp contrast in his mother's reaction as compared with earlier times along with her refusal to make any further acknowledgement of his star for the rest of that lunch left Govind feeling rather befuddled. But at an age like his, it is hard to remain focused on any one single notion for too long a time, and so it was that as soon as his friends came to call him for cricket after lunch, he instantly forgot all about this knick-knackery and was ready at once to hit some fours and sixes.

"mother, can I go can I go can I go?"

"okay..though.." but before she could even finish, Govind was heading out of the door, so that she had to rush to the threshold in order to get the rest of her message across.

"Come back home before your sister returns," she shouted out to her son, who was already running off in the street.

"Yes mother," he replied, looking back at her over his shoulder while he continued running. It was this momentarily distraction which caused him to clash straight in to a dark and portly middle aged woman coming from the other side.

"aye haye. Why don't you go somewhere and just die?" The fat woman groaned, her lips twitching in anger as she cast virulent curses in the direction of the boy, who luckily enough managed to dodge them by darting off in the nick of time.

"aye haye Sushma behen, why don't you do something about this boy of yours??" she now complained to the mother of the culprit, as she approached her with an angry sneer spread out upon her visage.

"let it go Prema Behen, just a child he is," Sushma behen tried to defend her son, though without any real conviction in her words. She was as much afraid of Prema Behen's anger as the rest of their neighborhood.

"aye haye child! He is no longer a child...keep it up and you will surely spoil him..ah what am I saying, he is already spoiled, it was all evident to me just now.." Prema behen scoffed while looking down upon Sushma behen's maternal abilities with a degree of condescension. In her opinion, modern day mothers like Sushma behen completely lacked good judgment when it came to raising their children, and it was this belief that had inspired her, out of a greater sense of altruism, to assist these mothers from time to time with her own expertise on the subject.

"Anyhow, I came here to tell you that I have some good news for you. The place where my husband works, near it is another shop where they need an errand boy, send Govind there tomorrow, my husband will fix him up, maybe we could still redeem your boy after all.." she thus told Sushma behen with an air of pride the news of having successfully found a job for her son in the local market on the other side of the Naalah.

This subject had been under discussion between the two ladies for a couple of weeks now, beginning with Prema Behen's original suggestion that Govind should take up a job as an errand boy in one of the shops to help Sushma behen in the running of her household, and although Sushma behen had initially been averse to it, Prema Behen like some seasoned lawyer, with her assemblage of arguments and counter-arguments had gradually worn down the hesitant mother's frail defenses and convinced her of the verity of the idea, and now had brought the matter to a successful completion by locating for her son a suitable job, for which she was expecting some lofty words of gratitude and appreciation from the young mother, but Prema Behen was to be disappointed as all she saw was a disconcerted frown on Sushma behen's face in reply to the excellent piece of news she had broken to her.

"my heart is not allowing me to do this Prema Behen, may be its best if we turn this down, I don't want to discontinue Govind's studies," the young mother muttered feebly, the image of her son's happy face from a while earlier, when he had shown her the star on his hand, now flashing in front of her eyes.

"aye haye..have you lost your freaking..." Prema Behen was about to break in to an angry tirade, but then quickly checked herself. She knew that she had to stay calm, for a flickering flame cannot be a guiding flame.

"When did I say to stop the boy from studying, of course he can carry on with it, he can study at night after returning from work. Tell me when these schools were not there, did people not use to study?" she argued as she stepped up and put her arm around the disquieted mother. "listen, your husband's already walked out on you, by great difficulty you are managing to make ends meet for your meager household, in a few years time you will have a daughter to marry, if Govind starts working now, you will be able to save at least some money for Chinki's wedding, a woman should adjust herself according to the demand of times. Now my husband is endorsing your son, the owners of the shop are good people too, my husband has made sure of that, who knows later, there might never come an opportunity like this for you people. It isn't like I am trying to force you or something; I just say all this for your own good. Look at Saji if you want, the boy who lives next door, he makes 2000 rupees every month now and on top of that he has also learnt a lot about the fabric trade. He too was Govind's age when he started working."

Like a good attorney, Prema behen went on with her monologue, putting forth many more facts, circumstantial evidences and precedents along with a barrage of advices interspersed with ample doses of emotions, and last but not least the bleak picture of the dystopian reality that would become the family's lot if her advice was not followed, and so a little within an hour, this seasoned campaigner managed to break down the ill-advised frivolity that had cropped up in Sushma behen, thus helping yet another mother make the right choice for her child's future.

That evening after returning home, Govind was told by her mother that from tomorrow onwards he was not to go to the school and instead was to emulate the path of Saaji-veera from next door by working in one of the shops in the market , and although the mother's heart was laden with grief and guilt as she broke this news to him, his own remained perfectly at peace, for while he felt a little sad at the idea of not going to school anymore, he had complete faith in the good intentions of his mother towards him.

"don't worry mother, I will do all the work they give me.." was the simple promise he gave to his mother in the end, before he went off to fetch some rice needed for dinner from a nearby grocery store.

*******

It had been five long years since Govind first came to work in the shoe store of the 5th kuchcha market. From an errand boy put to use in the elementary tasks of sweeping, fetching, and dusting, he had gradually progressed to an expert salesman who knew everything there was to know about shoes.

The market where he worked was a flourishing hub of economic activity, where people from various regions of the state came to buy all sort of goods at wholesale prices. All in all it saw a turnover of no less than 25 crores a month, and out of those 25 crores, a meagerly sum of 5000 was bestowed upon Govind as compensation for the 13 hour grind that he went through daily.

His work that began at 9 in the morning and lasted well in to the evening until the hands of the clock stuck 10, was done mostly from behind a glass counter, where he dealt with customers, exhibiting to them the various footwear available in the shop before jotting down their orders for the same. These orders were then passed on to a crop of younger boys, who would then immediately start working towards their dispatch.

This evening incarcerated once again behind that glass counter, with his weary form exhausted from the day's hustle and bustle perched over a wooden stool and his aching head slumped over the counter top in front, with his dull listless eyes staring towards the entry of the shop and his tired fingers fiddling with the pen he used for jotting down orders, he seemed a person in dormancy who would kick in to full action at the first sight of a potential customer.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the counter stood a bedraggled looking older man, who was presently in the middle of some sort of an enthusiastic narrative.

"One only needs God's good grace and then one's business just runs by itself, after the fruit season I will totally invest all my money in shoes and then leave it on God' mercy. I will buy from this shop, go to the nearest villages and announce 'the shoe seller is here' on a loudspeaker, the rest will happen by itself, one only needs God's good grace." This man had entered the shop half an hour ago and although Govind had paid him his due attention in the beginning, it had quickly become clear that he was not interested in buying any shoes but was here to only survey the market. At the revelation of this fact, he was now being quietly ignored by the tired salesman whose head kept nodding out of drowsiness, but interpreting these nods as a sign of interest, the man continued to rather vociferously expand upon his future plans before him.

"Though things always take time to settle down, the wise ancestors were not joking when they said..pehle saal chatti....duje saal khatti..te fer putra teeje saal pendi hai hatti..(A Punjabi maxim which says that it takes three years to establish a business, first year you eat out of your resources, second year you break even, and only in the third year you start to make surplus)," he declared rather perspicaciously, imparting his wisdom to the youth.

But the targeted youth remained oblivious to his words, for he was, what was known in shopkeeper's vernacular, a 'vehla mureed', a man who had no interest in buying anything and came to a shop only for useless chatter. How one dealt with a 'vehla mureed' was one's personal choice, some folks, usually the older ones liked to indulge them and reminisce with them about the good ole days, while most of the younger ones preferred to shoo them away with a stern glance or two, Govind though preferred to take the third route, of respectfully ignoring them until they got bored from a lack of response and went away.

And while that technique usually got rid of them in ten or so minutes, this man who appeared to be a very stubborn vehla mureed lasted more than thirty minutes in to his monologue before it finally dawned on him that the head of his listener was nodding more out of sleepiness than any interest in his words.

"Okay, farewell then. God have mercy on us all. I will come again soon, after the fruit season I will totally invest all my money in shoes." And with these parting words, he turned and left the shop, although Govind with his attentions presently lost in the young girl standing in the shop on the opposite side of the street, never noticed him leaving, just as he had not noticed anything of what he was saying.

The young boy would have continued to remain in this state of lassitude if it was not for the sight of two gentlemen approaching his counter at that point, prompting him to quickly pull his frame back in to an upright posture. One of these gentlemen, the owner of the shop, who usually remained at the billing and payment desk near the front of the shop, had come on his evening round and he was accompanied by a friend of his, who often came to the shop and was therefore recognized by most of the employees there, including Govind.

"So you master musician, how many compositions did you make then on that flute last night?" the owner addressed Govind in a sardonically cheerful voice as he came up to the counter.

During these past few years, while the grind of everyday life had dispossessed Govind of most of life's finer emotions, there was this one particular art which the minions of drudgery had not been able to stop him from developing an interest in, the art that became to him a breath of fresh air in this stifling atmosphere of shoe designs, types, sizes, prices and discounts, the art of music. He had a CD walkman player that he took to the roof of his house where under the canopy of shimmering stars he immersed himself for a couple of hours every night in the bliss that was music.

So yesterday when a Banjara (a class of nomadic people) had come to the market selling flutes, Govind had not been able to resist the temptation to buy one, thus giving cause to the shop owner for his present inquiry.

"no bhaji," Govind answered with a discomfited grimace which in effect caused a satisfactory smile to break out on the face of the owner. Although the effortless symphonies he heard the Banjara play on the flute had made it seem like an easy enough instrument at that time, it had turned out to be a great misconception on his part, for later on even after hours of effort he had not been able to play even a single note out of that flute.

"It is not that easy to play the flute young Mister, you have to work hard for it, work hard." It was now the turn of the second gentleman to speak; his gleeful didactic manner immediately causing Govind to fear that he was about to be on the receiving end of another of this man's customary lectures which he was so notorious for amidst the employees of the shop.

"these people that play all this stuff..they have put in a lot of effort to learn it..these things don't play by themselves young Mister..so learn hard work..that is the problem with you people, you don't know hard work at all, rather you sit and daydream all the time." He spoke with a degree of derision before turning to address his friend. "these people are good in only one thing, wasting their money..just take the example of the peon that works at my place..he hardly got his salary and the wealthy fella is off to Hardwar with his family for a vacation..they know well the circumstances of their households, yet they would indulge in reckless spending like imbeciles."

But before, he could go on any further and point out everything that was wrong with the poor people of this world, he was interrupted by the appearance of a young teenager, the owner's thirteen year old son, dressed in the latest of branded clothes with a fancy touch screen phone in one hand and the keys of his expensive motorbike in the other.

The boy walked straight to the scene of action, whereon he extended one of his hands out towards his father while his gaze remained fixed down on to his phone, the fingers of his other hand dancing on its screen.

"Pocket money papa," he said simply, not even looking at his father or acknowledging him in any other way.

The father though did not in the least seem offended by this discourtesy as he pulled out his wallet and then placed upon the palm of his son three crispy hundred rupee notes.

The boy momentarily looked up, though not at his father but at the money that was now resting in his hand.

"movie with friends tomorrow morning..weekend papa..you should know papa," he spoke, somewhat nettled at his father's mistake while he once again lowered his vision to his phone.

"oh..sorry son.." his father apologized, before he quickly topped the money in his son's palm with a five hundred rupee note.

"thanks papa.." coolly said the son before he turned and walked away, leaving behind a proud looking father.

"His demands are just rising every day," the father commented, more with amusement rather than anger.

"it is no big deal, it all belongs to him after all..if he won't spend it now then when..this is the age to enjoy life..." His friend riposted, patting him on the back before both of them turned again to face Govind who had sat there through the whole episode wearing a mask of placidness.

"look at those sample boxes behind you..they are all in such disorder..should not you be fixing that..?" the owner pointed out with a frown, one of his bushy eye brows raised sternly.

In response, Govind quickly jumped off his stool and squatted down to begin tidying up the sample boxes when the owner's friend began again.

"these people, they will never pay attention to workkk..." but once again to his great disappointment he was interrupted in his speech, this time by the arrival of a customer.

The owner greeted this new customer with a shake of hands, followed by his friend, before both of them left him in the hands of the salesman. Govind to his great credit forgot all about his fatigue and readily was back on his feet behind his counter, attending the customer with all due diligence and attention.

For the rest of the evening Govind attended another half a dozen customers and by the time he was finished, the hands of the clock were fast approaching closing time.

With only a few minutes left, he was now standing at the shop's entry humming to himself the tune of one of his favorite songs while scribbling something on his palm when suddenly a hand came down on the back of his head, smacking him rather harshly.

As a dismayed Govind looked back, his eyes met an image of the angry looking shop owner.

"Standing here and singing songs like a sloth. I told you in the evening to fix up those sample boxes and still they are all disorderly like before, is this any way to work?"

And so the young boy was allowed no repose, not even during the last few remaining minutes of what had been a greatly taxing day as he rushed back to his counter prison and fixed up those boxes.

When at last it ended and he was walking his way back home a thoroughly desiccated soul, under one of the street lights he briefly stopped, and glanced wistfully at what was a half-drawn star on his palm.

*******

Three nights later Govind was walking back home from yet another exhausting day at work when a soulful symphony of a flute emanating from a distance fell on his ears. By the bank of the Ganda-Naalah he walked, ignoring the fetid odors wafting from it while he followed those melodious sounds, until he came to a halt at the back of a large abandoned building, which used to serve as the city's prison in the bygone years.

The symphony seemed to be coming from within the derelict building, and had it not been for the beautiful music drawing his heart towards it with such great vigor, Govind would have thought twice about entering the haunted looking premises at this hour of the night. But for now the only thing that interested the boy was to find the source of this music and towards this end he began to search for the large gap he knew was present in the back wall of this complex which could lead him straight inside.

It was not long before he found it, and without any fear, as if hypnotized, he stepped through the gap and in to what used to be the prison's backyard, now ridden all over with overgrown bushes.

At this time of the night, around him the wind was whistling through these bushes, while underneath him imaginary snakes were rattling all around, sounds that would have haunted any but the bravest of souls, but for Govind these were like sounds of supporting instruments that were intermingling with the melody of that flute to create a most breath taking concerto.

Finally after traveling through the whole of that treacherous backyard, Govind came face to face with the man playing that flute, sitting atop a boulder, his form lit up by the rays of the moon, it was no one else but the Banjara who had sold him the flute in the market.

A very healthy looking man of a lean built with clairvoyant eyes and a thick black beard along with a red Rajashtani turban on his head, long he remained lost in his own melody, giving no notice to the boy who just stood there inebriated, it was as if both the boy and the man had left this realm, and traveled off to some far off mystical land, where ruled not the Gods but symphonies and harmonies.

Eventually the music ceased and Govind now saw the man gazing at him with smiling eyes. But before he could fathom what to do next, the man much to his complete surprise urged him to sing.

"o brother, why are you being shy? Come on sing me something, come on.."

After overcoming his brief hesitation, as the music loving boy began to sing an old hindi classic 'jab deep jale aana..jab sham dhale aana..sanket milan ka bhul na jana, mera pyar na bisrana..' the banjara played his flute to the tune of the song, the two of them breaking out in to a sonorous jugalbandi. Many more songs they played and sang together that night, so that this compound which had for long only heard the dull metallic clanks of manacles and fetters was now suffused in every corner with the jubilant and uplifting spirit that is music.

"Who are you Chacha..?" Govind would ask when time had come for him to leave and go home for the night.

"a banjara I am, selling flutes in the morning and playing them in the evening is my deed."

"Will you teach me?"

"If you will learn, I will teach."

"Tomorrow then?"

And the man nodded, smiled, closed his eyes and resumed playing his flute, the notes of which continued to warm Govind's heart for the whole of his journey back home.

*******

Every night Govind would go to the old prison building, where he would be met by the Banjara who would teach him how to play the flute, teach him the various facets of the beautiful art of music, and indulge with him in many a soulful jugalbandis, and in this manner, six months passed, until Govind became quite adept at it.

Then came the day when Govind auditioned for the position of a singer in one of the local Jagrata Mandalis, and as he stood there on stage, singing 'o palanhaare..nirgun o nyare..' much to the appreciation of the members of the Mandli, the Banjara watching on from a dark corner of the hall, knowing that he had given the boy his freedom, clicked his fingers and disappeared.

Today Govind is a successful local artist with those stifling days of working in a shop far behind him. To this day, he greatly misses the Banjara, that sweet smiling man who had rescued him from his life of despair, and had stirred in him a belief in the greater goodness of humanity.

And to continue spreading that belief, Govind now provides free nightly musical classes in Amar Pura, and whenever a young boy or a girl touches his soul with one of their songs, he takes their palm and rewards them by drawing there a star.

*******
Chapter 3 – The confluence of three

1

On the night of 28th of January, 2014, at exactly 9:15 P.M., the dark and cloudy skies above Ludhiana opened themselves up and began pelting the whole city underneath with heavy showers.

Five minutes later...

A man is seen running at full speed on a pavement near Jagraon Bridge, heading towards an old white building where he hopes to find some possible shelter from the rain.

A young boy is standing in a Shagun Ceremony, excitedly subvocalizing some words to his mother, but his mother is unable to make out the aphonic message presently.

A girl and a boy are huddled up against each other in the pouring rain, the boy holding up his jacket over the girl's head, trying to protect her from getting drenched.

36 hours earlier...

Imagine to yourself two frames, two distinct pictures in front of your eyes that are placed side by side.

In the first picture there is a café, and within that café, near a window that overlooks a small garden, is a table, and upon that table, are seated two girls, two best friends, indulged in a conversation over a warm cup of coffee.

Now look at the second picture, there you will see a sight of a room messy and untidy, and in the balcony of that room, lounging on a couple of recliner chairs, are two boys, two best friends, indulged in a conversation while they enjoy the warmth of the winter's sun in the sky above.

I need you to focus, focus on their conversations, and to make sure that the two conversations do not mix up and end up creating a cacophony; we shall listen to a snippet of one while the other is put on a pause and vice-versa.

***

"So your final few days of freedom huh! How does it feel?" quipped one of the girls in the first picture to her friend who was getting married in a couple of days.

"Feels quite alright, a little nervous but I guess that is to be expected.." mulled the second girl in reply.

***

"Expectations dude, expectations. Me and Shivani, we have been together for almost a year now, but there are all sorts of expectations that come after you get married and just thinking of them makes me a little jittery. It's like, it has all been fun and games before, and now things are about to get serious," observed one of the boys, as he dipped a slice of orange he had recently peeled in to his glass of vodka before taking a small bite out of the alcohol laced delicacy.

"yeah, as they say, the shit is about to get real," joked his friend, as he yawned and stretched his body against the recliner chair before taking a swig from his own glass of vodka, preferring the conventional method of alcohol intake.

***

"Really I never thought I would end up falling in love with Amar of all people, let alone marry him someday. You remember the day when we first met Amar and Raj all those years ago in Shimla?"

"Yeah, two loafers, wearing those cheap black sun glasses at night on the Mall Road and asking random girls to click pictures for them, totally filmi."

"Oh, loafers huh? Right! So that is why you were all gaga over Raj from the moment you saw him, because he came across as a loafer?"

***

"And that is why, with how close you two were during those initial months, I thought if there is anyone that is going to end up together in our group, it is going to be you and Meeta, not me and Shivani, we only used to tag along because of you guys."

"Well at least someone profited out of it I guess."

"But really dude, I never understood why it didn't happen for you and Meeta??"

***

"I don't know, he was just too indifferent towards me, say in a romantic sense. And although we have been good friends, and yes, I liked him a lot initially, I never felt that he was interested in me in that way. And I really can't force myself upon him now, can I?"

***

"Love, the whole concept of it is flawed in my eyes, and I have told you this before many a times. I know you disagree, but for me the factor which brings two people together in this world is needs, they can be physical, emotional or financial, but they are always needs. I don't believe in the existence of any kind of utopian notion beyond these mere needs, which could make two people want to be with each other. There are always needs involved, and as long as you are fulfilling these needs, people stick with you, if you don't, then they chuck you, it is as simple as that. For instance, just look at my situation from a few years ago, when I lost my job almost everyone abandoned me, slowly filtered me out of their lives because they no longer saw me as someone availing to their needs. I had learned then that this whole love thing is merely a false charade."

"Well you know, you are going to end up all dry and brittle in your heart if you carry on fostering these strange notions in your head."

***

"I guess his head must not be in the right place or something, for him to not notice how much you liked him and all. Anyways, it is not like he is all that rich or something, so I don't think you missed out on a lot."

"Well, what do his finances have anything to do with it?"

"Come on Meeta! Do not go all ideal on my ass now. Of course finances matter!"

"Not to me. I have enough capability in me to work and support myself that I do not need to find some rich guy and live off his wealth. Honestly, I don't see a relationship as some kind of a way to make my life financially secure. With Raj, I just wanted to be with him because in him I saw some goodness that I had seldom seen in others. The way he respects the individuality of everyone around him, how he never tries to control anyone else's dreams or ambitions, his knack of supporting his friends no matter what the situation, his refusal to pass judgment on people that differ from the set norms, there are many good things about him which make him such a wonderful guy, and money has got nothing to do with it."

"Well, I can't say you are right but girl, you seem to have done a diploma on Raj from the looks of it."

***

"Not a diploma dude, there is no doubt Meeta is a great girl. Loving, caring, honest, full of life and I have often thought about the idea of...us... but tomorrow, say if my life takes another U-turn, and I end up in dire straits again, is she going to stand by me? or just brand me as a loser..I believe she is going to brand me as a loser. It won't be her fault, it is simply human nature..so what is the point in it then? Anyhow, how come are you suddenly all interested in Meeta and me a couple of days before your marriage? I hope you are not thinking about leaving Shivani and courting Meeta, eh?"

"No, nothing like that bro. Anyways dude, I have to run now, mama ji (Uncle) and his family is coming for the wedding, and I have to go pick them up from the railway station, I will call you in a couple of hours."

***

"Well for me richness and success can't be measures for loving someone, and that is my opinion. What is the point in it if you love someone only when that person is rich or successful, that is not love, merely a façade to satisfy some personal needs."

"Okay O mother of wisdom, to each their own. I am getting married and I have to go now, so many preparations are pending, I will call you in the evening."

***

Amar and Shivani after taking leave from their best friends met each other a little while later at the steps outside Ansal Plaza.

"So, how did it go?" asked an excited Shivani, as both of them sat down on the steps.

"Close call, he nearly caught me, guys don't usually talk with such honesty about their intimate affairs with each other. But the vodka helped," responded a relieved Amar.

"So you got the recording?" Shivani asked next, anxious to know whether her partner had succeeded in their plan.

"Yes I did, and you?"

"I got it."

"So what's next?" asked Amar, a little circumspect of where this was heading to.

"Next we send Meeta your recording, and send Raj mine," Shivani revealed as she took Amar's phone and proceeded to send their friends the recordings that she and Amar had covertly obtained of the recent conversations.

"Is it right though? Isn't this a sort of trickery? Love can't be trickery," asked a hesitant Amar.

"Says who, the popular culture?" Shivani retorted, a little vexed at such a naïve statement from her partner. "Besides, is there any other way? I have been trying to bring these two together for so long now but have failed in all my efforts. So this is like a last resort. I am thankful to you though, without you, none of this would have been possible," And she reached forth and squeezed Amar's hand, which instantly made him forget about most of his doubts.

"There, I have sent it, this should work," Shivani announced, before she made the phones in her hand disappear with a quick click of her fingers.

With their task thus done, she got up to leave, but before she could, Amar put forth another proposition for her.

"So I got myself a tree as you commanded my dear lady. I am and Gods are my witness, no longer a treeless Muppet."

"Oh, well," she responded, caught a little off-guard. "I haven't really thought about it. May be we should wait and see if your tree can weather an autumn or two first," And before he could reply she clicked her fingers a second time, whereby she turned back in to her ghostess' form, after which she immediately fleeted away from the scene.

"May be, we should wait and see if your tree can weather an autumn or two first..hehe..huhu..haha..bla bla ble ble blu blu," feeling like a fool, he mockingly repeated her words in a high pitched voice as he now stood at the steps all alone, shaking his head in disbelief.

With nothing else left to do, he then too clicked his fingers and disappeared in to thin air.

*******

In one of the sleeper class compartments of Swaraj express sat Mr. Nalin Sharma and his family, currently heading to Ludhiana for the wedding of Mr. Sharma's nephew, Amar. During the past hour or so, the family had been involved in quite animated a discussion, which in its course had captured the attention of many of the fellow passengers, most of whom were now standing in the aisle near their compartment, with their ears keenly riveted unto each and every word of the chatter taking place between the members of the Sharma family.

"Okay, so I am going to once again repeat the expenses involved, just double check them for me Nalini," Mohit, the eldest son of the family instructed his sister, who in turn nodded her head to convey to her brother that he had her full attention.

"So 11000 as Shagun (a financial gift given to a newly married Couple), right?" And as Nalini nodded again, Mohit dexterously fed the amount in the calculator software of his touch screen phone.

"So 11000 is final then? Any chance for a little leeway here?" Mohit now turned to his father, looking to get a final confirmation of the amount from him.

"Come on son, he is my nephew, I have to give at least that much," Mr. Sharma retorted, a little irritated by the repeated solicitations of his family to make him reduce the gift amount.

"Yes yes, give, give it all away. I ask where was this benevolence of yours at the time of my niece Jahnvi's wedding?" interjected Mrs. Sharma sharply, shaking her head in disapproval.

"But Jahnvi was a daughter of your cousin, not your real sister," Mr. Sharma defended himself, though not with any real conviction.

"What then? A niece is a niece. And at least she calls me once every month. Look at your Amar, I bet he doesn't even remember your existence at times."

"uff mom, dad..stop it yaar," It was now Mohit's turn to intervene, who was getting more and more chafed at his parents for arguing in front of all these strangers.

"just let me concentrate, 11000 for the shagun, and then the earrings for Bhabhi is 7000, and Bhabhi's make up kit, that is worth 3120, right?" he once again looked at her sister for confirmation and upon receiving the same, entered the amounts in to his phone.

"now let us look at how we can recoup this amount, I think it is at least going to cost them 500 rupees per plate in the wedding, so five plates is 2500, then we can also eat that much in the Shagun ceremony too, so 2500 plus 2500..5000, and they gave us those sweets when they came to invite us, 500 for that..then what were those two others things..vang ..something?" Mohit asked his sister, not able to remember the name of these other ceremonies that were going to fetch the family money in this.

"it was senti..something," Nalini scratched her head, she too had forgotten the names. "Mum, what was it?" But before the mother could relay out the required information, the voice of an unknown Samaritan from amidst the crowd helped them out.

"sent karai te vangh gudai."

"Oh yes, thank you, so Sent Karai, mom and dad are going to get some clothes, and then they will also get some money, i think 2000 for the clothes, 1100 as gift money, then vangh gudai, its nalini tying that ornament to the groom's white mare, and she will get 1100 for that," Mohit muttered more to himself as he continued to enter the amounts in to the phone.

But while the son was busy making these arduous calculations, the mother took advantage of the momentarily silent in the compartment to begin anew with her rant.

"If Mohit was older today, he would have been married and his wife then would have also fetched good gift money in Surma Pawai, but you, you had to wait at least 5 years after marriage. I am not ready to have kids so soon, I am not ready," It was clear that all of Mrs. Sharma's ire was currently directed towards her husband, who in return forlornly turned his eyes towards the window and began gazing at the scenery outside, knowing full well that any more arguments with his wife at this stage were futile. But his apathy only increased her petulance and she went on with the rant with even more vehemence than before.

"And what more, in Jahnvi's wedding Nalini got wonderful share in Ribbon Cutting and Jutta Chupai, but sorry daughter, you don't get that when you are attending a wedding from the Groom's side," she lamented. "But even then we gave just 5100 for Jahnvi, but it is eleven damn thousand for this Amar!"

"Uff..stop it stop it stop it..mom..I need to concentrate," Mohit hollered, which subdued Mrs. Sharma in to silence at once.

"So I have made all the calculations," And Mohit lifted the screen of his phone, first to each of his family members and then to the anticipatory crowd.

Many a disgruntled groans and audible sighs were heard around the compartment as the screen was displaying a net loss of 11420 to the family!

"Anything else guys, anything we might have missed?" Mohit asked with an exhausted sigh, there seemed no light at the end of this dark tunnel to him. He was on the verge of losing all hope when another altruistic voice issued itself forth from the crowd.

"If Nalini is a little obstinate about having a professional apply Henna on her hands, and for the wedding, she could ask that they take her to a beauty parlor for her makeup, may be something could happen then?"

"Oh Yesss! Why did not I get this idea first..lets see..2000 for the beauty parlor...500 for Henna," And Mohit made some more calculations before he once again lifted the phone to show everyone the final result.

The family was still facing a net loss of 8920, the situation was not as bad as before but it was still pretty bad.

"Anything else?" Mohit asked again, but everyone around him had gone mute. Just then the train entered a tunnel and in the darkness the dejection felt even heavier.

When light finally flooded back in to the compartment, Mohit noticed the despondent look on the faces of his family members, the pain of the coming loss leaving a giant hole in their hearts, and in wistful silence they all suffered, and it seemed that this suffering would be their fate for the next few days, when suddenly a tea-seller came out of the crowd and stepped in their compartment.

"this little child, he belongs to you?" he asked nonchalantly, while pointing to a very young boy who was sleeping on the seat next to Mrs. Sharma.

"yes he is ours, why?" Mr. Sharma replied, looking at him a little warily.

"Well you guys are from the groom's side, and close relations you have, and this child of yours is small, just the right age for being the groom's Sarbala. Do that and you will at least collect 10000 in Shagun," he suggested with an ingenious smile playing on his lips.

"O Wow, O man what a freaking good idea, I mean, I mean it is going to take us straight in to profit!!!!" an incredulous Mohit jumped up from his seat in excitement and patted the tea-seller heartily on his back to show him his gratitude.

"thank you bhaiya..thank you so much for this idea," Nalini was the next to show her appreciation and soon the rest of the family too joined in.

"Just leave this thanking wanking aside, and buy some tea from me like good people should." The tea seller guffawed as he began to pour for them the tea.

And so he left them with four hot cups of tea and one very clever idea, and once he was safely out of everyone's sight, he clicked his fingers and disappeared.

*******

Death is inevitable for all of us, the one absolute truth of all life.

No matter who you are, where you are from, what strata of society you belong to, the black hand of death will one day wrap itself around your throat and wring the life out of you. It is one entity that does not differentiate between the rich and the poor, the mighty and the meek, the general and the reserved, death, whose looming shadow is ever present around each one of us.

No wonder then that we are all afraid of death to an extent, but what if this fear of death becomes so great, so paralyzing that it stops one from living altogether, what if the dangers of the path weigh the mind down so heavily that one shirks from the adventures of it entirely?

The existence of a person would indeed become a blighted one in such a case, all his actions governed by his dread of death, his spirit a mere slave paying daily obeisance to the Yama.

Thirty two year old Vikram Sahni was one such person, whose every waking hour was plagued by the vision of a grim reaper coming to strike him down with his scythe, and consequently, the whole purpose of Vikram Sahni's existence was to keep that grim reaper at bay.

This afternoon, like every other single afternoon before, Vikram was walking near the railway tracks, making his way towards an old Peepal tree located a little distance ahead. One would think that a man so afraid of death would avoid wandering outdoors and especially keep his distance from a hazardous place like the railway tracks but ironically it was this very fear which brought Vikram Sahni to these tracks every day.

Some six months ago, he had visited a Pandit Ji whom upon hearing of Vikram's great fright of death had ordained him to go to this one specific Peepal tree twice each day and tie a black thread around its trunk as a guaranteed expedient for protection against untimely death.

So once every afternoon and once every evening he now forced himself to take this mile long walk from his house to the Peepal tree, it being hard for him to even imagine the audacity of going against the instructions of the venerated Pandit Ji.

And since the path outside was fraught with many a dangers, Vikram Sahni kept his senses awake and alert to these at all times. The way he always walked a couple of yards away from the railway tracks to avoid a possible collision with an onrushing train, or the manner in which he cowered and ducked his head whenever he passed by an electric pole in order to avoid possible electrocution, or how he wore a warm sweater on a sunny afternoon to quash any possible chances of pneumonia while keeping an umbrella overhead to fend off cancer causing radiations, were all tokens of the fact that this man tried to smell even the faintest traces of danger and did all in his powers to safeguard himself against them.

Slowly and very carefully he thus moved, taking a long time before he finished walking the treacherous path and reached the Peepal tree, on whose hoary trunk were already present countless black threads. Soon Vikram Sahni finished tying another one around it, therefore shielding himself from the reaper's scythe at least until the evening.

But as he turned to go back he noticed on one of the tracks a young kid, squatting there and busily searching for something amidst the rocks, completely oblivious to the Swaraj Express which was heading towards him. Vikram's first instinct was to rush on to the tracks and save that child, but the poisonous tonic of fear poured in to his veins and froze him in his place.

What if he mistimed his run, what if the train hit him instead of the child, what if another train on a parallel track hit both of them, what if he tripped, fell and was unable to get back up on time?

No, this was folly, pure folly.

"Oye..Oye boy, train is coming..!" Vikram shouted at the top of his lungs, trying to catch the kid's attention. This seemed to him the best way to attempt a rescue.

But the kid remained lost in his own little world, paying no mind to Vikram's shouts as he continued picking up the pebbles he had spilled there.

The train was coming nearer now and Vikram's shouts were getting louder, more desperate, but still they were of no avail. And just as the train had come within a few yards of the kid, Pandit Ji's hallowed voice echoed in his ears.

"Son, never witness someone's death, it is a bad Omen."

And so quickly he turned his back on the tracks and clamped his eyes shut. Behind him the Swaraj express had now crossed the point where the young kid had been squatting, and not wanting the sight of his dead body to mar his fortunes, a shuddering Vikram walked away from the site of the accident.

Luckily though, and unknown to him, when that train had fully passed over, there were to be seen no squashed up entrails of that young kid on the track, instead as if by some miracle, he was standing safely on the other side, a curious look in his eyes as he stuck out his tongue and tried to taste the snot running out of his nose.

*******
2

"Hope. It's a funny thing this hope. Deprive a man of it and you might as well deprive him of life itself. Conversely if you give any person no matter how downtrodden a glimmer of this hope, then it can inspire him to pull himself out of any kind of despair and fly up to the heights that are full of vivaciousness and joy," ruminated Arjun as he sat on the parapet of a random roof top in the city, gazing at the orange hue of the sun which was currently setting behind the steeples of a temple.

"Aren't we stating the obvious?" responded Roshni, who was sitting next to Arjun on the parapet, it being a usual occurrence for the two of them to come together every now and then and enjoy a sunset.

"After all we have seen over the years, first as mortals and then as ghosts, do you think there is any room left for novelty? Every one of us is stating the obvious in one way or another," riposted Arjun, before he momentarily looked up towards his holographic map which was being projected in the sky above.

A white dove carrying an olive leaf in its beak represented his location on that map, while a miniature effigy of a man rising up on a bubble symbolized the location of Roshni. Besides these and the symbols representing the location of the other ghosts, there was on that map the conspicuous presence of a blinking yellow dot, signifying that there was a person in the city at this very moment that needed the ghost of hope's help.

But Arjun completely ignored its presence and with a doleful sigh, turned his eyes back to gaze once again at the beautiful winter sun set.

"It is that same guy, isn't it?" Roshni asked rather rhetorically, after she had seen Arjun ignoring the presence of that blinking dot upon his map.

"Yes, my good lady, it's the very same guy," replied Arjun, a little dramatically. "Of my countless fuck ups in life, that, right there, is the biggest fuck up of them all. And what more, the perpetual presence of that blinking yellow dot upon my map, acts for me as an unremitting reminder of that failure, every time I happen to look at it," he sighed as his shoulders slumped somewhat, a look of pensiveness casting itself forth on his countenance.

"Though I have asked you about this guy a few times before, you have always evaded my questions on the subject. Now I do not wish to come across as someone who is unnecessarily prying in to your business, but I am here for you in case you feel that sharing this story might lighten your load a little," suggested Roshni, who knew well that Arjun was someone who liked to keep his troubles close to his chest, and will therefore in all possibility refute her offer, still she fostered a slight hope that her friend would open up and stop carrying all this weight upon his shoulders, as she did notice how it was bogging him down day after day. Out of all the ghosts, her friend was given the roughest of bargains, to deal with the desperate, dejected and suicidal of this world and to try and give them hope was no easy business.

Arjun remained silent for a few minutes, vacillating on whether to tell her about the incident or not. At last he decided in favor of the former, his typically hard features softening under the caresses of the evening breeze as he began to narrate his story.

"This goes back a year and a half, when one night I was hovering over the Jagraon Bridge, keeping myself amused by watching the influx of the traffic in to the city from the Jalandhar side, when all of a sudden a distress signal issued itself forth upon my map. The dot was blinking very rapidly, and so at once I knew that this was a case of a suicide attempt. I hurried forth to the site from where the signal had originated, and there I saw in a room a man about to hang himself from a hook in the ceiling. Quickly I acted, and with a little ruse and a little wit, as is common to us ghosts, I managed to switch the rope he was going to use with a defected one, so that when this man tried to hang himself from the fan, the rope snapped, and thus I was able to save his life."

"I kept vigil for the rest of the night to make sure that no more suicide attempts were made by him, and fortunately none were. So considering the first attempt to be borne out of some dark impulse, which he seemed to have overcome now, I left him in the morning, reckoning the case to be closed."

"But to my great surprise, I received another distress signal a couple of nights later, and once again it was this very same man, this time around trying to kill himself by swallowing a whole bottle of morphine pills. Once more I was able to save him, by surreptitiously swapping his morphine pills with sugar ones, but I knew then, that whatever it was that was troubling his conscience and pressing him in to these suicide attempts, was bound to strike again sooner or later."

"So for the next whole week I shadowed him, trying to find the source of his troubles, but what I discovered was so strange that it baffled me completely. This man was not making those suicide attempts because of any great grief in his life; rather he wanted to end his life because he was too curious about death! A great curiosity to see what followed life was exhorting him to end it himself, through those suicide attempts, it sought immediate satiation."

"Confounded by this unusual conundrum, there were no quick solutions that occurred to my mind on how to stop this man from committing any further suicide attempts. All I could do then was to wait for the time when his next suicide attempt would come, and then go to him and prevent it once again. In this manner, a whole year passed, in which I checked him in more than a dozen of these attempts, still, he showed no signs of abating."

"And it was then that an idea occurred to me, and it seemed like a good idea at that time. I began to enter his dreams, and there I started painting him bleak and harrowing pictures of what awaited him after death. For a couple of weeks, I tortured him with those dreams, hoping in the process to dissuade him from his silly idea of suicide."

"And it worked, as since then he has made no more attempts to kill himself," Arjun grimaced, the orange hue at the western horizon turning to a deep red one as the sun sank itself further behind those steeples.

"So it...worked?" Roshni asked somewhat confused, only to see Arjun broodingly shake his head.

"The fear I used to dissuade him from suicide weighs so heavy on his mind now that he had stopped living altogether. I turned him in to a shell of a person, who cringes in death's dread in his every waking hour. To summarize, I fucked it up, I fucked it up big time."

After Arjun finished telling his story, both of them sat in disquieting silence for a while, the red hue of the western sky gradually changing to a dull grey as the sun fully disappeared down the horizon. Roshni wished that she could provide some sort of solution to his problem, but even she was left completely perplexed after hearing his tale.

In life there are some intricacies which despite all their powers even the ghosts of a city fail to disentangle. Perhaps the only thing one can do then is to look up to the heavens and wait for an answer to be delivered from there.

*******

In the past six hours Raj had watched the video of Meeta's conversation with Shivani more than fifty times but still he felt as incredulous towards it as he had when watching it the very first time.

Now after having looked at it so many times, instead of recognizing and appreciating Meeta's love for him, instead of accepting and admitting his own feelings for her, instead of just running to that girl and sweeping her up in his arms, he unfortunately rather got caught up in doubting and questioning the very motive of the video altogether.

He was much like a nomad, who had been wandering in an arid desert for eons and eons, and now when he had at last come across an oasis, rather than entering it and partaking of the sweet life giving waters and the delightful fruits that lay there in abundance, stood at a distance, rubbing his eyes in disbelief at the very presence of the oasis, debating its very existence and attributing the lovely image he saw of it to some form of a mirage.

An agitated Raj had thus stayed in his room this whole time, continuously pacing the length and breadth of his little abode as he grappled with the numerous anxieties and doubts plaguing his mind. Late in to the evening he was still dealing with the ceaseless turmoil of his thoughts, when there occurred a sudden knocking on the door of his room. On opening it he found Meeta standing at the threshold, dressed in a simple white kurti and a pair of blue jeans, smiling at him somewhat nervously through her round black eyes.

"May I come in?" she asked softly and he immediately stepped aside to let her in. Why was she here? Was she here to see whether or not her video had the desired effect on him?

"Meeta, what is going on?" Raj quickly began, without any forethought towards the consequences of his words. "I mean, what is all this? Don't you think this is so childish of you guys? Shivani I can understand, but you too?"

"What is childish?" Meeta asked, not sure why Raj was so stirred up. She had only come here to discuss with him the video she had received of the conversation between him and Amar, where he had talked of the notions that barred him from engaging himself emotionally with others. She thought it was important that she helped him get rid of his skewed perspective about the world as well as her own self.

"Don't act all ignorant now. I am talking about the video Shivani sent me. Here it is," Raj shot back, as he pulled out his phone and played for her the incriminating video. "What explanation do you have for this huh?" he questioned her, his corrosive tone conveying his sharp disapproval.

As Meeta watched that video, it began to elucidate the whole situation for her. This was clearly a plan hatched by Shivani and Amar to get her and Raj together. She thought of it as quite silly and was rather amused at the stunt that the two of them had pulled. However Raj apparently did not see it in the same light, as was evident from his exasperation, but why out of all people was he asking her for an explanation about it left Meeta feeling somewhat dumbfounded at first, but that was until a few more seconds of reflection on her part caused his reasons to dawn on her mind.

"So you think this is me attempting to entrap you in a relationship?" Meeta asked, though there was not any anger in her voice. She only felt sorry for him at that moment, seeing that his cynicism had benumbed and embittered him to the last vein in his body. "I think you should take a look at this before I say anything further to you," And she played the second of the videos for Raj, quietly watching the emotions on his face change from anger to firstly shock and ultimately guilt by the time it finished.

"It was Amar and Shivani," he mumbled his realization to himself, overwhelmed immediately by contrition for the ludicrous accusation he had made at Meeta. His eyes now turned apologetically towards her. "Meeta I ..I.."

"No, do not say anything Raj, it is my turn to have a say now. I can understand that you have had some bitter experiences in the past and it makes you see people in a negative light, but if everyone is bad as you say, then you must be too, for what is the probability that there is just one good person on this planet and it happens to be you. Just think about it. And even if you still want to adopt a cynical attitude towards strangers, that is fine, but I have been your friend for years now and still you judge me so callously, implying that I am some kind of a cheat. I could have leveled similar accusations against you when I received your video, but I did not, you just don't do that to friends, lest you really want to hurt them..." Meeta's voice began to stain a little as she finished, her emotions stirring in her bosom and causing an aching sensation to spread to her heart.

"Just think about what I have said to you and one more thing, please don't go and make similar accusations against Amar and Shivani. You will not only ruin for them the memory of their wedding, but end up embittering your relationship with them too."

And then she simply walked out of that room, leaving Raj to mull over the rights and the wrongs of the pessimism and distrust he had let percolate his heart in the recent years, ones which had left it such a barren and desolate place.

*******

The derelict and discolored building located near the city's busiest square-Ghanta Ghar Chowk, which used to serve as the main office of the municipal birth and death department, is now just an abandoned structure with nothing but numerous shelves of old and begrimed files filling its rooms.

On one of these shelves lay an old telephone directory with a faded cover and dog eared pages, asleep under a cover of dust, as if in the middle of a winter hibernation. But with a purpose to disturb it in its repose, there arrived the ghost of freedom, who had reached the room in which it was located after passing through a series of patchy and fungous infested walls.

After putting the lantern he was carrying for illumination down in one of the corners, he went to take the thick book out of its resting place and placed it on a nearby termite infested table. The heavy book landed on it with a dull thud, the impact causing a puff of dust to rise from the table top while causing its hoary legs to creak in anguish.

"Rupam Parivartnam," uttered Vibhuti, with both his palms extended towards the directory.

Suddenly its pages began to hoick themselves out of its bindings, one after the other with a rapid fluttery sound, and within a few moments, all these pages, now separated from each other, were floating up above the head of Vibhuti.

And then they began to re-form themselves, exchanging their words with each other, breaking up words and re-arranging the letters obtained to form new words, disintegrating some words down to mere black specks, and then arranging these specks to form pictures, all in all, it was like one hugely complex kaleidoscope that would seem to an on-looker as if utter chaos and rioting had taken over the world of the words.

Once the reformation was complete, the pages rapidly moved back to the table, one atop the other before binding themselves together again, thus completing the metamorphosis of the telephone directory in to a completely different book, one with a velvety maroon cover upon which its name was inscribed in golden calligraphy, 'Bhoot-Sanchar' it was called.

It was a book used for communication with the ghosts living in the higher realms. Within it were columns, each carrying the name and picture of the ghost to whom it was allocated, underneath which was provided blank space for jotting down the message one wished to convey to its owner.

Vibhuti began to search busily through the pages of this book, and soon enough found the column he was looking for. He then made a pen appear in his hand before he scribbled down the message he needed to convey.

"Need help with a case. Come as soon as possible."

Just as he had finished jotting it down, his eyes suddenly noticed the presence of a silhouette lurking in one of the murky corners of the room.

The sight of it alarmed him at once! What if it was a mortal hiding there, what if he had witnessed the magical metamorphosis of the directory? How was he to deal with the tumult that would arise from such a situation?

He found himself growing quite anxious at this flurry of questions scuttling through his mind, but then a familiar gruff voice issued itself forth from that corner and allayed his fears.

"Do not be alarmed, it is me, Jai Prakash," The ghost of contentment stepped in to the light, his powdery white form as usual dressed in a three-piece English suit which looked starkly incongruous to these dingy surroundings.

"I apologize for the unceremonious entrée' but I have a most urgent issue to discuss with you, one that could not have been delayed to later," he announced as he adjusted the bow around his neck, giving Vibhuti a second or two to soak in his words before he resumed with them. "It has been communicated to me today in my capacity as the representative of the seven ghosts of Ludhiana, that you, Vibhuti Lal, the ghost of freedom broke one of the ethereal laws this afternoon, by interfering with the functioning of the Angel of death. A grave offense, one you have been guilty of several times in the past too, for which you have also received multiple admonitions. Keeping that in view, it is conveyed to you that this is your final warning in the matter. Any more similar infractions on your part in the future shall lead to severe consequences that can even include the stripping of your status as the ghost of freedom," he decreed, without any emotions or bias in his voice, his manner at all times official and statesman like.

"Do you Sir have any response that you wish for me to convey to the council on this particular matter?" he next asked, only to see Vibhuti smile and shake his head in response.

"Very well then," and he took off his glasses, carefully examining their frames for a second or two before putting them back on and turning his gaze back towards the offender.

"The message has been conveyed to you, on January the 27th, 2014, at 8:17 PM with an offset of 2% on either side, and so I will leave you in peace. Good bye," And suddenly he vanished off in to the same dark corner from where he had come forth.

Vibhuti meanwhile continued to smile in amusement, not at all perturbed by the just received warning. The council was in a habit of getting its kicks by sending these warnings to ghosts all the time, but the verbal admonitions were seldom followed with any concrete action.

Overcoming the momentary distractions, he went back to look in to the Bhoot Sanchar and was glad to see that the words he wrote in there had disappeared, meaning that his message had been seen by the recipient.

*******

The next afternoon, the Surana household, like any other house that hosts a wedding, was bustling and bubbling in a great whirl of activity.

In the verandah up front were the halwais, preparing lunch for the guests in gargantuan cauldrons, in one of the rooms at the back were the ladies, looking at the fancy Suits and Sarees that Mrs. Surana had bought as Vari for the bride, in another room were the men, indulged in an exciting game of rummy, while in the main hall were the young ones, playing Antakshri to the music of a guitar and beats of a dholki.

Nalini was also a part of one of the teams playing Antakshri, but at the moment her attentions were invested less in the game and more in the young man that was playing the guitar, a handsome youth who was some distant cousin of the groom from the father's side. Over the whole of last evening and this morning, the young man had impressed quite a few damsels with his impressive persona and his guitar skills, and our Nalini, like a few other girls that were presently sitting there in the hall, had developed a bit of a crush on him.

And so with half mesmerized eyes she kept staring amorously at that young man for what must have been quite a long time, and would have continued to do so, if she was not at that moment distracted out of her romantic imaginations by the interrupting hand of her brother Mohit shaking her by the shoulder.

"What is it?" she asked him in a bit of an annoyed voice, clearly not welcoming the disturbance.

"Family meeting, now," her brother told her simply, and then stepped away.

Although Nalini did not want to leave the hall at that moment, for reasons that are now obvious to the reader, still understanding the urgency of the situation that her family was facing right now, she made herself get up from her seat with a silent groan, before following her brother out to a small room in the back where her mother and father was waiting for them.

"Okay, what is the matter?" Nalini said immediately after entering the room, looking to hasten the proceedings so that she could get back out to the hall sooner.

"At least close the door first, there is so much noise coming in of these songs," her mother advised, at which Nalini quickly closed the door.

"So what I had been wanting is for your father to talk to Uma," her mother began the discussion. "At least it will clear things up a little."

"Are yaar, how can I go and ask her that directly, you do not ask people such things. Hey there guys, have you decided yet on who is going to be the Sarbala in this wedding? Any chance it could be my little son?" her father remonstrated, his usual reaction to any suggestions made by her mother.

"Well I don't see anything wrong with that. Uma is your sister, a brother ought to be able to discuss things like this with his sister," her mother shot back.

"Offo..now you guys just start arguing again, that is just the solution to our problem, isn't it?" interjected Nalini, not wanting her mother and father to break out in to another one of their customary long winded debates, especially now when she wanted things to come to their conclusion rather quickly. "Just go Dad, ask her once, it will at least lift this suspense," she suggested to her father.

"But yaar.." her father pulled on a bit of a long face, clearly not happy about what his family wanted him to do.

"I say there is no need to ask anyone anything," It was Mohit, who now intervened. "Of course our Vinnie is going to be the Sarbala; he is a hundred times cuter than that Ankur of theirs."

"And yes, yesterday at the railway station I taught him how he should touch everyone's feet for their blessings in the wedding house and impress them. He has been doing it since last evening, don't think anyone can resist such a cute obedient boy," Mrs. Sharma recounted with a hint of pride in her own maternal abilities.

"Totally, and the performance he gave in the Sangeet ceremony last night, how cute he looked, dancing on that song Ishq wala love," Mohit added, trying to drive the point home.

"But yaar, even that Ankur's Boogie Woogie was very nice," Nalini stated, not that optimistic as her brother.

"Think positive yaar, positive thinking always fetches positive results, so always think positive," Mohit countered, urging her sister to keep some faith.

"Indeed, positive thinking leads to positive results, so always think positive, unless of course you are testing for unwanted pregnancy, better to think negative then," Nalini riposted, pointing out the flaw in her brother's theory.

"Offo shut up you two!" jumped in a suddenly miffed Mr. Sharma. "And you, from where have you learned this trash? In front of your father you are blabbering pregnant pregnant, just let us return home, the first thing I am going to do is to cut off your internet's wire." Seeing that their father had gotten somewhat angry, Mohit and Nalini fell silent, leaving it upon their mother now to hold the forte for them.

"Yes yes, you cut all the wires of the house, show us your bravery there. And here, when you have to ask just a small question from your sister, just be a coward," jeered Mrs. Sharma as the kids had expected.

"Just, just...Okay I am going; just stop getting on my case, will you?" Mr. Sharma, joining his hands in front of his wife in submission accepted his defeat and walked out of the room.

The rest of the family, awaiting his return, stayed inside with their eyes affixed eagerly on the door through which he was supposed to walk back in with the good news.

And some ten minutes later that door swung open, though it was not Mr. Sharma but a young boy and a girl that had come barging in through it. Oblivious to the presence of the Sharma family, they had their arms around each other while they began making out in the heat of passion, the girl giggling as the boy stole soft kisses from her neck.

It was only a few seconds later that the eyes of the necking couple noticed the presence of the others in that room, much to their chagrin. Instantly they parted and broke out in to a paroxysm of apologies.

"Sorry Aunty, sorry, sorry," their faces had turned somewhat pale as they now stood there, shivering in discomfiture.

"What sorry, you are Gupta Ji's daughter right?" Mrs. Sharma interrogated sharply, with every intention of going to the girl's father and telling him what a harlot his daughter has become.

"Sorry, Aunty..Sorry," they repeated again, red faced. Fearing reprisal, the two of them then rushed out of the room, but only to collide straight in to an oncoming Mr. Sharma in the hallway.

"o ho..be careful!" Mr. Sharma rebuked sharply as he groaned, holding his shoulder that had bore the brunt of the impact.

"sorry uncle..sorry.." the flustered couple muttered another couple of febrile apologies before skittering off like scared rats.

Meanwhile inside the room Mrs. Sharma had gone on a bit of a tirade about the evils that plagued the present generation. "Just look at them, just look at them, no shame, no manners, this kind of dirty acts and that too in the auspicious setting of a wedding house! I am going to talk to Mr. Gupta about it for sure. And who was that boy with her?"

"No idea, may be some band guy, all he has been doing since last evening is playing that guitar of his," Mohit replied, a hint of jealousy in his voice.

"Nalini, do you know anything about this boy? What is his name? Who are his parents?" Mrs. Sharma asked her daughter, but she was just standing there looking stupefied.

"Nalini, what happened? Why have you frozen up like some thief under a search light?" her brother inquired, raising his brow in suspicion.

"No, no, I don't know anything about him," suddenly Nalini replied, her face contorting in aversion as she silently cursed Mr. Gupta's daughter for ensnaring away the one she liked.

At that instant, Mr. Sharma holding his injured shoulder stepped back in to the room, which in effect quickly brought Mrs. Sharma's and Mohit's attentions back on to the important issue at hand.

"What happened? What did your sister say?" Mrs. Sharma asked, her voice laced with expectancy.

"Nothing. Uma wants our Vinnie to be a Sarbala, but Bhai Sahab (Uma's husband) is not giving his consent for it," Mr. Sharma answered with a sigh, turning his eyes away as he awaited another verbal foray from his wife.

"What! You mean they are not going to make our Vinnie the Sarbala!" Mrs. Sharma exclaimed, a horror-stricken look coming across her face. Mohit became equally distressed at this awful news, and Nalini, well she needed to get over the earlier shock first before she could deal with this one.

Mr. Sharma, without saying another word to his family, turned and stepped out of the room. The other three followed him, walking to the hall with slumped shoulders and broken hearts.

"Okay sing one with the word All in it, All," In the hall, there were still a few left that were playing the Antakshri, though the boy with the guitar was certainly missing.

And so, as the members of the Sharma family were dragging their deflated forms across their hall, someone broke in to a song, which incidentally served as the perfect background music for their present moment of pathos.

"All by myself, gonna be all by myself, gonna be..."

*******
3

On the second floor of a fancy mall in the city, flanked by designer clothing stores on either side, there was located a glass office that served as the workplace of the much revered Pandit Kirat Lal Kanti. This was stated so by the signboard up front, which had Pandit Ji's name inscribed upon it in glittering golden letters along with a lofty proclamation declaring that here in this office, through the auspicious and magical hands of Pandit Kirat Lal Kanti, was solved and cured every problem that inflicted or had ever inflicted mankind with a 110% guarantee.

Upon entering this fancy dominion, one came across a reception and waiting area first in the form of a small anteroom and it was here that Vikram Sahni currently sat in one amidst a row of several chairs stacked against a wall, waiting for his appointment with the Pandit Ji.

Yesterday's incident at the tracks continued to keep him in a majorly disturbed state, though if it was any consolation to his weary eyes, the receptionist in that anteroom, stationed behind a small glass table near the back wall was a beautiful young lady, whose name as engraved on the gilded nameplate on her table was Kumari Karishma.

Kumari Karishma was dressed in a skimpy red dress, one which left her delicate arms bare at the top and was barely able to come down past her thighs at the bottom, thus providing for Vikram a godly sight of her smooth long legs, if the young man cared at all to look in that particular direction.

Just next to Kumari Karishma's table was the glass door that led to the main office, and within that office seated on a plush red sofa chair behind his table, dressed in a silken red kurta with a thick gold chain hanging around his neck, was the balding rotund figure of Pandit Kirat Lal Kanti, who at the moment was deeply immersed in his thoughts, his fat fingers at intervals tapping the glass top of his table. Every now and then his pudgy hand would reach for a pen and a notepad, before drawing down upon the latter some sort of undecipherable pictures, presumably belonging to a form of ancient allegory.

On the other end of the table sat a middle aged lady, the grim lines on whose face indicated towards an existence burdened by worldly troubles. Silently she waited on Pandit Ji to finish his meditation, and her patience was soon rewarded as the rotund man, finished with his esoteric scribbling, leaned forward in his seat and began addressing her.

"His Mars and Saturn, they are acrimonious towards each other, and even Mercury's position is a highly undesirable one, the Jupiter out of ill choler has turned its back on him while Venus and Neptune has always been weak for him, in such a case, for as long as he is alive on Earth, he is going to partake of alcohol every weekend. That is his destiny," the revered man gave his diagnostic, a look of grave seriousness on his face at all times.

Hearing the diagnostic, the lady on the other side became visibly perturbed and started wriggling and shaking in her seat as if in some sort of great discomfort. "Pandit Ji there has got to be something that can be done," she squealed. "For the last two years, he has been drinking alcohol every single weekend, and now you are saying that it is going to carry on for the rest of his life. How is a poor mother to endure if her son turns in to a tosspot?"

"Do not stress yourself, there is one solution," the great man spoke back, his voice calm and smooth at all times. "If God has given us human troubles, then he has also left us ways that can lead out of these troubles. There is a gemstone, known as the white sapphire, which in a situation such as this can be of great help. Take a white sapphire and on the full moon evening bathe it in raw milk, have it then set in to a silver ring and on a Saturday morning, while enchanting the name of God in your heart, put it on the index finger of your son's right hand. It will help him gain positive energies from his Mercury and Venus and within only a few months, he will stop drinking all together."

"Pandit Ji, this white sapphire...?" The hapless woman tried to ask, having never heard about such a gemstone in her life, but before she could even finish with her query, the greatly revered Pandit Ji was already answering it.

"By a mere donation of 5100, you can obtain a white sapphire, blessed by the powers of 108 Himalayan Yogis, from Kumari Karishma who is sitting outside in the reception room," he said while smiling down at her benevolently, as if she was some ignorant child to whom he had just revealed some great mystery of life.

"Thank you Pandit Ji, thank you very much," the woman expressed her gratitude by joining her hands in sincere devotion towards the great man. Still smiling, he pointed her to the door after which she went out to the anteroom to buy the needed gemstone. A most content and happy creature she became as she obtained that gemstone from Kumari Karishma and then walked out of that glass office, 110% confident that soon the drinking days of her son would be far behind him.

Her departure meant that it was now Vikram's turn to have his appointment with the Pandit Ji. With a persistent urgency in both his step and manner, he entered the office and approached the desk of the pear shaped man.

"Namaskar Pandit Ji, Pandit Ji please do something. I told you on the phone what all had happened yesterday on those tracks. After that incident, I don't think I can keep on going back there, Please do something Pandit Ji," with his hands joined in supplication, Vikram fell in to a fit of pleadings.

But that great man did not seem to be at all perturbed by Vikram's blabbering, for he kept smiling down at him in a sort of kind condescension. "Son, have a seat first and calm yourself down," he spoke with the same equanimity as always, while he pointed to the seat which was not long ago occupied by the 'once hapless, now happy' mother.

"Your situation is grave Son but always remember, if God has given us human troubles, then he has also left us ways that can lead out of these troubles," And then he held his hand up, signaling Vikram to stay quiet, as he fell back once again in to a meditative state.

In the period of uncomfortable silence that followed, Vikram found himself reeling under the thoughts of yesterday's incident at the tracks. The abject cowardice he had shown in making no attempts whatsoever to save that young kid from the onrushing train was unceasingly gnawing at his soul.

Although he could seek a bit of solace in the fact that he had at least avoided putting his own life in danger by making the choice that he had, still it was far from enough when it came to saving his conscience from its present distress, and therefore it was quite natural that he wished no longer to relive the memories of that incident iteratively by continuing his daily pilgrimage to the Peepal tree near the tracks.

"There are some evil powers, lurking around you at the moment. These do not wish for you to complete your daily observance," Pandit Ji spoke after having scribbled down some more pictures in his notepad.

He then noticed that the young man was lost in his own train of thoughts at that moment, so in order to get his attention he snorted out aloud a couple of times before suddenly breaking in to a harangue .

"Exceedingly 'EVIL AND DANGEROUS' these powers are Son, the sort that can destroy a man completely. Do not take them lightly; these malicious forces will otherwise harm you like nothing you have experienced in your life before," he spoke in a booming voice. "Do you understand what I am saying son?" he asked sternly, to which he saw the shuddering young man now nodding his head like a slave afraid of a flogging. This seemed to satisfy him for the moment and so once again a benign smile broke out on to his countenance, his manners returning to their previous genteelness.

"Do not worry son, do not worry, these Evil powers do not know that this time they are coming face to face with none other than your Pandit Kirat Lal Kanti 'Ji'," he boasted, with a self-congratulatory grin.

"This very evening I will carry out a ritual that should get you rid of these malevolent spirits, and through the same I shall also find for you a new tree." So he alleviated the pains of the young man, who in turn stood up and started thanking him whole heartedly.

"No need for that Son, It was only my duty," he humbly replied, like the selfless altruistic spirit that he was. "Only do make a donation of 2100 to Kumari Karishma outside as a gift to the Goddess of the ritual," he added, merely as an insignificant little post script note.

It seemed like the appointment had come to an end, another problem solved with 110% guarantee, but just as Vikram was about to take his leave, Pandit Ji stopped him as if stimulated by some last minute consideration. "And yes Son, before you change the tree, it is essential that you take the permission from the present one for it. Towards that purport, take from Kumari Karishma outside a hallowed yellow thread, one blessed by 108 Himalayan Yogis and tie it around the Peepal tree this evening. A mere donation of 1100 would suffice for it."

"B.But Pandit Ji, I feel kind of queasy about going near that tree after all that had happened," Vikram remonstrated, even if it was for just one time he did not wish to visit that Peepal tree again.

"Show some courage Son, show some courage. It is courage which helps men do even the impossible," Pandit Ji shot back, raising his voice once again. "Show some courage, otherwise 'annihilation' is inevitable."

"O...Okay Pandit Ji," And Vikram, knowing that there was no defying the great man, agreed to do his bidding.

He then took his leave from Pandit Ji's office and went out to Kumari Karishma's desk where after depositing the required largess he acquired the talismanic yellow thread, which to a pair of eyes not veiled by blind superstition would look no different from any ordinary regular thread.

*******

After his departure from Pandit Ji's office, Vikram made his way to the nearest bus stop. Considering that the auto rickshaw walas were too reckless a specie, and that driving a private vehicle in the haphazard chaos which was Ludhiana's traffic was tantamount to a suicide attempt in his eyes, the city bus was Vikram's preferred mode of transportation on the seldom occasions when he was compelled by ineluctable circumstances like today to travel distances that were beyond his walking capabilities.

In view of the fact that it was the middle of the afternoon, a time when the number of people commuting in the buses are far less as compared to morning and evening hours, and in a city like Ludhiana, where the majority of people do not prefer the bus anyways, which therefore led to even a sparser number of passengers in these off-peak hours, it was no surprise that when Vikram arrived at the bus stop, he found it more or less in a deserted state. And Vikram, who had no great affinity for the pathogen laced throngs of this world, welcomed this afternoon desolation as he began his wait for a bus.

But unluckily for him it did not remain like that for long, since just a couple of minutes later, there arrived at that bus stop, an elderly looking Sardar Ji of a tall and slightly bulky built. He was dressed in a very simple cotton shirt and a pair of comfortable pajamas along with a plain white turban whose color matched that of the thick beard that he had on his face.

The ruddy complexion on his visage pointed at a life spent in outdoor activities, and the spirited look in his eyes hinted at a love for taking on adventures, and currently his casual attire and the curious manner in which he stared at the things around him, be it the beautiful blue sky above or the various shadowy effects that were being casted by his surroundings on the ground below, pointed at just one opinion – that he was out here for an exploratory afternoon stroll around the city.

His particular deportment though was neither fascinating nor disquieting for Vikram, in fact its observance raised in him a feeling of familiarity, for he saw little flashes of his own distant past in the mannerisms of this aged man, a time when he used to whimsically go for long walks around the city at the most random of times just to soak up the variety of environments it had to offer.

His little reminiscence lasted only a short while though as his attentions were quickly hoisted back on to the old man, who with now coming towards him with a jovial smile on his face.

A little alarmed Vikram took one step back, only for the old man to take two more forward, and the process continued until Vikram was huddled in one of the corners of the bus stop, with the old man standing right in front of him, looking him up and down as one would examine some odd foreign object, the smile on his face never vanishing for one second.

"So, my dear fellow, how long are you going to keep tying threads around tree trunks?" he asked Vikram in a most nonchalant manner, yawning and stretching out his arms as he awaited his reply, behaving as if he had posed to him the most trivial of questions.

"Wh..what!" In shock Vikram exclaimed, a thousand thoughts running through his mind. Who was this man? How did he know about the thread tying? What else did he know? What were his intentions?

But before Vikram could pose any of these questions, the man fired at him one more of his own. "I just want to know about the duration of your life that you plan on wasting away by living in this unreasonable fear of death my dear fellow."

Just who in the world did this person think that he was, to meddle in someone's affairs so blatantly?

"It is none...of your business..." Vikram answered him, no wonder with a hint of anger in his voice.

"It kind of is, my dear fellow, it kind of is. Life is too beautiful, full of too many charms and possibilities, for you to waste it away like that. No my dear Sir, that is not done, not done at all. You can't just keep ruining the time that has been given to you on this earth by living in the perpetual fear of death, no you just can't." Taking no offence at his rudeness, the old man responded to him in a kind voice and then paused momentarily, as if deliberating some idea, before he continued. "Every day as you walk to that Peepal tree, I believe on your way you must come across a somewhat old white building, couple of stories tall, a yard up front with a rusted swing, few trees, a wooden fence as its front boundary, do you know of it?"

"Yes, it is somebody's house I believe, what of it?"

"Just go there this evening, and you will find a solution to your problem. I assure you of that."

"What is this, some kind of dupery? I am not stupid, to walk in to an unknown building and put myself in potential danger."

"But you are in grave danger already my dear fellow. You are in danger of wasting away the rest of your life, by spending it under the bleak fears which plague you presently."

"Hey! I am afraid of death because I know how horrible it is. You do not, else you would just be like me, and in fact the whole world would just be like me."

"What if I tell you that I do know what death is and what if I tell you that it is nothing to be afraid of?"

"Nothing to be afraid of huh? Mister I have seen this thing we call death up close, and believe me, it has a very ugly face. So don't try your gibberish on me."

"I have not come here to speak gibberish to you my dear fellow, I only wish to help you. Just take a little leap of faith this evening and believe me if you do, it will save you a lot of grief."

With these concluding remarks, the old man who had shown a serene calmness throughout this conversation turned and walked away, leaving a flustered and agitated Vikram behind.

In fact he was still grappling with the meaning of the old man's words when his bus arrived some fifteen minutes later. Vikram boarded it, but not before taking out a surgical mask from his pocket and securing it over his mouth and nose as protection against the germs of the other commuters.

*******

At Shivani's house, the function of Mehandi (Henna) ceremony was about to begin with a number of guests having already gathered in the main hall. But the bride to be was absent from amidst these guests, as she was stuck in her room at the moment, busy taking care of her drunken best friend.

"Isn't this so wonderful? On the day of my Mehandi ceremony, instead of being by my side, my best friend has gone ahead and gotten drunk like a pirate," said Shivani, more than a little irked at Meeta for pulling these boozy shenanigans on such an important occasion of her life. "Even last night you did this Meeta. And now again, I mean it is the middle of an afternoon goddamn it! Who gets drunk in the middle of an afternoon!"

"I did..I did not want to get drunk, but that..Raj..he..hurt me..so much.." Meeta's words were slurred, a doleful pout appearing on her face as she slumped back in bed and laid her aching head down on a pillow.

"Yaar, you been saying this since last night, but are you at least going to tell me what he did?" Shivani responded, having no knowledge of what occurred between Meeta and Raj which had left her friend so disconsolate.

"No..I won't tell you now, first you have your wedding. Then I will tell you. But that Raj, he is, such a jerk, such a..such a..." Meeta's voice began to stain with tints of anger. "such a..."

"dog??" Shivani suggested, for now having no other option but to indulge her friend.

"no, no he is not a dog.." Meeta suddenly protested. "he is a good person..such a nice guy.."

"Oh, he has now become a nice person! Good, Very Good," Shivani sighed and crumpled in to a chair by the side of the bed, seeing no quick end to this situation.

"You remember the time I quit smoking? You remember I said I was doing it because I have gotten inspired by that Mukesh advertisement they play in theaters before a movie," Meeta went on, with some effort propping herself back up in to a sitting position.

"Yeah I remember," Shivani answered somewhat absently, glancing at the door. She could hear the drone of the guests that were gathered outside and knew that sooner or later she would need to go out and join them, but she did not want to leave Meeta alone in her present state.

"Well I actually did not get inspire winspire Yaar, nopesy, not at all. Actually I saw that Raj had liked an Anti-Smoking Page on Facebook, so, so I...shunned it," she revealed in a wistful tone.

"This Raj...has totally ruined you, hell he has even ruined my Mehandi ceremony," Shivani mumbled back with a frown.

"No Yaar..don't..don't say that.." Meeta hiccupped. "he is..such..a nice guy..You remember?"

"Now what remember?" Shivani went along for now. She was hoping that none of her family members would come across Meeta in her current state, or she would be left with a lot of explaining to do.

"When we went to that Manali trip, and we were playing Antakshri in the bus, and that Prerna sang that song... yehhhhh hai reshmi julfon ka andheraaaaa na..ghabrayie.."

"Don't tell me you have fallen in love with Prerna too?"

"Are no yaar, you don't understand anything...Raj, you should have noticed the way he was looking at her long hair..I mean..so I too.." and Meeta held up some locks of her own long and slightly messy looking mane of black hair.

"Oh God! And I thought it was me who had convinced you to get rid of that stupid pixie cut of yours!" Shivani shook her head in surprise.

"No Yaar, actually, I was better with that pixie cut. I mean even to comb these long ones take me an eternity every day," Meeta chuckled. In retrospect, it all seemed so stupid now, the little things she had done to win that idiot Raj over.

"And you remember?"

"Now what..?"

But before Meeta could make any more confessions she was cut short by an urgent knock on the door.

"Shivani beta, are you in the room..?" It was a slightly low pitched female voice, one befitting the alto section of a chorus group, coming from the other side of that door.

"Okay mum's here, so stay mum for now, okay?" Shivani gave Meeta a stern glance in order to get her point across, and Meeta in return pouted again before raising a finger and putting it across her lips.

"Yeah mum?" Shivani asked as she opened the door for her mother.

"All the guests are gathered outside and you are sitting here in your room, come out now, we have to start the ceremony," her mother told her. "And one more thing, that boy Raj is here too, he is waiting for you and Meeta outside," she added.

Meeta's features grew visibility perturbed as she heard about Raj's arrival. What was he doing here?

"What has happened to her?" Shivani's mother asked, noticing Meeta's besotted and haggard looking face.

"Nothing has happened mum, she is just not feeling well. You go back to the guests now, I will be out within a minute," Shivani responded with great urgency, wanting her mother to leave before she could get suspicious about her friend's inebriation.

"Alright then. By the way, should I get her some medicine?"

"No mum, she just needs to sleep for a while, that is all."

"Alright then," And Shivani's mother took her leave, much to her daughter's immediate relief.

"I am going out and sending Raj here. Just say whatever it is that you two have to say to each other, and finish all this," Shivani enjoined Meeta before she skittered out of the room, cursing the ill timing of this whole crisis.

It was in the hall, that Shivani noticed Raj standing back in one of the corners with a grim looking face, casting a shadow of desolation over the joyous festivities of her wedding. At once she went up to him and gave him a piece of her mind.

"Look, whatever it is between you and Meeta, you better sort it out, and I mean it..." she whispered to him sharply. "She is in my room, just go and sort out your stuff." It was more of a command and less of an advice from the bride, before she stepped away and started mingling with the guests of the ceremony.

Raj with the weight of yesterday's incident still on his shoulders began to move with a heavy tread towards her room. But before he could reach it, he was met by a stumbling Meeta in the hallway itself.

"Meeta, are you alright?" Raj reflexively reached for her shoulder to try and support her, only to have his hand pushed away.

From this gesture of acerbity and from the sour and tense expression on her face, Raj could gauge that Meeta was angry at him, and why should not she be, his actions from last evening warranted it.

"Meeta, I came here to apologize to you for what happened last evening..I am so sorry.." Raj said lowering his eyes, hoping to gain her forgiveness, and somewhere deep down, hoping to gain back her affection as well. "I was a complete jerk, for what I said to you, I thought about it the whole time last night..I am so sorry.."

But Meeta just continued to stand there with a restless and strained expression on her face, as if she was finding it difficult to even stand in the presence of this guy.

"Meeta, please..say something..anything.." Raj pleaded with all earnestness.

"Spring roll....

Spring roll Sir?"

Unexpectedly butting in was a raspy voice belonging to a waiter, who tasked with distributing snacks in the ceremony had appeared behind Raj in that hallway, eager to serve him and his lady friend some hot spring rolls.

"No we don't need it," Raj answered him, irritated but able to maintain a calm demeanor on the outside. The waiter, after getting the response, nodded his head and left the two of them in their belligerent peace.

Raj turned his eyes back towards Meeta and noticed that she was looking even more restless than before.

"Meeta, please, say something, hurl curses at me if you want but at least say something," Raj pleaded once again.

It was at that moment that he saw Meeta's face staining hard, with her trembling lips about to move and utter something, when all of a sudden..

"Photo..

Photo Sir?"

This time it was the photographer hired for the ceremony who had come to spoil the buildup.

"We don't want to have any photo taken, okay," Raj answered, staining hard to keep his composure.

"One photo Sir, it is important for the compilation, all the guests have had one," The photographer requested, he was a novice young man eager to impress his clients by giving them an album which would exemplify this ceremony in all its wholesomeness.

Raj, seeing that the photographer by making minute adjustments to his camera had already begun preparations for taking their picture, found no other option but to grudgingly give him the acquiescence.

"Yes, just stand right there Sir..Perfect Madam," the photographer maneuvered them in to the right position before focusing his camera.

"Just smile now, smile..."

But as the picture was clicked, there was only one person smiling in it, in fact to be more exact there was only one person in it, since Meeta, a second before that camera flashed, had run off from that spot.

A couple of minutes later, a dispirited Raj was met by Shivani in the main hall as he was making his way out of her house.

"So, what happened, did you guys sort it out?" she asked, eagerly.

"No, she does not even want to talk to me, and I deserve that, I deserve that completely," And shaking his head, he walked off and made his departure.

For the next five or so minutes, Shivani frantically searched the various sections of the house for Meeta and finally found her in one of the rooms, where she was lying flat on a heap of mattresses.

"All I have since last night is you tattling the name of Raj, and now when he was finally here, you did not even have a word to say to him? I mean you don't want to get over him; you don't want to sort things out with him. What do you want girl?" Shivani broke in to a rant as she moved towards her friend.

"Arey, at least listen to me yaar," Meeta replied in a soft voice, she was like a child trying to avoid a scolding.

"Now what to listen? When it was time to say something, you turned in to a mute," Shivani went on with her remonstrance, only for Meeta to reach out and grab her hand, after which she scrunched up her nose and made a cute little face at her friend in order to pacify her.

"God, you and your cute faces," Shivani sighed. "Next time I am not letting you off the hook so easily. Now tell me, why did not you say anything to him?"

"Actually yaar, after gulping down all that vodka, I had to pee real bad. I was on my way to the bathroom when Raj came over and stopped me in my way. I tried to stand there for as long as I could, but people kept interrupting us, with spring rolls or photos..I just could not hold myself back any more." Meeta explained but noticed that she was drawing a blank look from Shivani. So she retold the whole thing, this time with all the details.

When it finally dawned on Shivani what had happened, she burst out laughing and Meeta too joined her in it, and so for a long while, the two friends just remained there, giggling in mirth.

"Okay Meeta. Enough jokes. You need some rest. Go to my room and catch a nap. Raj will be there in the Shagun ceremony tonight. You can talk to him there."

*******
4

28th January, 2014. 9:08 P.M

Amar's Shagun ceremony was taking place in a brightly lit up garden of a resort, located at a little distance from the busiest flyover in the city-Jagraon Bridge. Already a large number of guests, almost all of them wearing glossy faces and donning glittering new clothes, were assembled there to celebrate this joyous occasion, and as is the norm in our country, most of this celebration was being done by them in front of the food and snack stalls.

One of these esteemed invitees was Mohit, who only a second or two ago had come away from the sweet's stall with what was his third plate of Gulab Jamuns tonight. And since Gulab Jamuns were best enjoyed seated, he directly made his way for the rows of folding chairs on the other side of the garden, where he went on to grab himself a seat next to his sister Nalini.

"Eat all the gulab jamuns you want bother but it is not going to make up for our loss," Nalini quipped, looking quite alluring in her white Anarkali suit embellished with sequins and intricate golden patterns of embroidery.

"I know sis. But if I am going to sink, I prefer sinking with the taste of gulab jamuns in my mouth," Mohit joked back and chuckled. He knew that the battle was now all but lost and the only thing left to do was to eat some gulab jamuns and be gracious in defeat.

Still moments later when Ankur, the boy who had beaten his younger brother Vinnie to the position of Sarbala, happened to skitter past him and Nalini while chasing his balloon, Mohit could not resist but take another dig at the enemy.

"I just don't understand what these people see in this Ankur, our Vinnie is at least 100 times cuter than him," he groaned and then looked pensively at the half eaten gulab jamun in his plate.

"It is all politics brother, it is all politics. In fact everything in this world is politics," Nalini responded, as she reached out and patted her brother on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

*******

Another person in that Shagun Ceremony who was in need of some comforting was Raj. His slumped shoulders, his dull eyes, the haggard look on his face, all of them were in sharp incongruity to the glittery pomp of the ceremony. He was like a dark shadow, slowly moving around that garden with a heavy tread, now found near the central small canopy under which the Shagun ceremony was to take place, a few seconds later wandering back in to one of the corners as if ready to dissolve in to nothingness, and before long standing smack dab in the middle of the gathering absently gazing at the leftovers on the plates in one of the plastic crates, it was as if the deep unrest in his soul was taking him everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

And then he saw her entering that garden, looking simple and sweet as ever, like a blessing sent by the heavens for his withered soul. But was it too late already? Had he, with his cynicism, poisoned that blessing in to a curse?

He stood there stealing hesitant glances at her, but not able to gather the courage to approach her. She had made it perfectly clear this afternoon that she no longer wished to have anything to do with him at all. But wait, why was she coming towards him? He looked behind him, then to either side of him, wondering if someone else she knew was standing nearby and that she was walking towards that person instead of him, but there was no one, and soon enough she was standing right in front of him.

"So you were saying something this afternoon?" she asked simply, her voice soft and lacking any sort of definite emotion.

"I..I..I came to apologize.." he managed to somehow answer, struggling against the knot in his throat.

"So, apologize," she said.

"Well I am sorry for what I said, I should not have said that, I was wrong," he repeated his apology from earlier.

"Okay. Apology accepted. Anything else you want to discuss?" She asked next. Was she trying to hint at something?

"I want us to be friends again if we could," he answered, after what was a long pause.

"Okay," she nodded, hiding back her disappointment. "Is that all?"

"Yes..I ..think..so."

And so there they stood as two diplomats fencing with the swords of pretentious glib, when they should have been two kindred souls laying their hearts bare to one another to show how much love and admiration each held for the other.

*******

A couple of hundred yards from that garden resort, Vikram Sahni stood on a pavement, facing the very white building of which he had been told earlier this afternoon by the elderly Sardar Ji.

In it was supposed to be the cure to his affliction, the remedy to all his sorrows. Or may be a trap laid out for him by the evil powers to stop him from conforming to his daily observance.

Two opposing voices were fighting it out in his head, one calm and reasonable, the other strident and crying out doom. On one side were the words of that old man ringing in his mind – for how long are you going to keep living your life in fear dear fellow? On the other side was the booming warning of the Pandit Ji – Annihilation is inevitable if you do not follow through with what I ask of you son.

Confounded, as he had remained since the time of meeting the Sardar Ji, Vikram continued to just stand there on the side of the road and stare at that white house. If only he could climb over its front picket fence, walk the pathway that led to the porch, ascend its steps and knock on the front door, he would know for sure if it was an insidious trap or a benign blessing waiting for him in there, or may be for all purposes just some kind of a poor practical joke.

In a conflict, the wont of a weaker being is to stand up for the side which demands the least degree of action from him, the one giving him the safer option on the surface. As such Vikram too was beginning to develop a line of argument in favor of the Pandit Ji.

Had not the great man warned him of evil powers looking to put deterrents in his path? Then surely it could not be a mere coincidence that on the same day a stranger would appear out of nowhere and try to lure him with false beguiling notions, all in an effort to stop him from tying the yellow talismanic thread around the Peepal tree, a task which Pandit Ji had stated was of utmost importance for his well being.

Slowly but surely his mind was forming its final opinion on the matter, and so not long after, Vikram looked at that building with a distrustful sneer and told it in no unclear terms that he had won and it had lost.

"I am not falling for your gibberish, not now, not ever."

And he began to walk away, resuming his course towards the Peepal tree while giving himself a conciliatory pat on the back for successfully resisting the temptation the dark powers had put in front of him.

All of a sudden though, he felt a cold burst of wind upon his face and moments later, heard the rumbling of dark heavy clouds coming together in the sky above. As he reflexively flexed his elbow in order to open his umbrella so that he could protect himself from the coming rains, he realized that in all his perturbation about what was inside that white building, he had forgotten to bring his umbrella in the first place!

*******

A mere fifteen seconds later those dark clouds opened up and began to pelt the lands underneath with heavy showers. In the garden where the Shagun ceremony was taking place, the panicked guests were running around looking for shelter, with many hurrying towards the canopy in the center.

Raj and Meeta were too heading for this cover when Raj took off his jacket and moved it over Meeta's head to protect her from the rain.

"You care this much about me!" Meeta asked him somewhat teasingly, her round black orbs carrying a hint of mischief.

"Even a sprinkle of a drizzle and you catch cold. Now stop talking and move more quickly!" Raj answered her, his voice urgent as he increased the pace of his strides.

But instead of following suit, Meeta out of a sudden capricious whim, stopped in her tracks. It caused Raj to momentarily overshoot ahead with his jacket before he too checked his steps and hastened back to her.

"Why did you stop?" he asked a little nettled. Since his jacket was not large enough to provide cover for the both of them, more than half his body was exposed to the pouring rain at the moment.

"Nothing, you can go," Meeta replied simply.

"What!"

"You want to stay you can stay. You want to go you can go," she said with a casual shrug of her shoulders.

Meanwhile those who had made it to the canopy, were huddled under it forming a tight circle around the space in which the Shagun ceremony was about to begin. Seated in there were the groom and his parents, some close family relatives as well as the ubiquitous Pandit Kirat Lal Kanti.

"Pandit Ji, can't we delay the ceremony till the rain stops?" Amar's mother inquired of the eminent man.

"See this is the most auspicious of times for the Shagun. Yes we can delay a little, but then we must perform another ritual to ask forgiveness from the Gods for not doing the ceremony on the time they had picked," Pandit Ji responded, benignly clarifying the situation to the groom's mother as well as to all other present.

"I don't think there is any need of a delay. If this is the time, then this is the time," It was Amar's father who suddenly intervened in the matter. On Pandit Ji's advice, he had already spent a small fortune on various remedies necessary for clearing the astrological obstacles in his son's marriage and was therefore in no mood for any more of this profligacy.

"As you wish Good Sir, as you wish," Pandit Ji responded to the father, never letting that even-tempered smile veer away from his face.

It was during this time that Mohit suddenly noticed something which could prove to be of remarkable consequence for him and his family, something which had the potential to completely turn around their poor fortune.

He tried conveying it to his mother, subvocalizing his words but saw that she was unable to make out the aphonic message. He thought about squeezing himself through the crowd and going to her, and he would have if it was not for someone in the crowd giving voice to his serendipitous discovery at that moment.

"Where is Ankur?"

"Yes, where is the Sarbala?"

"There can't be any Shagun without the Sarbala!"

"He was around earlier. But where is he now?"

Within seconds, the absence of the Sarbala became a hot matter of inquiry in the gathering which culminated in to his mother being prompted to provide an explanation about her son's whereabouts. The distressed looking lady went on to make a call to the cell phone of her older son, who as a coincidence was also missing.

"The two brothers had gone to our car to collect the bouquets for the ceremony when the downpour began. So they are kind of stuck there now," she gravely announced after completing the call.

"So shall we delay the ceremony then? Don't worry, the ritual we will have to perform to make up for it is a very simple one," Pandit Ji asked the groom's father, his smile growing a little smug.

It was at this opportune moment that Mohit elbowed Nalini, who in turn elbowed the person sitting next to her, who consequently elbowed the person sitting next to him, and so it happened that eventually this train of elbows reached Mohit's mother who as a result poked her husband, who then nudged his own sister in to action.

"I say if Ankur is absent then we can have Vinnie sit as the Sarbala. It is one and the same thing really," she proposed but then immediately noticed that her husband did not look too happy about the idea. "Or may be, we can just go ahead and pay for that ritual," she added cheekily.

And that impertinent little whisper at the end proved enough to change the mind of the groom's face, who therefore grumpily gave his accord to this last minute change of Sarbala.

*******

When the rain began, Vikram was out in the open with no possible shelter in sight, and as he felt the first few drops of moisture on his face, there was only one ominous word ringing in his head: Pneumonia.

Without much forethought he turned back and ran towards the white house to save himself. There was no trap in there; the intention of the old man was at worst a practical joke; so he consoled himself by saying.

On reaching the outer picket fence, he found that the double swing wooden gate in it was open and so he pushed his way through it and rushed across the front yard pathway leading towards the porch of the house. But once at the steps of the porch, he abruptly stopped in his tracks, as he noticed in front of him the presence of another old man.

Dressed in a simple white shirt, a pair of black pants held up by matching suspenders and a black beret cap, he sat there in his easy chair, looking quite the scholar as he was reading through his glasses one of Charles Dickens' masterpieces, the life and adventures of Nicholas Nickelby.

For a while Vikram forgot all about the pouring rain, as he stood there weighing up the implications of what he was seeing. The snake of suspicion was once again rearing its poisonous head in his mind. Although the old man did not match the looks one would associate with an agent of the dark powers, even then one could never be fully sure. The dark powers were getting more wicked by the day, weren't they?

"Hello, Hello son! What are you doing standing in the rain like that? Come in, come in," Vikram's thoughts were broken by the voice of that old man urging him to move in to the refuge of the porch.

Regaining the awareness that he was getting soaked in the rain, he climbed up the steps in front of him, though telling himself to be on the lookout at all times for any hint of foul play.

"Quite heavy huh, and very sudden too, and to think that just ten minutes ago the skies were all clear, nature, it is quite a mercurial force, isn't it?" The old man commented as he stepped to the wooden banister of the porch and extended out an arm to feel some of that cold winter rain on his wrinkled skin while he turned his gentle eyes unto the visitor. "Alas! I just notice that you have gotten yourself all wet. What are you doing, standing out in the rain and gawking at an old man like me, huh? I hope you don't have any unchaste intentions here young man, ha ha, please do not mind my sense of humor, it is on occasions weird to say the least, please come in, come right in and I will get you a towel so that you can dry yourself up," And the old man ushered the untrusting youth in to the house, where the two of them found themselves standing in a cozy and homely living room. "Just wait here and I will get you that towel," the host said, and then disappeared in to one of the doors, leaving Vikram alone in there.

This gave Vikram an opportunity to look around for signs of the Sardar Ji in that living room, but finding none reaffirmed his notion that the doddering fella was just playing some kind of a silly prank on him, sending him out to the house of a random stranger.

"Here son, and feel at ease," the old man was back with the towel, which he now held out for his guest.

Vikram dropped his thoughts and took the towel after which he used it to dry himself for the next couple of minutes. After doing the most thorough job of wiping and scrubbing, he returned it as he thanked the old man for his kindness.

"Never mind that Son, never mind that, just tell me what would you like to have for a drink? And don't say no regular coffee or tea, that stuff is too bland, just like my dead wife, god bless her soul ha ha, anyhow, back to the topic of drinks, I have some fine brandy in the back if you would like to have a taste," the old man offered graciously.

"No, Sir, I am fine really," Vikram replied, adhering to that old proverb of 'Never accepting drinks from a stranger'.

"Ah, you young people! Always so formal, always so proper. Never mind, never mind at all. I won't force you for it, I guess I can just indulge you in a conversation till the time this rain stops and frees you from company, ha ha."

"Yes, of course. By the way it's a nice house you have here Sir."

"Oh yes, of course, thank you, it belongs to me and my friends."

"Your friends?"

"Oh yes, everyone has friends. I do too. In fact here comes one of them."

Stepping in to that living room was another elderly man, but dressed rather oddly in clothes befitting a young teenaged hip-hop fan. A loose green football jersey, a pair of low waist jeans, matching green sneakers and a Polk-a-dot green bandana wrapped around his head constituted his attire.

"hey yo," he gave Vikram a bit of a salute.

"now listen..

You think I am a old man, from some senile block

With his legs so worn out, that he can't walk the walk

but you ain't seen me walk boy, I have got the strength of a rock

and these words, I can rip this shit so bad, it will send you all in shock..

you don't believe me, well you haven't fucking heard me roar..

just give me some rhythm and I will blast you off this floor.."

"Haha...haha...haha," The wild chuckles of the beret wearing old man resonated around the room after he heard his friend's rap. "You are never going to be good at this my man...you will just end up scaring our guest away, just like you scared your wife away...ha ha...don't mind me..I like myself some wife jokes...ha ha..."

"Well give me some time and I will be better at this. Anyways, I have some writing to finish and I can feel that the muse of inspiration is kind on me at the present moment. So pardon me Sirs, I have to bid you adieu," the bandana man said, before he gave Vikram another salute and then walked off.

"Don't let your first impressions misguide you my dear lad, the man might be pretty awful at this rap thing but he is a mighty fine musician, a mighty fine one, and that Sir, is no joke," The beret man said after his friend had left.

"So you and your friends live together?" An intrigued Vikram asked.

"Yes indeed. In fact there is another one upstairs in his bedroom, but he has been busy there with his Missus since the afternoon. No, it is not what you think it is, at our age, it is nearly impossible to pull off a feat like that...ha ha. The two of them are on a harry potter movie binge right now."

"Is it a Sardar Ji, this third friend?" Vikram next inquired, wondering if this third friend was the same person he had met at the bus stop earlier today.

"No, not a Sardar," the old man replied, his face growing ponderous for a second or two. "But, that does not mean there isn't a Sardar, there is one," he smiled at Vikram before briskly going to one of the cabinets in that living room and coming back with a thick photo album.

"There he is, the Sardar of our group," And inviting Vikram to take a seat on the couch, he flipped open the album, and there indeed was the picture of the same man that Vikram had earlier met. The picture was against the backdrop of a snowy peak and from all the mountain gear he was wearing, it was clear that it was taken while he was on some kind of a trekking expedition. "He is the man that in a way made all of this happen for us," the old man began to reminisce, while turning the pages of that photo album.

In there were vignettes of the man, traveling through different countries, trekking through different terrains, some with friends, others alone, some funny like the one in which he was pretending to lift a heavy boulder, some poignant like the one where he stood teary-eyed as he stared at the vast expanse of the Arabian sea in front of him, each of these pictures seemed to have some interesting story behind it, and seeing them Vikram felt both fascinated as well as a little remorseful. To think that he could have had similar adventures in his own life instead of spending all his time running around Pandits and Peepal trees!

"As you can see, a constant traveler, always in search of adventure. And in a way the person that made life happen once again for all of us," the old man continued with his anecdotal recital. "See son. The four of us were friends from college itself. O Life was so beautiful then, days spent in the company of our mates and nights spent in the company of our dreams. But then after college, the cares of life began to take a toll on each one of us, so heavily these weighed us down that listless our existence became. And slowly we drifted apart, each beset with his personal troubles, his own grief."

"It was some 10 years ago, that we met again. All old men, defeated by life, just counting our days away and waiting for death. Even our families didn't need us anymore. You see son, young folks don't need old folks like us after a time, and I don't blame them, a time comes when their own struggles become more important, and then naturally, they start to forget all about us."

"Anyhow the universe was kind enough to bring the four of us together again one fateful day and after sharing a little bit of that fine elixir which we call liquor, we began to confide in to each other the state of our minds. And that night, after all this time we were friends again, arms in arms, laughing and crying together, and it was then that our traveler said to us - Why does it have to stop?"

"Ah, yes, why does it have to stop? Why not instead of wasting away alone in some dark desolate corner, we spend our old age in the company of each other? Why not? "

"And so here we are living together in this house for the last ten years, watching films, enjoying music, travelling, reading, dancing, laughing. There's just so much to life, only one need to rekindle the spirit for it in one's heart at times, and for us, what rekindled our spirits was the company of our mates."

Vikram, who had listened to the whole story with riveted attention, now felt a strong inclination towards having another meeting with this traveler, only this time he would meet him in admiration rather than fear. "So, where is he? Is he not home right now?"

"Alas, my dear fellow, he passed away two years ago. Terminal cancer. But you know what, that remarkable man did not allow even that horrific disease to bog him down. Instead of spending his last few months in a hospital as strongly suggested by his Doctor, he forced all of us to go traveling through the Himalayas on our bikes. He took his last breath in a roadside Dhaba near Kullu," The old man let out a sniffle before pulling out his handkerchief in order to dab his eyes. But before he could, he noticed that the young man sitting in front of him was looking very agitated all of a sudden. "Are you alright, Son?" he asked, a little concerned.

"B..but..how..can that ..I m..ean.." Vikram in reply was barely able to enunciate his words. His blood was running cold and his entrails had contorted themselves in to a bungled mess. How could this man be dead when he had only met him earlier this afternoon!

But as Vikram was about to make another attempt at speech and possibly convey to the old man tidings of the event at the bus stop, there was suddenly heard coming from behind one of the doors, a loud clanging noise, which almost gave his palpitating heart an attack!

"Ah, it's that incorrigible cat again, always making a mess of my kitchen. Just give me a minute to go and take care of this," And the old man stood up and left the living room in a hurry.

As soon as he left though, there appeared in front of Vikram, a floating and wavy image of the Sardar Ji, the phantasm like form having a hazy looking torso and head with its bottom half consisting of a tapering mermaid like tail. This spectral vision caused Vikram to jump up from the couch, cold sweat pouring down his face as he found himself on the verge of breaking in to hysterics.

"Don't be afraid, my dear fellow. Don't be afraid. I have no intention of harming you. None at all. Just sit, sit and listen to me now," A warm and assuring voice came from the wraith in an attempt to sedate the mortal, and for now it worked, managing to make him crumple back to the couch.

"Good. What I want to say to you my dear fellow is that your life is too precious and beautiful to waste away in meaningless fears. It was to show you this that I asked you to come here and I am glad you came and you saw the spirit of these old people, who are on the verge of death but are still living and enjoying their existence to the fullest. And as far as your fear about death is concerned, well I assure you it is nothing to be afraid of. It is not the nightmare that you think it is. I speak no gibberish my dear fellow, rather I speak from personal experience. I have been dead for two years. You heard the man, didn't you? So stop being afraid and start living a little son. And if you still can't, then I don't know. For if the truth can't rescue you, I don't know what else can." And with a friendly parting wink at Vikram, the ghost disappeared.

With a stupefied expression on his face, Vikram remained seated in that living room. His heart was still beating out aloud and his eyes were wet from Sardar Ji's words. Too much of his life had gone to waste already.

He could still hear the rain pelting away at the living room window. He was still afraid of it, of getting drenched, of catching pneumonia, of death, but now he somehow knew what he had to do to get over these fears.

A couple of minutes later when the old man returned from the kitchen, he found that his guest was nowhere to be seen, the half open front door of the house indicating that he had taken his leave.

*******

The Shagun ceremony was near its completion and Raj was standing there in the open, thoroughly soaked in rain, but still holding his jacket steadfastly over Meeta's head.

"At least tell me how long is this punishment going to last? I am wet and my arms are aching now," he implored Meeta for some mercy but all he got in return was a quizzical smile.

"So I was trying to entrap you in a relationship, right? And I am one of those girls, one of those gold diggers, who can only love someone with lots and lots of money, right?"

"Are yaar...that was...that was....how do I...I was a first rate idiot, for saying what I said..."

"Only an idiot?"

"Idiot, dumb, stupid, a jerk, an ass, all of it really. Is that okay?"

"It's never been not okay, it's always been okay. I am okay, you are okay and everyone under that canopy is okay. So why don't you go to them, why are you standing here holding your jacket over my head?"

"Are yaar, how many more times do I apologize to you now? Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry,"

"You really are an idiot. Have you ever heard of a love story where all a guy does is say 'sorry'? I mean you watch so many movies and you still don't know anything, do you?"

"Sorry, I don't get it."

"Offo, there is much more to a love story than your sorry Raj." And Meeta rose on her tip toes and stole a small kiss from his lips. She then waited but Raj just stood there, thinking god knows what!

"Offo, at least kiss me properly now!" she exclaimed with a chuckle.

This finally spurred him on, and so he leaned down and kissed Meeta passionately, and in the warmth of that kiss, the thick rusted layers of apathy, bitterness and cynicism that had deposited themselves on his heart over the years, began to melt away, so much so that intermingled with the trickles of water that flowed down from his face to hers while they kissed, were a few of his tears, signaling that life in him had finally broken the shackles of numbness that had been confining it for so long, and was now breathing in him, its first sighs of freedom.

*******

So as Vikram stood there getting drenched in the rain, as Raj and Meeta exchanged that passionate kiss, as the Sharma family were calculating their profit from the Shagun ceremony, as Vibhuti Lal expressed his gratitude to our Sardar Ji for his assistance, as Arjun finally saw that blinking yellow dot on his map disappear, the elderly hip hop man with the bandana, scribbled down the last few words of his song and began to perform it over his piano, his bass voice resonating to all four corners of Ludhiana.

'Smile...

Before you walk this long winding mile..

Before you take the blows from foes and friends alike..

Repose a while..

Rest a while..

My friend, just smile...

Just smile..

Before the cares and troubles of life..

Wear you down with constant strife..

Laugh a while..

Close your eyes and dance a while..

Oh my beautiful friend, just smile..

Smile..

Even if all you see around you is despair..

You give it a smug little smile and make it disappear..

Smile with me, and I'll smile with you..

And I promise, that somehow we'll make it through..

Now be it that you have a broken heart..

Or its some emptiness tearing you apart..

Believe me..

Believe me when I say..

We will search and we will pray...

And in that world of lost smiles..

I will find you yours and you will find me mine..

And as we'll look up at that light so divine...

Arms in arms..

we will smile..

yeah..we..will..smile..

just smile...'
Chapter 4 – The tutelage troubles

1

Our story begins in the football field of a prestigious engineering college, located on the southern outskirts of the city. A football field surrounded by a number of trees, whose previously bare and wintered boughs were now adorned by the fresh leaves of spring, and as these leaves grew, they suffused the very air around them with a heady aroma, which conveyed to one and all that the blighted days of winter were now history and that they were now roaming in the beauty of the intoxicating spring, which sprouted new life on the branches of trees and sprung up new hope in the hearts of men.

In accord with this lively spirit, a group of young men driven on by the energy and buoyancy of their youth were presently involved in an intense session of football practice in the field. Led on by their coach Mr. Joginder Pal Singh, a former national level player and an alumnus of the college, these young men constituted amidst themselves the football team which represented this prestigious institution. With the first competition of the season just a couple of weeks away, it was no wonder that all of them were putting an arduous amount of effort in this practice session, wanting to hone their skills and fitness to the maximum possible level before the opening match.

But among them was one who was not quite himself at the moment, who was lackadaisical in his body language and inchoate in his effort, and for that he was repeatedly getting bombarded with a series of curses and admonitions from his coach.

"Damn it Jain, keep yourself more side on, how many times have I got to fucking tell you that!"

"How can you let him cross the ball in so easy, you are the fucking right-back of this team for god's sake!"

"Don't lose your man, don't lose your fucking man so easily, is that how you mark, is that how you fucking mark someone, twenty pushups, now."

"You never, never show a player on his stronger foot when he is this close to your goal, can't you get that?

But despite the sharp rebukes and the accompanying push-up penalties, the young man, who went in this world by the name of Rishabh Jain, was proving out to be quite intractable, and thus continued to perform well below par in the practice session.

It was some two hours later, a time by which the sun had considerably lowered itself in the skies to immerse the whole of creation in a dusky twilight, when the practice session finally came to an end.

After a string of cooling off exercises, the group of players headed for the bleachers to pack up their kits, and it was here that Rishabh was joined by his team captain, and more importantly his good friend, Sameer.

"You looked well out of it today champ, the coach isn't happy at all," Sameer commented as he sat down beside him.

"Something's been bothering me," Rishabh replied laconically as he continued to pack up his kit.

"What?" Sameer inquired, as the team captain and as his friend, he thought that he had a duty to ask and a right to know.

"Let's get out of here first, ice tea at The Booth?" Rishabh asked to which Sameer responded with a nod, and as such a little while later both of them found themselves on their way to the agreed destination.

The booth was a café of sorts, a small cubicle with a gabled roof that served its patrons, normally the college student and professors, a variety of snacks and refreshments. It was located in an open yard just in front of the Student Club building, the small shack was surrounded by a number of stone benches that were put up there for the purpose of seating.

Rishabh moved to one of these stone benches to reserve it for himself and Sameer as his friend went to The Booth to get those ice teas. He and Sameer were both in their final year of engineering and had been friends with each other almost since the first month of their arrival here, having first encountered each other as class mates and then as team mates.

Soon Sameer returned with the ice teas and it was over the delicious and refreshing sips of the beverage that their earlier conversation recommenced.

"So what is bothering you?" Sameer repeated his original question.

"It was what happened in our Satellite Communications Class today. I mean how can someone teaching final year engineering say that a satellite will fall back on earth if its orbital velocity increases? Even a nincompoop knows that the satellite will overshoot its orbit, not fall back on the planet. I mean, I know the professors here are not the brightest in the world, but this, this is the limit. And to top it all up, she even tried to prove this nonsense mathematically by completely distorting mathematical logic!!" Rishabh thus laid out the reason for his discontent, with his annoyance quite clearly evident in his tone.

"Really, are we going to have this 'poor quality of education' debate again? Don't forget, half of our class did agree with the Professor today," Sameer pointed out, matter-of-factly.

"And that is what bothers me more. Not only falsity is being taught, but it is also being absorbed without any questioning!" Rishabh found his fingers ready to clench in to the disposable ice tea glass, but somehow kept them, and his temper, in check. The Satellite Communication professor was guilty of inaccurately spilling a satellite back on earth; he did not want to join her league by insincerely spilling his ice tea upon that recently crashed satellite.

"Leave it brother. What can you expect in a college where professors teach a subject like Computer Networks by just standing there and reading from a book without even looking up at the class, as if they are stoic effigies narrating some long winded out story. I say they are better off recording their voice on a tape and then using that for all posterity. But that is the way things are, you can't let that bother you. Some problems, they are better left unsolved," Sameer concluded, not wishing to waste any more energy on discussing such a futile subject.

"But it does bother the crap out of me sometimes!" Rishabh remonstrated, grinding his teeth. "This system, it is so fucking pathetic, all the time either we are listening to boring lectures or copying assignments or giving these sessional exams, I mean there is just no productive learning."

"Some problems, they are better left unsolved," Sameer repeated again for his friend's benefit, he knew there was no light at the end of this tunnel, so it was useless to search for one. "Besides we have internet lectures, I am happy with them, just use your time in class as I do, catch up on some sleep while you are there."

"It is not about me or you. Why can't you understand that we can't keep on ignoring this problem. Evil wins because of the apathy and indifference of people like us. We must, must do something to change things," Rishabh reiterated, his voice growing louder this time, catching the attention of a few other students sitting nearby.

"Calm down and don't create a ruckus now," Sameer advised, somewhat dismissive in his manner. He was not in the least comfortable about all the attention Rishabh was attracting towards them. "I am telling you this debate is useless, just a sheer waste of energy, unless of course you have a solution, but believe me there is just no solution here." he stated blandly.

"What if I tell you I do have a solution?" Rishabh now revealed, before he leaned forward towards his friend and after lowering his voice to a whisper, outlined to him his plan.

"Its insanity, utter insanity!" an incredulous Sameer exclaimed after he heard what his friend intended to do.

"Well, when what is precious is incessantly tarnished by what is profane, then it is time to leave the worn out paths of conformism, it is time to act a little insane."

*******

The next morning Sameer was sitting in his usual spot in the last row of the class, when Professor Dinanath Upadhyay entered to deliver the first lecture of the day. After formally greeting the class, the short and plump professor made his way at once to the podium up front, whereon he carefully opened his Computer Networks Book to Page 121, Chapter 7, Wireless Network Protocols, and once he had located the required chunk of text, he began to read it out to the whole class in a dull monotonic voice.

Normally Sameer would have used this time to catch up on some sleep, but presently his faculties were anything but lethargic. This state of focus though was not towards the drone of the professor, there was no question of such a thing happening as that drone could put even the most animate of creatures in to a state of listlessness and slackness, rather what kept Sameer attentive was the anticipation of what his friend Rishabh, sitting a few rows ahead of him, was about to do.

Throughout last night and even this morning before coming to the lecture, Sameer had tried to persuade his friend to abandon that foolish plan of his, but Rishabh had stayed firm on his stance. So all Sameer could hope now was for some last minute voice of good sense to intervene in his friend's mind and prevent him from going through with what he intended. But that hope was quickly dashed when he noticed Rishabh rising from his seat with a stack of flyers in his hand and approaching the podium where Professor Upadhyay was delivering the tedious lecture.

'It is going to bring nothing but trouble, nothing but trouble indeed.' Sameer thought to himself, as Rishabh first placed a flyer down on the book that was in front of Professor Upadhyay, disturbing him in his oratorical devotion, before he began to distribute the flyers amidst the rest of the class.

Sameer could notice a very calm determination on the face of his friend as he went around the class handing out his flyers. When Rishabh came to his desk, Sameer could not help but give him a look of annoyance to convey his discord, but his friend only reciprocated it with a composed smile before placing one of the flyers in front of him.

Sameer knew what calamitous words were written there in that possibly destructive piece of paper, having already read them last night and then this morning as well, and as he glanced down, surely they were all there as he had supposed, clear as the light of day.

'Three point agenda to improve the quality of Education in this College:-

-Number of Sessionals should be reduced from three per semester to two per semester.

-Attendance in lectures should not be mandatory any longer.

-Assignments should focus more on field work and technical real life problems, rather than making us copy down huge chunks of text from reference books.

I believe that if the above points are followed, then it would leave more time for self-learning as well as reduce some of the unnecessary burden on us students. Along with that, if the nature of assignments is changed, as suggested above, then it would encourage more technical learning, which would be beneficial to the students in the long run. Overall, it would greatly improve the quality of Education in our college.

And to make sure that these points are discussed, and subsequently adopted by the college management, I, Rishabh Jain, from this moment forward, would attend all my lectures sitting on the floor. No other disruptions shall be made, only I would sit on the floor as a mark of my protest against the present system and if any student or teacher wishes to join me in the same, they are more than welcome to do so.

Thank you.

Rishabh Jain - D4 ECE'

Within minutes of the distribution of these flyers, an anticipatory murmur had spread itself throughout the class. Professor Dinanath Upadhyay, who had read the flyer with much intrigue, had now left his podium and was looking at Rishabh with a great degree of incredulity.

"Silence. Silence please," said the professor in a grave and somber voice to hush down the murmurs in his class. He then once again turned his attention to Rishabh, who true to his word had already sat down on the floor in front of the first row.

Professor Upadhyay continued to stare at him, while ponderously rubbing the sides of his large stomach with his hands, as if not quite sure on how he was supposed to react to the current situation. He kept rubbing his stomach, then momentarily paused in his rubbing to maneuver a lock of his well oiled hair that had fallen across his forehead back atop his head, before rubbing his stomach some more, and then, when still no clear solution presented itself to his mind, he went on to do what he did best. Neatly folding the flyer and tucking it away in the front pocket of his shirt, he stepped back to the podium and once again immersed himself in the fascinating task of narrating the Computer Networks' text.

Sameer, who had been quietly watching the whole proceedings so far, now left his seat in the last row and began to plod his way to the front, a martyr walking to the gallows with a heavy tread. Once he reached the spot where Rishabh was seated, after hurling at him a few silent curses, Sameer too joined his friend on the floor.

Such is the noble spirit of friendship that after failing to stop a friend from engaging in folly, one ends up joining him in the same, for even craziness in the company of friends is akin to sweet wisdom.

*******

Dr. Pranav Banerjee was the youngest ever Director in the history of this esteemed institution. A thoroughly immaculate man, both in his manner as well as his appearance, he had climbed the rungs of the ladder of success faster than any of his colleagues.

A man possessing both, a keen vision for long term success as well the diligence, industry and social tact required for successfully undergoing the daily grind that is necessary to achieve it, it was no wonder that Dr. Banerjee had accomplished so much in such a small amount of time. B.Tech at 21, M.Tech at 23, Professor at 24, PhD at 26, Head of the Electronics Department at 29, M.B.A at 31, Director of the Institute at 35, the list of achievements was more than a sumptuous one, qualifying him for many an awards and distinctions that were conferred in the academic world.

A number of these glittering trophies, which sang peans to the accomplishments and abilities of the worthy pedagogue, adorned the glass cabinet behind his office desk, where he was currently seated, carefully examining paper work related to some random triviality.

Dressed in an elegant black suit with shiny black boots, his black hair trimmed in to a neat crop cut, clean shaven with his sharp black eyes glancing carefully across the words in front of him, he looked less like your stereotypical college Director and more like your stereotypical high-end business executive.

It was only the sudden ringing of the phone on his desk which diverted his attention away from this paperwork.

"Yes?" he asked tersely, picking up the receiver.

"Its Professor Upadhyay Sir, he wants to meet you," his personal assistant replied from the other side.

"Oh well, send him in," he ordered, before putting the phone down. He then prepared for the arrival of the professor, by neatly stacking away the paper work on his desk to one side, before standing up to look in the small mirror on one of the walls in order to make some minute adjustments to the knot of his tie.

As the professor entered, Pranav greeted him with a warm shake of hands, before ushering him to his desk. He understood how integral the professors were to the proper functioning of this institute and always showed them the greatest degree of respect.

"So what brings you here to my office, Professor?" he asked, once the two of them were seated across each other at his large desk.

Professor Upadhyay in response fished with his fingers in to the front pocket of his shirt and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. He then simply slid it over to the Director.

Pranav gave it an inquisitive look, before he opened the folded paper and began to read it. As he read it, he found himself smiling, and with each passing word his smile grew.

"Very well, a revolutionary, I am intrigued," he commented, much amused at the situation.

"What are we going to do about it?" the professor asked. After finishing his lecture, he had come straight to the Director's office to notify him of this protest situation.

"Nothing professor," Pranav replied, as leaned back in his chair still smiling.

"Nothing?" the professor tried to reaffirm, not able to believe that the Director was suggesting that they take no action whatsoever against that boy who was propagating such nonsense.

"Its mere tomfoolery professor, chances are it will wane away in a couple of days at most. Any official admonition will only encourage it," he explained.

"So be it then," Professor Upadhyay nodded his head in agreement, before he stood up from his chair and after rubbing the sides of his stomach for a couple of seconds, took his leave.

*******
2

The news about Rishabh's protest had spread through the whole of the college campus like a raging wildfire. Be it in the grapevine, or in social media posts and tweets, Rishabh and his protest had become the hottest topic of debate and discussion among the students of the campus. Both the objectives of the protest and its expediency to achieve those objectives were getting scrutinized, the will, ability and motives of the protestor were being questioned, a variety of opinions about it were getting expressed, there were some that agreed, some that disagreed, a few that thought of it as frivolity, a couple that saw it as some kind of revolution, there were the optimists, the pessimists, the skeptics, the cynics, the proponents, the opponents, the fence sitters, all of it and all of them, coming together to envelope this recent event in a colorful kaleidoscope of public sentiment, debate and gossip.

As an extension of the same, a congregation of students had gathered around Rishabh in the hostel's common room that evening, wanting to discuss with him the various aspects of his protest.

"Do you really believe that just sitting on the floor is actually going to compel the college administrators to consider your demands?" asked the first.

"And reducing three sessionals to two, Is that even a valid demand in the first place? We detest examinations, true, but don't forget that without them, we will never be able to prepare our subjects," opined the second.

"And how long do you intend to carry on with your protest anyways?" questioned the third.

"Well I feel that your point about assignments is good. Dropping mandatory attendance, I don't think they will ever go for that. Best you remove that point if you want at all to be taken seriously," advised the fourth.

"Oh, wait, what are you talking about, I think that is rather the best point of the three. We all know what a waste of time these lectures are, he is absolutely right, no mandatory attendance will give us more time for self learning," argued the fifth.

"I am not talking about what is right or wrong here, just that the demands need to be seen as reasonable and not extreme if they are to be taken seriously by the college administration," retaliated the fourth.

"But we need a wholesome change in this rotting system, and such a change always requires extreme measures," riposted the fifth.

"And I say, fuck them if they don't take it seriously, I mean it, fuck them fuckers, but yeah be reasonable while fucking them," suddenly cried out the sixth, and although it was unclear on which side of the argument his imprecatory opinion lay, it did arouse a good deal of laughter in the group.

It was after everyone had come down from this little bout of mirth that they resumed the debate again. Gradually, three factions formed, the first had sided with the third and fifth, and their group was advocating the 'no mandatory attendance point', the second and the fourth had formed a coalition and their joint agenda focused on bringing moderateness in demands along with the rescission of the 'three to two sessional examination' point, and then there was the sixth along with a couple of background acolytes who were in favor of fucking it all, for everything was fucking corrupt and beyond redemption anyways.

With each of these factions eager to push forth their agenda with more vehemence than the other two, little attention was paid to Rishabh, who had continued to sit there in the middle of it all, completely silent with nothing but an amused smile on his face. It was only now, when he had stood up to take his leave, that the group stopped its internal argument and diverted its attention back unto him.

"Wait, are you going to just leave without saying anything?" asked one of them.

"Well there is nothing to say," Rishabh simply replied, his nonchalance surprising more than a few.

"What do you mean there is nothing to say. You must have something to say, it is 'your protest' after all," demanded another, conveying the sentiments of almost everyone present there.

"Exactly. It is my protest, based on my opinions, my views and my perspectives. I raised those three points because I feel strongly about all three of them. I chose the means of my protest as sitting on the floor during the lectures because I genuinely believe that it will have an impact. Now, I don't expect everyone to agree with my views, neither am I going to try and persuade anyone to agree with them. I am going to stand up and fight for what I believe in, and you guys should do the same for what you believe in, or don't do anything, it is not my business to meddle with," Rishabh spoke out in a very straightforward and sincere manner, before he gave his now silenced peers another smile and stepped out of the common room.

Rishabh was followed out of that room by Sameer, who had witnessed the whole proceedings so far from a quiet corner. It was in the hostel courtyard that Sameer managed to catch up with Rishabh and conveyed to him his own thoughts on the matter.

"You will need numbers if you want this protest to work. You can't make this an individualistic venture, protests don't work like that. Some of them are ready to join, but for that you will have to lead them, you can't shirk away from that responsibility," said Sameer giving his unequivocal opinion on the subject. Though he had not been in favor of doing this protest in the first place, but if Rishabh wanted to carry on with it, then it must be done in an effective manner, and for any protest to be effective, the first and foremost requirement was the numbers, a plain and simple fact. "Think of it as a football team. A team only plays well when they have someone to tell them of the tactics and the formation that they need to employ out in the field. Otherwise it is just a group of headless chickens running around, nothing more than that." He gave further support to his point by drawing up that analogy between playing football and doing a protest.

Rishabh meanwhile had stood muted while giving Sameer his whole attention, and it was only after his friend had finished speaking that he gave him the answer.

"It is not just a protest for me. It is about at last standing up against the wrongs and injustices of this education system that have been plaguing our lives for these past three or so years, well, I guess, not plaguing our lives, for I cannot speak for others, but plaguing my life for sure. When I came here, to this college, I came with dreams of learning great things, doing great experiments, making great inventions. But what did I do, I crammed for exams, I copied assignments, I listened to dull boring lectures. And this protest, it is my way of expressing to the world that I have had enough. This is an individualistic venture for me, and I do not care if anyone else wants to join me in it or not. That decision, I will leave on the voice of their conscience, while I do what is my prerogative, to follow the voice of my own."

Those words were strong, earnest and well thought out and the one point that they conveyed more than any other was that the cause Rishabh was fighting for was a personal and not a social one for him. Sameer understood that now and so he decided not to pursue the argument any longer, leaving his friend to follow his own judgment in the matter.

*******

Despite Rishabh's reluctance to lead, a few students did join in the protest over the next few days, their number slowly increasing so that all in all there were some twenty of them by the end of the first week. But even though the protestors had grown in number, that number was still not large enough to disturb the peace of the college authorities, whom acting under the directions of Dr. Pranav Banerjee, had neither served the protestors with any sort of admonishment nor called them to the table for any kind of negotiations, rather they continued to give them no notice, refusing to even acknowledge that there was any protest at all.

Although this lack of acknowledgement did not in the least bother Rishabh's patience, it did begin to chafe the majority of the protestors. And so among them they started to look for ways that would get them the attention of the college authorities. It was towards the same end that the self-appointed leader of this majority, Ajit Singh, member of many student clubs and champion of numerous student causes over the past three years, approached Sameer at the end of one of the lectures.

"This is going to fizzle out if we don't get some numbers soon. Many of the protestors are ready to walk away; they feel disheartened about the lack of response they are getting," Ajit told Sameer, without making any attempts to mince his words.

"So you should talk to Rishabh about it. I have nothing to do with this," Sameer replied dryly, he had no great love for people like Ajit, the self proclaimed activist souls of this world.

"I have tried on numerous occasions already. But he is not ready to listen, as if he is having some great fun in sitting on the cold floor day after day. I will tell you what I told him, and maybe you can convince him for me. See, if we rescind the no mandatory attendance demand, not totally back out on it, but compromise, say we demand that the requirement of 70% attendance in a session be cut down to 60%, then it will make the college authorities take us seriously, but more importantly, it can get us the numbers. I know 30 other students who will join us if we make this compromise. And I am sure that increase will cause a few more to join in. Additionally I have friends in the media, whom have promised me a column on the front page of the local segment if we can get good numbers. If Rishabh gives me his support, I can make it all happen," Ajit thus laid out his plans; the ones he thought would make this protest gain some much needed momentum.

"Well I will talk to him about it but I can't promise anything," Sameer answered and then walked away hiding a grimace. It was another reason why he disliked this whole business of protests; it attracted self-aggrandizing people like Ajit Singh.

*******

Later that day Sameer was hobbling off the football field with his arm around Rishabh's shoulder, having sprained his ankle in practice while going in for a tackle. Directly they headed for the bleachers, where Rishabh began to help Sameer take off his studs.

"Just a minor sprain, it will be sore for a couple of days but I will be good for the tournament." Sameer diagnosed, grinding his teeth in pain as his injured ankle was carefully maneuvered out of the stud by his friend.

"You really got to take it easy with the tackles, it was just a practice session man," Rishabh reproved.

"I can't help it, when I am out there, on that field..." And Sameer turned his eyes to the greens, where the rest of the team was still practicing. "I can't explain it, it's a strange kind of passion, so intense that it compels me to give it my all. The feel of the grass as it yields under my studs, the vision of the flying ball as it comes towards me, the intense rawness of a tackle, the marking, the sheer will to rise higher than the others and head that ball clear, everything in that moment is so real, so different from the artifice of the rest of the world," Sameer spoke out as he continued to gaze with half mesmerized eyes towards the football field.

"You really love this game, don't you?" Rishabh asked rather rhetorically, for he was already aware of Sameer's great passion for football. He then came up and sat down beside his friend, and since he too had been excused from the practice to nurse Sameer's injury, both friends stayed put at the bleachers, watching the practice while listening to the musical chirpings of the sparrows that were roaming in the nearby maple trees.

"So Ajit Singh came up to me today," Sameer mentioned casually after a little time had passed.

"Let me guess, the compromise on the attendance point, 30 more students, media attention, right?" Rishabh replied with a knowing smile.

"Yeah, the ball's in your court now," Sameer summarized curtly.

"Ajit Singh is not in this because he believes in the spirit of this protest, you know that, right?" Rishabh asked.

"Yeah I do, he is here to bolster his own self image, but which only happens when the protest gains attention, which only happens if it gains numbers and some media coverage," Sameer replied, knowing the elements that were at work here. "But I also think that unless we do that, this is not going anywhere. You can compromise and achieve at least some of the goals or you can stay obstinate, appease your own conscience, but achieve nothing concrete," Sameer said, expecting in all possibility for his friend to promptly dismiss his advice, but to his surprise Rishabh turned ponderous, as if he was doing some serious deliberation on what he had just said.

"You are right. This is going nowhere unless we become a little practical. I will tell Ajit that he can go ahead with his plan," Rishabh sighed, and then began to smile his usual smile of amusement at this dulcet duel of idealism and pragmatism.

*******

The little leeway from Rishabh was all Ajit Singh needed to put this protest on a fast track. In a mere four days, he managed to get the total number of protestors up to 100, while also delivering on his promise of media coverage. This morning itself, the front page of the Ludhiana Harbinger had carried the news of the protest in bold black letters.

The wave of interest, which had originated when the protest had first started, was not only replenished with new energy, but it was no longer confined to the campus and was spreading itself through the whole student community of the city. Everywhere the points raised by the protestors were being discussed, the faults in the education system that they had pointed out were being recognized, in the campus more students were ready to join the protest, and there was even vague talk of similar protests beginning in other colleges and universities of the city in the upcoming days.

But completely unfazed by this furor, Dr. Pranav Banerjee was sitting in his office, composed as ever and immaculately dressed as ever, with all his mental faculties focused on one thing and one thing alone, which was to solve the Rubik's cube that was presently in his hands. The task he faced was one that required sharp focus and patience; carefully he must plot and plod his way through every twist and turn; a wrong move born out of panic would only protract his pains.

Suddenly the phone in his office rang. It was a call from another of the trustees, the seventh one this morning. He picked up the phone and tried to pacify this one as he had pacified the others before him.

"This has been going on for a week, and you have not taken any steps to deal with it!"

"Trust me Sir, I will have it under control in a couple of days."

"But it has gotten in the newspapers now, do you think this is going to be so easy to control?"

"You chose me to be the Director of this Institute, now believe me when I say that I will have it under control in a couple of days."

"Well you better."

"I will. Now have a good day Sir."

Putting down the phone, he sighed and shook his head, disappointed at the impatience of these commoners. He was about to go back to solving his cube, when suddenly his cell phone chimed, signaling the arrival of a new e-mail.

A content smile lit up his face as he read that e-mail. It was all he required to solve this mess. He picked up the phone on his desk again and called his assistant to join him in his office.

His assistant was a younger man who had been working for him for a couple of years. All morning long he had been dealing with a tsunami of phone calls, giving glib-tongued responses to media, parents and other miscellaneous, all of whom were looking for either answers or reactions after the newspaper article of this morning.

Now, he was stepping in to the office of his employer, a man he had come to respect and idolize in these past two years.

"Do you have that circular ready? The one I asked you to prepare three days ago." Doctor Banerjee asked him, getting straight to business.

"Yes Sir," the young assistant replied.

"Have it circulated then," his employer instructed, an assured look on his face.

"I..I really think this one is a brilliant idea Sir. Hats off to you for this ingenuity," It was a genuine compliment from the young man who was well aware of the Director's aversion towards any kind of sycophancy.

"It is very simple Sharma. Protests are easy when you have nothing on the line, when you have nothing to lose. We are just giving them something to lose now, let's see if they are ready to make a sacrifice or two for their cause," The Doctor laid out and as his assistant turned to leave, he immersed himself back in to the cube, giving it a twist that he knew could turn out to be a pivotal one in attaining the final solution.

*******
3

'It is hereby announced that Screenshot Consultancy Services shall be coming to the campus next week for the placement of final year students. All necessary details about it, such as the registration process, eligibility criteria etc. are now available on the college website.

It is also conveyed to you that the students who continue to participate in the ongoing protest shall not be allowed to be a part of this placement process.'

Above was the notice which was circulated in the college campus that afternoon. And as Dr. Banerjee had anticipated, within minutes of the circulation of that notice, the protestors in large chunks began abandoning their posts on the floor and returning back to their regular seats, the zealot insurgents converting back to their former status of subservient and docile pupils in mere instants.

By the end of the day there remained only a handful of them and even they were a dispirited and dejected lot. Satisfied over these fruitful events, Dr. Banerjee and his assistant were seated in the former's office, enjoying some hot delicious coffee.

"It was bound to work. The students are well aware of the fact that Screenshot Consultancy Services has the most number of intakes when it comes to placements in our campus. No way were they going to miss out on that opportunity for the sake of a meaningless protest. It was a stroke of genius on your part Sir, to get them to come to the campus a month earlier than it was originally scheduled," the assistant summed up, as he took a warm sip of that delicious coffee, its flavors seemingly enhanced by the eminent company which his employer currently bestowed upon him.

"It was no genius Sharma, none at all," the doctor reproached lightly. "It was a very simple idea and anyone could have thought of that. So let us be done away with the praises, and tell me, how many of these students still remain in the protest?"

"Well the notice caused most of the seniors to pull out, which in turn effectively ended the participation of the juniors that those seniors had dragged along with them. All in all there are some seven students left now, all seniors. One is the boy Rishabh Jain, who started this whole thing in the first place. Another is a Sameer Verma, the captain of our football team, my sources tell me that he is a close friend of Rishabh Jain. Then there is that student activist Ajit Singh, and the rest of them are his ardent followers. There is no else left Sir," the assistant thus described the remaining protestors to his employer, before he went on to briefly add his own opinion on the course they could take from here on. "Merely seven of them left Sir, if we just leave them be, like we did earlier, this time they will surely whittle away within days at most."

"No Sharma, that won't do," The doctor was quick to turn down his advice. "The trustees want it to be completely wiped off, they don't want to see a sign of it," he added and then leaned back in to the chair, falling in to a ponderous mood. It was some while later when the doctor spoke again. "That boy Ajit Singh, I believe he wants to go abroad for his Masters?"

"Yes Sir, he has been trying to get in to the Ontario University," eagerly replied the assistant, having done a good job of gathering information on the students, he was glad that it was turning out to be useful for his employer.

"I believe, a reference letter from an alumnus of that University would go a long way in helping him get that admission," the doctor mused.

"Indeed Sir!" the assistant agreed.

"Isn't Professor Dhawan of the Mechanical Department an alumnus of that University?" the doctor hinted and a knowing smile spread itself on the visage of the assistant.

"I will set up a meeting with him, first thing tomorrow," the assistant was once again impressed at the cleverness of the move his employer had devised.

"You do that, let us see if Mr. Ajit Singh is ready to give up on something that he desires," the doctor wondered, though he was quite confident about the success of his plan.

*******

He did not rejoice when others had joined him in the protest, and he saw no reason to despair, now that they had forsaken him. The cause was always a personal one and it remained so, he was determined as ever to carry on with his fight, and the tide of the multitudes was not going to affect either his patience or his poise.

When Ajit Singh, so far one of the biggest proponents of the protest, came up to him that morning and told him of his decision to withdraw, in response to it, he did not even flinch.

"It's alright man, no problems," he had replied simply.

"You have to understand that it is a lost battle now, and it is not only wise, but graceful as well to concede defeat. Save your energy now. Prepare for the next battle," The student activist had gone on to explain vehemently, trying hard to cloak his personal greed as wisdom.

"It's cool man, no problems," Rishabh had reiterated before going back to resume his seat on the floor for the coming lecture.

*******

Cowards!

Selfish Muppets!

Pudden-headed dolts!

These were some of the phrases Sameer used in his head to describe his peers after the recent set of events. Unlike Rishabh, he couldn't help but feel disgusted and enraged towards them for the abject selfishness they had shown in the past twenty four hours.

Perhaps these people did not deserve a better education system, may be they were only worthy of what they were getting, of boring lectures and useless assignments turning them in to half-assed engineers.

Sameer was walking through one of the corridors of the college, his mind brewing with such distressful thoughts, when suddenly he felt someone touching his shoulder from behind. As Sameer turned to look back, he was met by the official looking face of Mr. Sharma, the Director's personal assistant.

"The Director has summoned you to his office. Please come with me," Mr. Sharma announced formally, and then immediately turned and began to make his way towards the stated destination.

Sameer started to follow him, more than a little surprised at the sudden summoning. He found himself wondering about the reason for it, and it was only after he had passed a few moments in his mentations that the stark possibility of it being about the protest presented itself to his mind.

On reaching the Director's office Sameer was ushered straight inside, where he encountered the sharp and stately looking figure of Dr. Pranav Banerjee.

"Good morning, Mr. Verma. Please sit down," the Director, who was seated behind his large mahogany wooden desk, signaled to the seat opposite him.

"Good morning Sir," Sameer moved to the offered seat. The civility shown by the Director to him was not at all unexpected. Unlike many of the professors and college administrators who always treated students with a degree of condescension, the Director was well known for showing an equal degree of courtesy towards everyone he encountered, be it the professors, the students, security or maintenance personnel, or any one from any other department.

"Thank you for coming Mr. Verma. I will not waste your time and come straight to the point. Your aggregate total in the exams up to now is 59.8%, while it clearly states in the rules that a student requires at least a 60% aggregate to be eligible for taking part in any extra-curricular activities," Dr. Banerjee stated concisely, and then paused to let the situation sink itself in to the young man's mind. He did not have to wait for long, for soon there rose lines of alarm on his face, testament to the fact that he had realized the precarious position he was in.

"You mean, to say, I...I..I can't be a part of the college football team now??" Sameer put forth in a weak voice, his world turning upside down in duration of just a few seconds. Football was his life, playing for the football team was the entity on which his whole existence was based, there was nothing else in the world he loved so much as this game, and facing the possibility of having it snatched away from him was akin to someone stabbing him in his stomach with a sharp ice pick.

"It seems so, young Sir, I am afraid, it seems so," Dr. Banerjee continued to let his words linger, adding to the pangs of the young man. "I do not want to be an unreasonable man though. I am sure you can cover the percentage gap in the next exams. And I certainly do not wish for our team to lose its captain for the upcoming tournament. So I will make you a deal Mr. Verma. You end this protest of yours and I will overlook this minute gap in your marks and we can both have what we want." After stating out the morally scandalous proposal the Director went silent, focusing his piercing gaze unto Sameer's face in an attempt to gauge him up.

"This...this is blackmail!" Sameer muttered out in a strained voice, fighting hard to keep his emotions in check. What was happening here was detestable, outrageous, a blatant mockery of justice!

"Let us not be so irresponsible with our words Mr. Verma," the director advised, aplomb in the face of his allegation. "We have a very simple situation here, one with a very simple solution. All you have to do is to make a decision, whether you want to be part of the problem, or part of the solution."

"Rather I would prefer to leave now," Sameer suddenly stood up from his seat, a rage was brimming underneath his skin and he wanted to get away from here before he got himself in some greater trouble.

"Very well, so I infer that you are going to carry on with your protest?" the doctor asked, once again calm and unaffected by the happenings in front of him.

"Yes Sir, I am not going to 'sell' myself out to you," Sameer said bitterly, grinding his teeth. There was a lot more that he wished to say at that moment, but fewer the words he spoke, the better it was for him.

"Very well, I respect your spirit young Sir. Good luck and have a good day," the doctor smiled and showed him the way out.

Sameer turned and moved towards the door, but as he was about to make his exit, out of some murky corner of his mind, a question cast itself forth in front of him. It was a question that at once compelled him to stop and walk back in to that room, a question for which he and every other student who had participated in that protest was owed an answer to.

"Do you think our education system is perfect Sir?" Sameer asked.

"No, young Sir, it is not perfect, far from perfect," the director answered him candidly.

"Then when we are asking for improvement, why are you not even ready to recognize our voice? Can you at least answer me that Sir?" Sameer demanded after gathering all his courage.

"I will tell you what, I respect your spirit, and a spirit like yours deserves the truth. So I will let you have it. The system requires improvement, but the points you raised in your protest, they do not fulfill that purpose the least bit. So that is why they were discarded without even being considered," the director gave it to him straight, without any pretense, without any attempt at mincing his words.

"I am not sure...I understand what you mean Sir," Sameer replied, confused.

"What do you think the main purpose of our education system is, or let me be more particular, what do you think the main purpose of our college is?" the director asked.

"To teach engineering, to turn out good engineers.." Sameer ventured to answer.

"Ah, this is where you are wrong my good Sir. The purpose of our system is not to turn students in to good engineers. Instead the purpose of our system is placements. Because it is our placements on which we are judged upon young Sir. Do not look so surprised now, and just answer me this next question, which are the two biggest companies that come to our college for placements?" the director went on to inquire.

"Screenshot consultancy services, and Excel Sheet Technologies I believe," Sameer answered.

"And your belief is correct. So are these two companies looking for good engineers? I will answer that question for you, no young Sir, they are not. What they are looking for, are confused and perplexed minds with decent communication skills and some basic reading and writing abilities. And that are what we, the system, are committed to provide for them."

"I do not understand Sir, why would they not want good engineers?" A dismayed Sameer asked, the whole thing making no sense to him.

"See it this way. Screenshot consultancy services intakes 150 students from our campus each year. Say if all of these 150 students, are inspired by the ingenious and noble ideas of men like Fourier, Parseval, Faraday etcetera, if they are adept in the complex technologies of Robotics, Signal Processing etcetera, do you believe for a moment then, that these students will be able to survive in a job that will require them to sit at a desk and take screen shots all day, no, young Sir, they will not. And can you fathom, such inspired minds, working for ExcelSheet Technologies, where they will be required to spend their days making a variety of excel sheets, no Sir, again, they will not. So correct your facts young Sir, we are not here to turn out good engineers, we are here to turn out good placement prospects for these large multination companies."

"but how can it..be? this is..insane!"

"Nothing is insane at all. It is so very well laid out, even from the time when your schooling starts. You are given regular dosages of large chunks of information to cram, getting good marks in examinations is drilled in to your minds as the motive of your life, the results and the positions are to give you a false sense of accomplishment, and this same thing is carried forth in to the college. And it works, it works so very well. Why do you think all your fellow protestors chose placement instead of continuing their fight for a good education system?"

"Because for the past three years, placement has been drilled in to their minds as the main motive of their lives..?"

"Indeed, you are a fast learner Mr. Verma. I admire that. Now that you know what our system is designed for, you can also see that your suggestions are only detrimental to it. Lesser number of sessionals will result in more time for our students to explore and learn, and what if they ended up learning something useful! No young Sir, we can't have that. It is the same reason we can't reduce the mandatory percentage of attendance required to appear in the exams. And about giving assignments that deal with practical real life problems, well that would be like committing suicide. So there you have it, why we can't consider any of your demands. But if you have any, which would rather improve our system, help us turn out even more bewildered young minds than before, then you are welcome to share them with me anytime, my doors are always open for you."

"And I have told you all this, because I hope that after hearing it, you will know how futile a cause it is that you are fighting for. Be wise and shun it therefore. Now have a good day young Sir, and one more thing before you go, this conversation never happened."

Sameer was so flabbergasted after hearing these words that he said no more, gave no more reactions, and just wandered out of the Director's office, with puzzled looking eyes staring at the faces of all that passed around him.

All of it had been a hoax! All of these years he had spent in institutionalized education, a ruse to prepare him for a corporate job! And he was not the only one getting duped; all these naïve faces that he saw around him now, all of them were getting ripped off too! The worst thing about the Director's words was that they made complete sense.

Sameer walked back in to the lecture hall, where his friend was already sitting on the floor in preparation for the next class. What should he say to him? Shall he tell him the truth, let him have it in all its stark naked bitterness? Or shall he let him live in the comfort of lies?

"Bro, Bro..." Sameer was pulled out of his thoughts by Rishabh's voice, calling for him. When he looked in his friend's direction again, he was already sweeping clean the floor next to him with a piece of paper. Sameer knew in that moment what he had to do. The world, as he knew it, may have deceived him, but he was not going to do the same to his friend.

Smiling he walked to where Rishabh was, and seated himself down next to him.

*******

That evening in the football field, Rishabh learned about Sameer's dismissal from the team. Outraged he left the field and went running back to the hostel, where he found his friend in the hostel's courtyard, keeping himself occupied by performing little tricks and dribbles with a football.

"What in the world is going on brother?" Rishabh asked at once, stepping in between his friend and the ball and kicking it away.

"If I tell you, you would not find it much to your liking," Sameer replied, doing some stretching exercises now that the Rishabh had kicked away the ball.

"Tell me nevertheless," Rishabh demanded firmly.

So Sameer went on to tell him all about the offer the Director had made to him earlier that day.

"It is not about the percentage gap, you know that, you are being punished for taking part in this protest, a protest that you were not interested in the first place, a protest you took part in only to support me!" A wave of anger and guilt had rushed in to Rishabh's conscience after Sameer had told him about the incident with the Director, he was angry at the extent of dirty tactics that were being employed to quell his protest, and guilty that in his personal fight, his friend was having to sacrifice the one thing he loved the most. "No, we can't have it, you are playing for that football team, I will go talk to the Director, he stays in his office till seven, I will go talk to him right away," Rishabh declared and ran off before his friend could make any arguments to stop him.

It was around ten minutes later that he found himself standing in the Director's office, facing the manipulative cold hearted man who was hell bent on stopping him from fighting for his cause, and by targeting his friend, he had succeeded in it.

"So I will stop with my protest if you will allow Sameer to play in the football team again," Rishabh offered, there were no other options left for him but to concede his defeat. Whatever happens, he was not ready to sacrifice his friend in this battle.

"Very well young Sir and a good choice I must say. So have it your way then, end your protest and I will have Mr. Verma reinstated in the football team," The Director simply accepted the offer, not gloating at all on his victory.

"Thank you Sir," Rishabh muttered out bitterly, before he walked out of the office. He knew he had lost, in front of all this trickery and malice he never stood a chance in the first place, but although his protest had failed, he had gained something greater and dearer than any success in any protest could bring him, and it was the knowledge that he had a friend like Sameer, who could sacrifice for him, the very thing he loved the most in this world without even blinking an eye.

*******

"We have solved it Sir, congratulations," Mr. Sharma, who has been present in the office all this time as Rishabh had come and agreed to revoke his protest, was now stepping out to the desk of his employer offering his felicitations.

"Thank you Sharma and I wish you the same," Doctor Banerjee replied, looking content though without being elated, in short, his usual equanimous self.

"I will go stir up some coffee Sir," The assistant announced and stepped out of the office.

This gave Doctor Banerjee an opportunity to go back to the Rubik's cube he had been trying to solve for the past so many weeks. But this time, instead of giving it any more twists and turns, he reached in to a drawer of his desk and pulled out six stickers, each of a different color, and each sticker having nine single colored squares drawn upon it. Carefully he peeled these off and then applied them to the faces of the Rubik's cube, so that after their application, the cube now appeared to be a solved one.

"Yes we have solved it Sharma, but our solutions as always, continue to be mere superficial ones," The director remarked to himself, as he placed the now solved cube away in to his drawer and picked up his phone to make the call to the football team's coach to get Sameer Verma reinstated in to the team.

*******

-Two days later-

The first game of the football tournament had finished an hour ago, with the team from our campus winning 2-1 courtesy of a 90th minute header from a corner by Sameer Verma.

Rishabh and Sameer were back at The Booth having some ice teas to celebrate the victory.

"It has been a hell of a couple of a weeks, and this ice tea tastes the better for it," Rishabh commented, true to his word he had revoked his protest the day after the meeting with the Director, and although it had left him with a bit of a sour taste in his mouth, he was glad that he would at least always have ice teas to take care of that.

"Yes, been a memorable time," Sameer joked. "Anyways, there was something else that I needed to tell you," And it was now that he went on to tell Rishabh all about what the Director had said about the present education system.

"Wow, I mean wow!" Rishabh exclaimed in disbelief after Sameer had finished with his narration of the incident.

"It's hard to swallow, but makes complete sense," Sameer opined.

"Indeed it does," Rishabh sighed, still shaking his head. "So he said that everything starts from the schools?"

"Yes he did."

"Now it's clear to me what we have been doing wrong all this time," Rishabh mused.

"What?" Sameer inquired, raising a brow.

"We have been only hacking at branches when we need to take the protest to the root of the problem, we need to take our protest to schools," Rishabh declared solemnly.

"You don't say!" Sameer picked up the football lying near his feet and feigned throwing it at Rishabh's face, causing both friends to break out in to hearty laughter.

*******
Chapter 5 – The nomadic Poet

1

Thirty six summers, and an equal number of winters, his life had seen so far. Out of these the first eighteen were spent in a small town in Eastern Bihar, his place of birth, schooling and first love; the next five were spent in a coastal town in Kerala, where he pursued first his graduation and then his post graduation in English literature; leaving us with the last thirteen ones, and these he had expended in hopping from town to town in Northern India, living in eight different cities in total, working most of this time as a professor of English literature, though in one case as a salesman, and in another case as a private tutor, two occasions when he did not find any professorship in the new city he had moved to.

A perpetual wanderer in search of something, or to be more precise, someone, and today, this search was bringing him to the city of Ludhiana. Presently he was seated in a train, leisurely sipping on some tea, while gazing through the window at the scenic fields of golden wheat outside, which were joyfully swaying back and forth with the evening breeze, as if waving to the train and its passengers as they were passing them by.

'This cardamom flavored tea, and this soothing evening breeze.

Together they render, the most wearied of lives a new lease.

And the golden sight of these swaying fields, is a salve for them sour eyes,

That aches from having witnessed the intense darkness of this world, far too many times.'

The professor, who also happened to be a man blessed with a poetic disposition, extemporaneously came upon that little verse in his heart, and before it happened that its words got lost on his memory, he pulled out a small notepad from the pocket of his shirt, and happily jotted it down in one of its little pages.

In time, the train reached the Ludhiana Railway Station, which is the one of the busiest railway stations in the region, so no wonder as our professor came to the train's exit door, ready to alight, he found himself faced by a great multitudinous rush of humanity on the platform below, the sight of which momentarily filled him with hesitancy about stepping down from the train altogether, and it was only after some intense urging and shoving by the waiting line of passengers behind him that the professor stepped down to the platform, and became part of the same throng which was intimidating him just seconds ago.

Immediately that averagely built, simple and unassuming looking man got squashed between a mass of bodies, and it was only after a good deal of pushing and shoving that he finally managed to reach one of the snack's stall on the platform.

"Brother, which way is the Ghanta Ghar (clock tower) side exit?" he asked the man who was in charge of that stall, a little breathless from his exertions.

At his query, the man behind the stall simply pointed to the sought exit and then to the over bridge which led to it. In return the professor thanked him, stepped back in to the rush and resumed jostling his way through it. It was a grueling toil as he squeezed himself through innumerable bodies to finally reach that bridge. By the time he had climbed and then descended it to reach the station's exit, he was gasping and perspiring from his efforts, prompting him to take out a handkerchief from his pocket in order to wipe the sweat off his face. As he stood in a corner, catching his breath, suddenly a loud rambunctious voice coming from one side fell on his ears.

"O, Hullo, Hullo, O."

As the professor looked in the direction from which the voice was coming, his eyes caught sight of a flabby looking police officer, who was heading nowhere else but in his direction. Now that he was looking at him, the police officer stopped in his tracks and used his fingers to beckon the professor to come to him.

"Can't you hear? Are you deaf or something? I have been shouting at you to stop for so long," The police officer bellowed angrily once the professor had moved in front of him. "Where are you coming from?"

"Jammu, Sir," The professor replied, as calmly as he could, getting in to an altercation with someone from the law authorities in this new city was the last thing he wanted.

"Jammu, that is fine and all, but where are you originally from? You don't look like a Pahadi to me," The police officer pointed out, looking the professor up and down.

"No Sir, a Pahadi I am not. I am originally, from Bihar," The professor replied, just giving him honest and straight forward answers so that this undesirable investigation would quickly come to an end.

"A bihari, as I thought so, no wonder you can't hear properly," The police officer now sneered contemptuously, getting even more disrespectful and aggressive after he had confirmed the ethnicity of the man standing in front of him. "So why were you running away like a thief? What is in that suitcase?" he now asked, pointing towards the suitcase the professor held in his hand.

"Excuse me! You can't just walk up to me and accuse me of being a thief!" The professor objected firmly, now aware of the regional prejudice he was facing, he was not going to bow down to it like a meek infidel.

"I can accuse you of whatever the hell I want to, this is not your BIHAR! Here, we have LAW and we respect LAW!" The police officer started shouting, losing his temper in the face of the defiance this Bihari had dared to show in front of him.

He then suddenly snatched away the professor's suitcase with one hand and grabbed his arm with the other, before striding off from that spot. For a couple of minutes he walked thus, dragging the professor along with him, before they finally came to a halt at the Platform Entry, where another couple of police officers were seated behind some tables, engaged in checking the luggage of the passengers.

"Check this suitcase first; I want to see what this Bihari is hiding in there," The police officer that had dragged the professor here instructed his colleagues, before thumping the suitcase down on the table in front of them.

The professor, who was staining hard to keep his composure through this mayhem, just stood there quietly, looking on as his suitcase was opened and then thoroughly searched. His possessions in there included some clothes, the necessary toiletries and a few of his favorite books, there were no expensive accessories, no fancy jewelry, nothing of the sort that could be of any great financial value, if he was a thief as the police officer had branded him, then he had only stolen meagerness and paucity.

"One..two..three..six..six books in total, what is a Bihari doing with six books in his suitcase?" The police officer now asked, he was disappointed by what had come out of that suitcase but was not yet ready to drop his accusation.

"Yours is a senseless question, and I am not going to disgrace myself any further by answering it, or any of your other questions, it is clear that for you, being a Bihari is being a thief, so go ahead, book me as one, and we will see what the court has to say about your prejudices." The professor, who had been insulted enough, could not check his tempers from flaring up any longer, and ended up giving that officer a piece of his mind. But before he could go any further, a hawaldar came up to the professor and ushered him a few yards away from the scene of the fracas.

"O ho, why are you arguing? It's only going to create trouble, Sahab's mood is not good right now, you look intelligent, kuch le de ke rafa dafa karo (loosen your pockets a little and bury the matter), and go away in peace, no need to create trouble," the hawaldar, who was even more short and even more fat than his Sahab, suggested to the professor with an unscrupulous wink.

"Pardon me, but are you asking me for a bribe? Or let me guess, this whole thing was an act to extort money out of me, right?" the professor responded, shaking his head in disbelief.

"O ho, not bribe, see your people come to our city, they do all kind of crimes, spread all kind of problems, but we have to deal with it, that costs money, and do your people pay any tax here, No, so this is just a little entry fee," The hawaldar explained with a malicious grin on his face.

The professor was on the verge of completely losing control over his faculties; first he had faced derision from that officer and now from this hawaldar, all because he was a Bihari!! While threatening him with the baton of law, these people were trampling upon his basic rights as a citizen, he wanted to grab them by the scruff of their necks and hurl them to the ground and beat them with the same batons that they were regularly using to terrorize the innocent migrants, but before he could do anything of such rash nature, there arrived on the scene a local gentleman, who approached the Hawaldar and then began to talk to him, after having led him away to one side.

The professor just stood there seething. He could hear nothing of the conversation that was taking place between that stranger and the hawaldar, consequently he turned his eyes to the police officer who was still standing at the luggage checking tables and was presently fanning himself with one of his books.

The audacity of this fool was beyond outrageous! The professor moved towards that table with every intention of snatching his book away from the hands of that cretin, when suddenly, the stranger who had first engaged the hawaldar, now moved to the officer, and like he had done with the hawaldar, he ushered the officer to one side, and involved him too, in a hushed conversation.

After a few seconds the professor noticed the officer looking in the direction of the hawaldar, who in turn gave his superior officer a little thumbs up, and at the passage of this signal, the officer nodded and tapped the stranger's shoulder in a friendly manner before walking away from the scene altogether. The professor stood there, trying to make sense of what had just happened there, when he noticed the stranger now coming towards him of all people!

"Pack your bags Professor, the problem is solved now," he said in an assuring tone, with a charming smile playing on his countenance.

"And you are?" the professor asked.

"I am Kamal, Mr. Barkat Rai sent me here to pick you up. He had showed me the picture you had uploaded with your job application so that I could recognize you. Well just as I arrived at that exit, I saw you being led away by that police officer and so followed you here," the stranger explained.

Mr. Barkat Rai was the principal of the college that the professor was meant to join in this city. He had talked to him a few times over the phone recently, and from their conversations the professor had pictured him to be a man of a jovial and upbeat nature.

'From your past records, I see that you are a nomad by heart my dear fellow, and I love nomads, always in search of new adventures, never quite ready to settle down at one place, they are impulsive like the life itself. But I bet you, you will find it hard to move away from our charming city, once you have lived here for a while,' Mr. Rai had said to him after accepting his application for the professorship at his college.

'A charmed city, which already has me mesmerized by a spell of bitter discrimination' thought the professor, as he now recalled Mr. Rai's words. Then pulling himself out of his little reverie, he moved to repack his suitcase before he accompanied Kamal to the parking lot where the latter's car was stationed.

"So, what did you say to that Hawaldar, and then to that officer?" The professor asked inquisitively, once they were inside the car.

"I gave that Hawaldar 200 rupees to just forget about the whole matter, and then told the officer that I had given his Hawaldar the present, so they walked away," Kamal answered nonchalantly, as he maneuvered the car out of the parking lot and on to the moderately trafficked road right outside the railway station.

"You mean you rewarded those people for their horrid actions!!" the suddenly incensed professor exclaimed out aloud.

"Relax professor," Kamal retorted, not at all perturbed by the tone the professor had taken to him. "A cardinal rule to life in this city or any city is to keep your distance from cops, mobs, and rogues," he said with great confidence in his axiom.

"But giving them money is only going to encourage them in such abject behavior. They were discriminating against me and insulting me just because I am a Bihari. Did you know that before giving them that bribe?" the professor argued.

"Discrimination against people from your region is a common thing in this city professor. You cannot go fighting against it all now, can you? Most of the labor class of our city consists of people migrating in from Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, and many locals have a low opinion of them, even though the whole economy of this region is based on their hard work, be it in the factories or the fields. Dim-witted imbeciles are aplenty in this city professor, I am afraid you will have to learn to ignore them," Kamal thus revealed to the professor the prejudice that many people in his city held against Biharis, his voice taking a wistful tone as he did so, perhaps conveying his own disappointment on the present state of affairs.

"What about the political class, don't they take any steps to root out this problem?" the professor inquired, a distasteful scowl had plastered itself on his face as Kamal had expounded upon the discrimination that was being faced by the people of his region in this city.

"Most of these people live here for six to nine months a year, going back to their hometowns during the hosiery's off-season. So they don't get their votes transferred here, as they still consider their hometowns and villages back in Uttar Pradesh and Bihar as their real place of residence. No votes mean that they have very little political representation, so no one is fighting for their rights. You can talk about great human notions such as brotherhood and benignity all you like professor, but the truth is, if you as a class of people have no political representation then you are going to find yourself at the rough end of society's stick quite frequently," Kamal answered.

"Yes, yes, I second that opinion, that is true, but still," the professor sighed, and started brooding about the whole situation.

For the rest of the drive no more conversation took place between the two men. Kamal took the professor to the guest house where the college administration had booked a room for him to stay until he was able to find a more permanent domicile for himself.

"So, I will pick you up in the morning and take you to the college. Mr. Rai is very much looking forward to meet you," Kamal remarked, as both of them stood at the gate of the Guest house, about to part ways for the night.

"Yes, Good night, and thanks for picking me up," The professor replied, trying to force a hint of a smile on his face, although he was feeling quite dispirited because of the earlier events.

"Good night Professor," Kamal turned, and began to walk way.

But just at that moment, the professor recalled something of great importance, something he had forgotten about in all this stress and tension. How could he have forgotten it, it was the very thing that had brought him to this city, like every other city before it.

"Stop, wait a minute," the professor called after Kamal and briskly moved in his direction.

Kamal heard him and stopped in his tracks and once the professor had caught up with him, he went on to pull his wallet out from his pocket, from which he fished out an old, slightly faded looking photograph with crumpled up corners, of a lovely looking young lady, who seemed to be around half the professor's age.

"Have you, by any chance, seen this girl, recently or in the distant past? She should be much older now, about my age," the professor asked, holding the picture up for Kamal, as the bluish glow of the street light above illuminated it for their eyes.

Kamal entertained the request of his guest by looking carefully at that picture, while at the same time wondering about the story, which could be behind all this. "I am afraid it doesn't jog the memory professor," He answered after a little while, and then looked curiously at the professor.

"Just an old friend I have been searching for, searching and hoping that in the vast wilderness of this world, I will, by some stroke of good fortune, stumble upon her one day," the professor revealed with a light smile as he put the picture back in his wallet. He then wished Kamal a good night and walked away in to the guest house.

*******
2

Our years of early youth, the years when we are carefree and perpetually in love, wondrous times these are, and the fond memories they leave us with, stay with us until the last of our days. In life's winter years, when everything else turns dark and bleak, it is these very memories, which constitute the few remaining embers at our hearth, giving us warmth and comfort like a near and dear friend, providing us company as we wait for the coming of the sweet sleep of death.

He was not an old man yet, Professor Raghuvir Dixit, and good fortunes be on his side it shall be a long time before he would see the mysterious face of death, but still he knew the value of these memories. It was only their sweet reminiscence that gave his heart some solace, in its incessant yearning for the sight of the loved one he had lost all that time ago.

Tonight, sitting all alone in the room of that guest house, a stranger in this new city, his pining for her was stronger than it has been in recent times, and so to console himself, he took out a folded leaf of paper that was hidden away in one of his books, and began to read to himself, the poem he had composed for her, during the time when this universe had not yet broken the promise of love it had made to him.

'I sing of good fortune, of the first time that we met.

The first glimpse of your face, and upon you, my affection was set.

That blush on your sweet cheek, wreaked immediate havoc upon my heart.

And your mesmerizing smile conspired along, yes it too played its part.'

He still vividly remembered the first time he had seen her. She had come to the town's square, to see the performance of a visiting ventriloquist. Her curious eyes as she witnessed the playful gimmicks of those puppets, her ecstatic laughter as she heard the witty exchanges between the puppets and their Master, her unrestrained joy as she lost herself in the magic of the performing artist, all of it and more he could still recall with the minutest of details, for there was not a moment then, when his own awestruck eyes had wandered away from her beautiful face.

'An angel I had seen, amidst mere mortals that afternoon.

Who could have imagined, that she will be in my arms one day soon.

Her gentle love, imbuing my life with many a colorful hues.

Her tender touch, making me forget of all my blues.'

Near the river that flowed by the southern outskirt of their town, in a small shady clearing surrounded by tall mango trees, they used to meet and kiss each other and hold each other, the blessing of her sweet company effacing even the faintest traces of sorrow from his life.

'Two lovers we were, more than that two best friends, accompanying each other in this journey called life.

Giving each other reasons to smile, even when with troubles, our lives were rife.

Drawing strength from each other, when we found ourselves fearful of the surrounding dark.

Keeping faith in each other, knowing that our love will help us find our mark.'

And then there were the tough times. With their schooling about to come to an end, he was to go away to Kerala for pursuing literature, while her family would not allow her to continue her education further. Different standards for different genders, an untenable and bitter reality, but a reality nevertheless!

'A simple song I sing now, to tell of our love so simple and true.

Finding you through these words, as I am now far away from you

But I promise to find my way back to you someday.

To meet you to never part again, and love you till times have us beyond old and grey.'

And there he was in Kerala, far away from her, sitting by the ocean and jotting down the words of his poem, harboring a great hope in his heart that after the completion of his studies, he would be able to go back to her, marry her, and live happily ever after with her. If only he had just the slightest premonition of the tragedy that was to befall their love!

With a heavy sigh, he ended the pensive reflection. A deep melancholy had by now, spread itself throughout that lonely room, making the silence in their suffocating, compelling him to step out of its broody confines. But he was able to resist these extorting forces for enough of a time, to pull out his pen and add another little verse at the bottom of that old blanched piece of paper carrying his poem.

'To spend this life with you, is now nothing but a fragment of a broken dream.

It seems I have lost you forever, in the tyrannical flood that occurred in time's stream.

But still I pray, that a glimpse of your face, this universe, will to me one day lend.

For who knows there may come a time, when even forever, could come to an end.'

*******

On the eastern side of the city, lies a posh suburban area, known in both official records and popular parlance by the name of Sector 32, and it was here in a small rectangular park surrounded by a group of upper-class houses, that our ghost of hope Ankit had buried his sapphire stone and thereby grown himself a mother-tree, a semi-deciduous Sal. Overnight a tree had been added to the ones existing around the perimeter of that park, but nobody paid this magical manifestation even the slightest of attention, being unremittingly engaged in the hustle and bustle of the modern world, people are left with little time for nature, and the inherent magic in all natural things thereof.

Presently, Ankit was hovering above his mother tree, prostrated on his back with his hands joined loosely behind his head, his eyes occupied in the idle gazing of stars while his mind pondered upon a problem it had been grappling with for the past so many days.

The case in consideration went something like this: A couple of weeks in to his duties as the ghost of wisdom, it was one evening while he was hanging around his mother tree and looking at the people moving past the streets around the park, when in the customary form of a blinking dot, a distress signal issued itself forth on his map. Following it to its origin, he came across a white Alto resting in a secluded corner of a parking lot. On some inspection, he found that in the back seat of that Alto, there was present a young couple, lost in the act of making out with each other.

For minutes he just floated around that car, and wondered what sort of wisdom was he meant to impart in such a situation, it was not as if that couple was not good in what they were doing.

For a while he raked his mind, but no answer came to him, either definite or nebulous. Then, all of a sudden, he noticed the blinking dot on his map disappearing by itself, perhaps whatever was the intricacy involved had solved itself without any need of his assistance.

So he came away from the scene of action, but much to his bewilderment, even before his mind had time to fully contemplate upon that incident, he found himself faced by another of a similar kind. Once again there was a young couple making out, once again he had no idea what on earth was he supposed to do about it, and once again in spite of his inaction, the dot on his map disappeared by itself after a while.

Over the following weeks, this procession continued unabated, so that by this day around a dozen similar incidents had brought themselves forth in to his attention, and still he had little clue on the role he was meant to play in any of them.

"And where are you lost to?" suddenly came the sweet sonorous voice of the ghostess of love, pulling him out of his ruminations.

"Nowhere, just here," Ankit shifted himself in to an upright position, a little surprised to see Neha here. Miffed by her continual rebuffs of his amorous advances, he had been consciously avoiding her these past few weeks.

"Glad you are, I haven't seen you around much lately, what you been up to?" Neha asked, her levitating form looking graceful as ever against the background of the starry sky.

"Nothing, just wisdom stuff," he answered a little wryly. "And yeah, waiting to see if my tree can weather an autumn or two," he could not help but add the little jibe.

"Oh, don't tell me you are angry about that? Oh damn! Have you been avoiding me on purpose?" Neha asked, raising a brow.

"Took a while for you to notice that," Ankit riposted.

"So just because I refuse to be your girlfriend, you are going to act all stubborn like a brat and stop hanging out with me, is that what you are implying?" It wasn't just Ankit who was in an irritated mood above that Sal tree now.

"I am not implying anything," Ankit felt somewhat trapped in her words, being compared to an immature brat shaking him up a little. "All I want to say, is that...we had a moment there, the first night we met, you can't deny that there was a moment, that is all I am saying.." he tried his confounded best to assert his point.

"Yes, may be, we had a moment, but it doesn't mean that.." Neha paused, and heaved a long sigh, trying to regain her composure. "Okay, answer me this, and if you do so correctly, then I will think about me and you. Tell me how old I am as a ghostess?" she asked.

How old was she as a ghostess? She looked twenty five, twenty six at most. So her age as a ghostess should be that minus her age at the time of death. What was her age when she died? Or what if this was a trick question? What if she was using some anti-aging cream for ghosts? There were just so many factors to consider and reconsider.

"Ten..no..five years..five years.." he ended up making a wild guess, five was his lucky number, so maybe he could count on that.

"Seventy nine years," Neha answered with an amused smile.

"Seventy..nine..!! but you look no older than..twenty five, twenty six at most.." Ankit remarked scratching his head, what ungodly kind of anti-aging cream was she using?

"We ghosts don't age in our appearance Genius, I thought you would have noticed that by now," Neha revealed. "We retain our appearance from our time of death. And it stays with us till the end of our days here. Although I look in my twenties, I have been this city's ghostess of love for the past seventy nine years."

"And your clothes, how come..they are so..modern?" Ankit now asked, pointing to her cocktail dress, surely no woman wore an attire like that seventy nine years ago.

"Oh, this. Yeah I take trips down to the nether world every now and then to update my ethereal wardrobe," Neha answered simply.

"Nether world?" Ankit asked, looking a little perplexed.

"Yes the nether world. It's a whole different world from this mortal one, mostly surrounded by ghosts and specters of the baser sort. Well I don't consider them as base, but that is how they are rated in the spirit world, they have low spiritual energy, so they are sent to live in the nether world until their time of rebirth. Conversely the ghosts that have high spiritual energy live in the higher realm, where you and I have come from. And right in the middle of these two realms is our mortal world, and even this one is not free from discrimination, only the standards for it changes to caste, color, creed and such," Neha expounded ruefully.

"How do we travel to the nether world?" Ankit queried, wanting Neha to carry on, he just loved the solemn expressions that came on her face whenever she got in to her knowledge imparting avatar.

"Through Ghost-warps, these are points of zero spiritual energy, a perfect cancellation of the positive and the negative, and they act as a door way between the mortal world and the nether world. There is one ghost warp in Ludhiana, I will take you there someday," Neha explained.

"And what about traveling to the higher realm?" Ankit asked next.

"We can't, we only go back there at the end of our term as a ghost. At the end of every ten years, a ghost is offered a chance to retire, or carry on for another ten. When a ghost chooses to finally hang up his boots, he or she then travels back to the higher realm and stay there, until the time of their rebirth," Neha clarified.

"So, you are the oldest of us seven?" Ankit asked, as if he was still not able to believe the statement about her age.

"No, not the oldest, that would be Mr. Jai Prakash. He has been serving as the ghost of contentment for more than a hundred years now. I come after him, seventy nine years. Then there is Vibhuti Lal, sixty eight years, then Janu Khan at thirteen years, and then there is Arjun, eight years, then Roshni, who joined us only a year ago, and then it is you. Anyway my point in all this is that you barely even know anything about me to fall for me," she reiterated, hoping that Ankit would understand her point.

"Alright, alright, I get what you are trying to say..." Ankit yielded just to avoid any more confrontation, though he did not fully agree with her. Lovers fell for each other through the magic of a passionate moment, not by the long ardent study of each other's character.

"Wonderful, and at least come and talk to me before you get the desire to sulk again," she rebuked lightly. "Anyhow, I came here to take you to a meeting of the seven that is happening tonight, and it seemed as if we are already late for it, so come with me at once." And thus, she fleeted away, with Ankit following her in close proximity.

Soon the two of them reached Rakh Bagh where they came across the other five ghosts, who had apparently been waiting for them, hovering over the familiar location of that old Banyan tree. After the exchange of a few pleasantries, the meeting began, presided over by that refined and stately specter, Jai Prakash.

"So the statistics for the months of January and February have come in this morning. The ghostess of love, Neha, has performed the best, solving every single one of her cases," he announced in his gruff voice and paused to give an appreciative look to the Ghostess, in reply to which she nodded her head and smiled, after which he resumed with the declaration of the other results. "The ghost of freedom, Vibhuti Lal, the ghostess of dreams, Roshni, and the ghost of wealth, Janu Khan have done reasonably well too and the council is happy with their performance," he paused again, letting his words sink in for a moment before carrying on. "Lastly, the ghost of hope Arjun and the ghost of wisdom Ankit have performed well below par. The council understands that the ghost of wisdom is still new to his duties, and as such, is confident that he will improve with time. For the ghost of hope, it issues a strict admonishment and advises him to quickly get his act together. Thus ends the announcement of the Statistics for the months of January and February, which were read to you on the evening of April 23rd, at 9:00 PM Indian Standard Time, with an offset of 2% on either side. Please say your Ayes to acknowledge receiving the same," Thus he ended the formal announcement, in response to which all the other ghosts said their Ayes, thereby allowing him to proclaim the meeting as concluded.

As the party of the ghosts began to break up, Ankit found himself in a quandary over the poor results he had received; had all those puzzling cases of the couples played a part in them? Seeking some clarification, he approached the only person he thought he could consult on such a subject matter, the ghost of hope, Arjun.

"If only I knew this business of results would follow me even after my death, I would have never died in the first place," Ankit started with a little joke, hoping to ease Arjun in to the conversation, especially since they were talking for the very first time.

"Don't worry about it, you will get used to the whole burlesque soon enough," Arjun replied, he cared little about these results, if at all any.

"Anyhow, there was something I needed your help with, I have been getting these distress signals and when I follow them, I just come across these couples, and they are just doing it," Ankit tried to explain his situation the best he could.

"doing it..?" Arjun asked, looking perplexed.

"You know..doing it..I mean..doing it.." and with each of the 'doing its', he brought his hands together and interlocked his fingers, trying to convey the meaning of his words.

"Oh, doing it doing it," Arjun said, his tone expressive of him now gathering an understanding of Ankit's words.

"Yeah, and I don't know what I am supposed to do, am I supposed to stop them or something?" Ankit inquired.

"No, you don't need to stop them. You merely need to give them the wisdom of using protection while they are 'doing it'," Arjun explained.

"What!!" Ankit exclaimed, more than a little taken aback at Arjun's revelation. "You are messing with me, right?"

"What do you think? The work of a ghost is not all high noble stuff. Welcome to the dirty side of business brother," Arjun replied with a chuckle, enjoying the disquieted looking face of Ankit.

But before the ghost of wisdom could reflect too much upon the unsavory nature of the duty which had befallen him, he was disturbed in his broodings by the arrival of Neha on the scene.

"Hey, I have a new case, you want to come check it out with me?" she spoke rapidly, looking eager to fleet away to the spot already.

"y..yeah sure.." Ankit responded after a brief pause, taking a little time to gather his thoughts before he acquiesced to join Neha on her excursion.

"You want to join us?" Neha now asked Arjun, perhaps only out of common courtesy.

"Na, I am fine, don't want to catch the disease of perfectionism," Arjun replied in a dry sardonic voice, before taking a quick unceremonious leave.

"He does not seem too fond of you," Ankit commented, once Arjun had left.

"Yeah, not everyone is infatuated with me," Neha jested and winked at him, before she flew off after signaling for him to come with her.

Soon the two of them were floating over the rooftop of a Guest House, where they saw a man walking back and forth across the length of the roof, seemingly engrossed in his own thoughts. At intervals, he would pause in his steps, turn his gaze to the stars above, smile at them, before resuming his tread and going back in to his cerebrations.

"Doesn't look like a lovelorn one to me," Ankit commented, pointing to the warm and hearty smiles the man was intermittently exchanging with the stars.

"Don't be so quick with your judgment my dear friend. It is these smiles that hide underneath them, some of the greatest tragedies of this world," Neha said, and said so with a smile, but what pain did she hid behind her own, well that only time was to tell.

*******
3

Early next morning, Raghuvir was strolling in the front garden of the guest house, waiting for the arrival of Kamal, who was supposed to pick him up and take him to the college he was joining as a professor. At present his spirits were much improved as compared to last night, the sorrows that had seemed to him inexorable during the night were alleviated to an extent with the coming of the morning; the sleep like a crafty surgeon having stitched up his torn and despondent soul and anesthetized his grieves and cares to a state of abeyance.

And his disposition was being ameliorated further by the observance of the morning's beauty. Be it the early morning sunshine gleaming across the verdurous grounds beneath his feet or the chirping of the birds in the Neem tree located in the far corner of the garden, his senses were exulting in one and all alike and taking delight in the whole unison of it.

By and by he came to stand under the dense foliage of the Neem tree and began to whistle in tune with the chirpings of the birds over head, the birds in return began to chirp louder and with more exuberance than before, as if trying to encourage the human to carry on with the Jugal Bandi.

"Be careful standing there professor, one of them might drop a shit on your head, which isn't a very pleasant experience to have first thing in the morning." It was Kamal's jocular voice that addressed Raghuvir. He had just arrived and was standing a few yards behind him.

"Well at least it's organic, so it won't be harmful to my hair I think," The professor quipped back as he turned and walked out from under the Neem tree's shade, approaching Kamal and extending his hand towards him. "How are you this fine morning?" he asked.

In the turbulence of last night's darkness, he never had a chance to get himself properly acquainted with Kamal, now in the tranquility of the morning light, he could see that he was quite an attractive young man, one having a tall and slender built with a healthy looking clean shaven face topped by slightly spiky black hair, possessing an overall appearance of a man in the prime of his youth. In addition, his shiny black spheres of eyes were hinting at the presence of a joyful personality behind them to go with his vernal physical features.

"I am doing fine professor, ready to go?" Kamal asked, momentarily relishing the fresh scent of the garden's morning air himself.

"Indeed, the present is as good a time as any," replied the professor, and then was led by Kamal to his car, parked outside the premises of the guest house.

The car which Kamal had brought today to fetch Raghuvir was an ancient Ambassador, whose white paint was peeling off to give rise to many patches of metallic discoloration, whose doors when opened did so with painful squeaks, whose engine growled and grumbled for several minutes and took many turnings of the keys in the ignition before it finally came to some semblance of a life, after which the dilapidated contraption somehow began to make its way forth on the pot holed Ludhiana roads, its undulated motion threatening to break at once all the rusted bolts and nuts of the mechanical hag, while causing the springs of the seats underneath the driver's and passenger's posterior to screech and groan most sorely.

"Quite a transformation your car has undergone overnight," remarked the professor, lurching back and forth in his seat in rhythm with the bumpy motions of the car.

"Different cars professor, that one was Mr. Rai's, this one is mine," Kamal replied, surprisingly there was a hint of pride in his voice as he announced his possession of the rundown machine. "Rosa is its name, it belonged to my Uncle, and he named it after his wife and my sweet Aunt Rosa, after his death my Aunt gave it to me," he recounted, before he tilted himself to the left in his seat in order to give the heavy steering wheel some forceful rotations which were required to get Rosa to take a turn to the road coming up on their left.

"Ah! A car with a history then," the professor mumbled, wondering why not this sweet Aunt Rosa, whoever she was, donated her namesake to a museum rather than gifting it to her nephew. A museum seemed the right place for it, where it could be observed and appreciated from a safe distance afar, rather than be allowed to carry passengers within it still and churn their insides apart.

"Indeed professor, a car with a rich history," Kamal agreed, drumming the top of the wheel with his fingers, and humming that famous journey song. "Suhana Safar aur ye mausam haseen, humein dar hai hum kho na jayein kahin.."

'par humein to dar hai hum mar na jayein kahin..' the professor thought to himself parodically, wondering how much of this jolting journey was left before they would reach the college.

"Say professor, you are new in our city, how about me and Rosa give you a little tour of it sometime?" Kamal proposed, he had stopped humming the song and was now just playing its beats with the rhythmic clicks of his tongue.

"A tour! " The professor gulped, his mouth going dry at the proposition. "We could, but it's a new job, and I believe things are going to be hectic for me with the whole settling in and all," he said with a false pout, trying to excuse himself out of the situation before making an attempt to change the subject of the conversation. "Speaking of jobs, you never told me what you do?"

"Oh, I am the IT guy of our college. I maintain the college's website along with its various databases. A pretty cool gig," Kamal replied and precariously reached back for his tab that was doing small jumping jacks in resonance with the vibrations of the back seat, before flicking open the mentioned website on it and handing it over to the professor.

Raghuvir, who was glad for having successfully wriggled his way out of any future city tours in Rosa, began to glance through the website and saw on its homepage, a picture showing the elated faces of the college debate team as they were being awarded the winner's trophy for a recently held national level competition.

"National debate champions, that is impressive," he commented and began to explore the other parts of the website, glad for any distractions that would help take his mind off this perilous ride of the Ambassador.

"Yes, a talented bunch they are. I had the opportunity to travel with them to the competition, and was thereby able to record the debate. It is on my YouTube channel, if you want to see?" Kamal offered, and on getting the professor's accord, he reached once again for the screen of the tab and flicked at it a couple of times, so that the professor was now looking at the video of the debate. "I have a variety of videos on my channel. It's a sort of a hobby of mine," he added, but seeing that the professor's attentions were getting fixated on to the debate, he said no more and went back to drumming his fingers on top of the quivering wheel.

The main subject of the debate was 'whether or not the present day media was able to carry out its responsibility of educating the electorate about the various issues faced by our country'. As things proceeded, points were raised both in favor of the media and against it, mentions were made about the handicaps which were hampering the media such as commercial interests and ratings, as is the ilk of any good debate both problems and their possible solutions were expounded upon in detail, all in all it was quite a didactic and engrossing affair and the professor was a little more than half way through it, when old Rosa suddenly came to a creaking halt. As he looked up from the screen, he saw that they had reached the parking lot of the college premises.

Raghuvir handed back the tab to Kamal, resolving to watch the rest of the debate later, after which he and Kamal made their way to the administration building, where Principal Barkat Rai was waiting for them in the main reception area. A man in his early sixties with a grizzly head and a wrinkling face, at first gander his aging features would make one perceive him as some kind of a calm pensive individual, but only a few moments spent in his company and that perception would prove to be nothing but a gross misrepresentation of his actual deportment. For in reality, he was a man who fostered within himself a real lively spirit, a joie de vivre, which would quickly become evident to Raghuvir in the warmth that effused from his countenance as he approached him and in the ebullient way in which he proffered his hand to greet him, all of it pointing to the fact that here was a man that was not at all wearied by his travels on the road of life.

"The vagabond, the wandering professor, the nomadic poet, oh you are finally here, finally here in our city, in our college, it is such a pleasure to meet you," As he spoke, exuberance was dripping from his voice. "How do I know about your poetry you ask? Oh, of course I researched about you when you sent in your application, and it was there that I came across the book of poems that you recently published. Ah, what a masterful way you have weaved your words in there and how simply it arouses in the reader's heart the most complex and poignant of emotions. 'Love read or love written is never the same as love felt, that I know from writing about you on many a silent nights.' Pure, wonderful, majestic."

"You are too kind Sir to bestow upon me such plentiful praise," the professor replied, feeling more than a little overwhelmed under the current torrent of compliments.

"No, no, you deserve each and every word of it and more, I am not being kind, I am just being honest," The principal opined. "And when it comes to praising something that has gained my affections, I am never the one who practices miserliness in his words, having never acquired the taste for the trait. Anyhow, how do you like our campus so far? Oh, on second thought it is a silly question, of course you are yet to see most of our campus, so let me give you a little tour of it, will you?" he cordially offered, and on getting Raghuvir's assent, began to lead him around the college.

Kamal accompanied them during the early part of this excursion before he excused himself for some work, after which it was just Raghuvir and Mr. Rai, with the latter leading the former through various sections of the premises, while he gave a detailed exposition of many things related to the history and geography of the place.

"The patch of grass you see there Mr. Dixit, yes, the one underneath the Apple tree, it is the place where Vivek Govinka, that famous Bollywood Director, sat and wrote the script of his first movie when he used to be a student here," he revealed with much pride.

"And this amphitheater here has seen many a great performances over the years, including the performance of the great tabla master Zahangir Khan last year," he recounted with much enthusiasm.

"And then, this is our library, state of the art collections, from Shakespeare to Byron, from Munshi Premchand to Allamah Shibli Nomani, from Marx to Ayn Rand, you will find a wide range of works to study and ponder upon in its hallowed chambers," he said with much reverence, and then began to lead Raghuvir towards the entry of the standalone two storey grey stone edifice.

It was here that Raghuvir saw her for the first time, a studious looking woman coming out of that library with a heap of books supported upon one of her forearms, dressed in black trousers and a grey shirt with her brown hair tied in a loose bun above her head and her thin framed spectacles acting as a temporary tiara around it, she clumsily descended the couple of steps that were outside the library's entry door, her face showing a serene kind of weariness, the sort one acquires in the morning for having spent the hours of the preceding night in the analysis and contemplation of the written text.

Raghuvir immediately found himself drawn towards her, but before he could have a chance to wonder at all about her identity, that little suspense was taken care of by Principal Rai, who ushered him towards the lady and readily introduced the two of them to each other.

"Here is our hard working professor of history, who by great fortune also happens to be my sweet daughter, Miss Anoothi Rai," he stated. "And this here is Mr. Raghuvir Dixit, our new professor of English literature, the one I told you about." And thus the initial round of formal introductions commenced and subsequently finished, after which the three of them began to make their way towards the college canteen with the idea of having some tea, bringing the college tour for the new professor to bit of an abrupt end.

"Let me and Mr. Dixit here share some of this load," Mr. Barkat Rai decreed when they were halfway to the canteen, before lifting much of the books that were being carried by Anoothi and dividing them between himself and the professor.

"My chivalrous father, in his previous births he surely must have belonged to some bygone era of nobility," Anoothi joked with a modest smile, her burdens lightened, she was now able to walk in much less clumsy a manner than before.

"The nobility my dear daughter is not established by birth, nor by blood, nor by the era in which one is born, nor is it sanctioned by any monarchy or clergy, for to be noble is to exercise virtue in one's actions, and in that regard, all of us in doing any kind deed can call ourselves noble," Mr. Rai declared with his eyes looking up at the sky in a solemn manner, as if he was saying these words to the Gods themselves.

"I am afraid that though your notion is quite beautiful in its spirit father, it is historically inaccurate. The status of nobility has always been gained through wealth or influence, not through kind actions," Anoothi rejoined. As a professor of the subject, to protect history's integrity was always her first and foremost duty.

"Ah, when will you shun this pedantic point of view and replace it with a more romantic one my dear daughter?" Mr. Rai exclaimed with a sigh.

"When will you start acting like a proper Principal, when will you start coming to the college dressed up as a Principal should be, when will you cast off these white kurta pajamas, oh father, my father," Anoothi exclaimed back with an even more dramatic sigh.

"As a neutral here, can I act as an arbitrator and call peace?" It was Raghuvir's turn to now speak, who so far had been listening to the ripostes between the father and the daughter with much amusement.

"Ah, see you had us forget all about our guest, the new member of our family," Mr. Rai shook his head in disapproval at his daughter.

"the new member of our family?" Anoothi asked, a bit confused.

"Yes, I did not tell you sweet daughter, but Mr. Dixit has not just come here to teach English literature, he is also here to marry you and become my son in law," Mr. Rai explained.

"What..!!" Anoothi jumped up in surprise. At the same time, Raghuvir too was completely taken aback by this ludicrous announcement and began to look at the Principal with stupefied eyes.

"What what? What has happened to your sense of humor, daughter? See, I was right when I surmised that dwelling too much in history leaves a person wry and dry," And he broke out in to a chuckle.

"Telling poor jokes and blaming history," Anoothi scoffed under her breath, before she let go of the topic altogether.

The three of them by now had reached the canteen, and it was Principal Rai who took upon himself the responsibility to order tea and snacks for the company, momentarily leaving Raghuvir alone with Anoothi.

"Quite an interesting man, your father," Raghuvir could not help but comment.

"Interesting like an ancient inscription that gets you intrigued, or interesting like the great work of some artist that calls forth emotions, interesting like a just and kind ruler like Razia Sultana, or interesting like the mad king Tughluq that tried to shift the whole populace of Delhi to Daulatabad, the word has many connotations, so which one do you intend to imply?" Anoothi asked in a voice that had a bit of a sharp undertone to it.

"I mean, interesting, as in, the good sort of interesting, the good kind of interesting..." Raghuvir somehow managed to weave together his reply. This woman is more than a little handful, he thought.

"Good kind..alright that is good then," Anoothi replied with a nod, she seemed for now satisfied with his answer.

"What is good? Is he good? Have you begun to fall for him already?" It was Mr. Rai, who had happened to return from the front counter, and having heard his daughter's last remark, he once again stepped in with a little joke and chuckle routine.

"Yeah father, in fact I have not just fallen for him, I am already pregnant with his child." It was Anoothi's turn to joke now, but before she could support it with a chuckle of her own, she noticed that in her father's tow stood a young staffer of the canteen, who had apparently come with him carrying a tray of tea and samosas.

And now, she noticed much to her chagrin, an amused grin coming upon his face. Surely he was ready to run off and tell the whole college the breaking news of her tarty adventures.

"No, that was a joke. Damn it, tell him it was a joke guys," she tried to rescue the situation. But it only made the boy stifle his grin. It was then, that Mr. Rai decided to take control over the situation.

"Madam was telling a joke, do you understand that? Just a joke, you just forget about it now, tell it to anyone else and you will not be working in this college anymore, you understand that son?" The threat was an earnest and serious one, and all the while a pensive Mr. Rai kept looking sharply in to the eyes of the young boy, trying to bore his message through to his very conscience.

The fading of his grin signified that Mr. Rai had succeeded in his endeavor. It was then that he patted the young boy's back, took the tray of victuals from his hand and dismissed him. The young boy in return was quick to oblige, skittering off from the scene without wasting another moment.

"It is best for one's health to stay away from pregnancy jokes in the current environment," Mr. Rai stated, his aged features becoming soft again.

The three of them then made their way to a nearby plastic table, where they continued to engage each other in some informal talk while enjoying some hot tea and tasty samosas.

"Food and family, Sirs and Madams, food and family, the two things that make life complete," Mr. Rai would comment somewhere in the conversation, taking a sip of tea from his Styrofoam glass before raising it to her daughter.

And so the casual remarks, quick ripostes, general comments continued between the three of them in what remained a convivial environment.

By and by, Raghuvir brought out the picture of his erstwhile lover from his wallet, and showed it to Mr. Rai and Anoothi. But once again, to his mild disappointment (mild because time had blunted many of his emotions towards her, it was only during a lonely night every once in a while that they became intense and gnawed at his heart) he discovered that neither of them knew anything about the girl.

"Just an old friend I have been searching for," he explained, when Mr. Rai asked him about the picture.

"Ah, I see," Mr. Rai sighed, for an unknown reason looking somewhat upset after this recent turn in events.

"Love and lice, my dear fellow, love and lice, both can get equally itchy and bothersome with the passage of time, And don't you tell me it isn't love, you cannot fool a man of my age, I have already seen it in your eyes," he declared ruefully. "Anyhow, I must take my leave now, for the day passes quickly and much is there that is to be done. I will have Kamal take care of the rest of your joining formalities, you can begin from tomorrow, have a good day professor." And he stood up and took his leave, carrying off his half eaten samosa with him.

"Love and lice, my father draws the most preposterous of analogies," Anoothi would comment, after her father had left the canteen.

"Yes, I would have to agree with you there," Raghuvir replied.

"Pardon me, but it is only I, who is allowed to criticize my father's analogies," Anoothi shot back, her voice once again taking a sharp turn.

What was up this woman? And what was this proclivity of hers to suddenly turn snippy in a conversation?

"I..I of course did not know that..." Raghuvir tried to offer an explanation, but he was saved from the pains of it, for there arrived on the scene at that moment Kamal, who apparently had some sort of an idea to offer which could help Raghuvir in his search for his friend!

"My Aunt Rosa, she owns a famous Gift Gallery in Chaura Bazaar, the busiest market of this city. Chances are that if your friend has been living in Ludhiana, she might be visiting that market every once in a while. So if you want, I can take you to her this evening and you can ask her about your friend," Kamal proposed, feeling fairly excited to aid the professor in his quixotic cause.

"Why thank you! That is a good idea," Raghuvir was quick to give his approval.

"Alrighty, so I and Rosa will pick you up this evening then," Kamal announced with a gleeful smile.

"R..Rosa...? Oh..yes..Rosa..." Raghuvir gulped, the thought of another ride in that Ambassador sending a shiver down his spine.

"Ahem, ahem..." Anoothi intervened. "Since no one is inviting me, I am going to go ahead and invite myself. I need to pick up a book I ordered last week from a shop there in that market."

"I say more the merrier, me, you, our new professor and Rosa, one for all, all for one..just be ready at 5 then," announced Kamal.

"No, No, I am afraid we will have to leave d'Artagnan out of this one. I mean, leave Rosa out of this one, we will go in my car instead," Anoothi declared firmly, leaving no scope for an argument.

"Now why you always have this enmity with my Rosa, I would never understand," Kamal sighed, throwing his hands up in the air.

"There is no need for you to understand, it will be my car we will go in, that is all," Anoothi reiterated, paying no heed to his protests.

"Alright, alright, it's futile arguing with you," Kamal gave up, in what was rather a very quick surrender.

"I completely agree with you there," she replied with a foxy smile. "Anyhow, I need to catch some shut eye before my lecture in the afternoon. I will see the two of you later," And with that, she got up, crooked her elbow and started placing her books upon her forearm in a neat heap.

"No, no need for that, I can take care of these," she said, when Raghuvir offered to assist her in carrying her books.

Anoothi then bid the two men farewell and walked away clumsily, her books precariously balanced on her forearm.

"Quite a woman," Raghuvir said, looking gratefully at his savior as she walked away. Heavens knew he would not have been able to survive another ride in that Rosa.

"Yeah she 'is' quite a woman, not everyone can be so skilled a spoiler," Kamal replied, still gutted that Rosa would not be coming with them this evening.

"Anyways professor, let us go and take care of your joining formalities," He declared and therefore had the professor accompany him to the administrative building, where they spent the next couple of hours in going through numerous documents and filling up a myriad of forms, at the end of which, Raghuvir Dixit became in official capacity, the English literature professor for Ludhiana College of Arts and Commerce.

*******

The afternoon saw Ludhiana being showered with the blessing of a light refreshing drizzle, in which two young brothers spurred on by the pleasant weather, sneaked out of their house and on to the road outside, whereon they began to play a game of catch on the side pavement with their plastic football, making much merry as they tossed the ball back and forth between each other.

Young kids they were, and often their throws would miss their mark, causing the ball to take flight in the direction of the road, but every time it came close to crossing the threshold of the pavement, it would be deflected back to the boys, as if some invisible magical wall was preventing it from going on to the road.

Not that they noticed it though, for they were too immersed in their little game, but there was one person who did and he was Jolly Singh, the same Sardar Ji who this past Spring had come to the rescue of one Vikram Sahni, and who was now hovering in the sky above these two young boys, watching with an amused smile his dear friend Vibhuti Lal fleeting all around in order to stop that ball from going on to the road which was presently carrying a good deal of automobile traffic.

He remained there for a while, in which duration other kids from the neighborhood also came out to join the two young boys in their play, causing the wayward throws of the ball to become more frequent and thereby making the labors of his friend down there more intense.

By and by, Jolly Singh decided to go down and assist his friend.

"Need a hand there, Malko?" he would ask with a little laugh, coming down to now be floating by his friend's side. "I will take the left side, you take the right one."

Vibhuti Lal, who was gladly surprised at this unheralded arrival of his friend, gave him a little nod to grant his acquiescence to the plan, and so the two of them, for the next half an hour or so, remained there near that pavement, making sure that none of those young kids drifted in to the dangerous traffic on the road.

They were at last relieved of these babysitting duties when suddenly out of one of the houses, an angry looking woman came out and began to scold all of those kids.

"Oye you brats, you stubborn rats, don't you have a clue, playing out in the rain will give you all a flu, get back in to your houses at once, at once I said!" so she shouted, driving all of those nestlings back in to their respective abodes.

"So how come you are here all of a sudden?" Vibhuti asked, after having greeted his friend with a warm hug.

"Well, you know about the dispute between Roshni and Jai Prakash?" Jolly questioned, venturing to know how much his friend knew.

"Yes, it has been going on for quite a while now. In fact we have had many meetings about it for the past month or so but the situation remains unresolved. There is some girl who wants to pursue her Masters in a University out of town, but her father is very much reluctant on sending her away. Now Roshni is of the opinion that the girl should dismiss her father's protestations and follow her dream, but Jai Prakash believes that she should take a middle path by pursuing her subsequent education in some local college. So, there stands the whole issue with both of them at daggers drawn with each other, none wishing to yield an inch of territory," Vibhuti thus gave a brief summary of the whole situation, before asking Jolly the reason for his own interest in the particular matter.

"Well, a month of bickering, and you didn't think that the council will get a whiff?" Jolly remarked with a teasing smile, knowing all too well of his friend's sharp aversion for the presiding body.

"If only I could find one of these spies someday," groaned a wincing Vibhuti. It was an age old rumor that the council had spies in each city to keep an eye on the activities of its ghosts, but so skilled they were in the art of subterfuge and camouflage, that it was next to near impossible to spot any of them. "Why can't the council let us take care of our own business for a change?"

"In the world of spirits, no business is private business my friend. Anyhow, the council is not as bad as you think it is. For they have shown the wisdom to appoint yours truly as an arbitrator for the present conflict, and under my facile judgeship, it shall under all circumstances, be brought to a settlement tonight. And anyone who believes that it shan't be, will be held in contempt of court, oh yes Sir, they will be," Jolly Singh thus decreed, knocking an imaginary gavel in the air before he broke in to a rambunctious laugh.

"Yeah right, and say if I do, then please do state the punishment I be subjected to milord," Vibhuti said, advancing the banter.

"If you do Sir, and I believe you are doing it right now, so it is no longer a case of ifs or buts, in fact, I think I should declare your sentence at once for your heinous offence!" And Jolly reached in to the inside pocket of his long black trench coat, unlike the ghosts of our city, the ghosts from the higher realm did have colors as part of their appearance. "So my edict is that to atone for your crimes, you must, and I say must, accompany your friend today in a good ole drinking bout." And with that, he pulled out a bottle of Madrico from his coat. Madrico, a dark colored liquid which served as the ethereal alcohol, unavailable in the mortal realm but sold freely in the nether world, and it was from his last trip there that Jolly Singh had obtained the bottle he was now presenting to his friend.

"Very well, I accept my punishment, and shall strive to happily repeat this offence in the future so that I could undergo many such similar fates," Vibhuti submitted with a gracious bow, before both friends began to look for a decent spot where they could revel in some boozy frolic.

*******

The triumvirate of Raghuvir, Kamal and Anoothi drove to Chaura Bazaar in Anoothi's car that very evening. Chaura Bazaar, the busiest market place in Ludhiana, a kilometer long stretch of road that extends all the way from Clock Tower in the west to Gha-Mandi in the East, a place host to a motley of shops dealing in a variety of goods ranging from clothing to jewelry, from cosmetics to fancy dress props, from spices to books, from musical instruments to decorative embellishments, and along with these, here lies a number of narrow transverse lanes, each a market place in itself specializing in selling one sort of article or another. As one travels from West to East, one first comes across Akal Garh Market on the left which is a big retail market of clothes, then there is the Girja Ghar Square from where branch off the Books Market and the Old Vegetables Market, then there is Sarafa Bazaar (the market of jewelers), Meena Bazaar (in ancient times the residing place of concubines but now a wholesale market of grains and many other victuals, and near to it is the Naoghara Mohalla, where was born the martyr Shaheed Sukhdev Thapar), Basati Bazaar (a famous retail market of women accessories and cosmetics), Gur Mandi (translating to jaggery market but in reality more of a market of electronic goods, it is here that a tragic fire broke out in the early 90's, when a blast took place in the firecrackers which were being sold here near the time of Diwali, causing many a shopkeepers to mistake its noise for a terrorist attack and thereby pull down the shutters of their shops for safety, where they thus got entrapped to their ultimate demise as the fire spread and took a violent face, eventually leading to the death of more than hundred sons of the city), then there is also the Saban Bazaar(translating to Soap market, but here are sold Hardware goods), Bizli Market(Electrical Goods), Pindi Street (medicines), Lalu Mal Street and Dal Bazaar(Wholesale hosiery markets), Khushi Ram Halwai and Shankar Halwai (famous old shops of sweets), Sita Ram Shop (renowned for its Namkeen Snacks), Babe da Hatt (delightful lemon soda), Nathu Mal Ghuddu Ram (lip smacking Gachchak and Bhugga), and adding to all this and more, are the hawkers and peddlers here, who spend their days selling their goods on this long stretch, adding to the great hustle and bustle of activity which takes place in this traffic congested premises on a daily basis, in many ways thus, this place is the life spine of the city, imbibing in itself the various colors of its spirit in their different variegated hues.

After parking their car in the vacant lot opposite the Akal Garh Market, Raghuvir and his new friends walked their way through the traffic of vehicles, hawkers, pedestrians and peddlers, to Aunt Rosa's gift gallery located near the Girja Ghar square. On entering it, they straight away came across the lady which was Aunt Rosa, a refined old woman with graying hair and a kind wrinkled face, presently standing in one of the aisles of her shop, conversing with prospective customers in the form of two young school boys.

"Come on, you can tell me who you are buying the card for, I can probably suggest you a good one if you tell me a little about the girl you are buying it for, don't tell me it is for your sister you naughty fella, you have been looking at love cards for the past full hour, no one gives love cards to their sister," Aunt Rosa was saying to one of the boys, as Raghuvir, Kamal and Anoothi came to stand within hearing range of them.

"It is..for my sister, I swear," replied the boy, somewhat exasperated as he pinched his Adam's apple to stress upon the veracity of his words.

"No, I just don't believe that now," Aunt Rosa said with a disapproving tut.

"No! It is for my sister Auntie, I swear, I have told you a dozen times already it is for my sister, I swear I am not lying," the boy raised his voice to spoke with emphasis, but good ole Aunt Rosa just refused to let go of her suspicions.

"Oh, why don't you tell her, it's nothing to be ashamed of?" It was the other boy, the one that had come to assist his friend in his little shopping excursion who now spoke, a little tired of the repeated arguments with the shopkeeper lady. Kings XI Punjab was playing this evening and he was desperate to get home in time for it but that was just not going to happen unless they somehow passed this impasse. "It is for his girlfriend Auntie, it is their one month anniversary tomorrow, and he wants to buy some special card for her," He now revealed, ignoring the possible ire of his friend he risked attracting by revealing his secret.

"See, see, I knew it was that, I can spot a lie from a thousand yards young man," Aunt Rosa said with an air of triumph, her experienced eyes had served her well once again. "But why do you lie, I see no reason why a young man should be ashamed of his love for a young woman. See my husband Charlie never was, although the rules against love were much stricter in our times, and on top of that, count that we came from different religions, him being a Christian, and I a young Hindu girl, but he was never ashamed, yes, he did blush a lot on occasions, that is true, like when he confessed his love to me, oh, he was a regular scarlet Charlie then, stuttering and stammering, but it was a blush of Amor', not at all a blush of being ashamed, and then again, when he met my parents and told them of his love for me and asked for my hand, I remember him turning red like a tomato, but it was because of his sheer reverence towards them, and then I remember when he held our child for the first time, oh how he blushed in his fatherly sentiment and broke in to tears, and afterwards when he turned old and would tell young boys like you the story of our love, oh how he would blush in the warmth of all those memories, just as I am blushing now," Her voice was getting more and more enlivened as she painted the brief portrait of her late husband to the two young boys, her cheeks likewise getting filled with a sanguine glow.

But the two boys did not share any of her vivacity, the first one rather annoyed at her interference in his personal business, while the second one getting more nettled by the further delay her long speech was causing them.

"Well, now that I know the truth, I should be able to help you find a perfect card for her," Old Aunt Rosa went on, oblivious of her customer's thoughts. "A one month anniversary, now that should be special, we need a card that should speak a little about the personality of the one gifting it, as well as appeal to the personality of the one receiving it. Tell me then, in good detail, about you and your special friend and I promise we will find just the perfect card for you," She offered.

"let's just go yaar, I know another good shop which is only a little distance from here," the second boy suddenly suggested, he had calculated that it would take less time for them to go to another shop and buy a card there, than it would take in telling this old woman the whole story of his friend's romance.

The first boy was all too ready to oblige and at once the two of them took off towards the exit of the shop, leaving Aunt Rosa more than a little dismayed at this sharp turn in the events. Sales were already low, and despite her most diligent efforts, she was about to lose another precious customer!

"Come on now, don't be so rash..." but before Aunt Rosa could complete her sentence, or before the boys could step out of the shop's glass door, it was Kamal, who came in their path, and began to engage them in a little talk.

Within a few seconds, he managed to bring the boys back to the aisle, and after silencing his Aunt with an urgent signal of his eyes, he went on to show those boys some cards, and only within a couple of minutes, he was standing with them at the shop's cash counter, billing them for their purchase.

"The first card my Charlie bought for me, he went all the way to Jalandhar to buy it, for he was not able to find the perfect one in any of the local shops. And look at today's generation, no ethics at all," a disappointed Aunt Rosa murmured to Anoothi, as her nephew was making the abysmal sale.

"Well, each generation has their own ethos I believe," Anoothi put forth, she was of course all too well aware of Aunt Rosa's unbarred inquisitiveness as well as of her love for sharing anecdotes, and for that, she thought she could provide her the perfect victim. "This here Aunt Rosa, is Mr. Raghuvir Dixit; he is the new professor of English literature in my college, a good man, and as far as I have heard, an even better poet," she spoke, exchanging with Raghuvir a little smile. "And yes, one thing more, he has spent his adult life living in eight different cities, searching for a long lost love."

"Scouring eight cities, just to search for lost love..!!" Aunt Rosa exclaimed, her wide eyes now staring at Raghuvir as if he was some kind of mystery she must get to the bottom of. From that look alone, Anoothi knew that her words had done their job. It was going to be fun watching the professor squirm under Aunt Rosa's ill-famed interrogation.

As per her expectations then, as soon as the old lady recovered from the surprise of the revelation, she started badgering the professor with an unrelenting volley of questions. Who was she? How did they meet? How did they part? What cities had he been to in his search of her? What was her personality like? Did he love this girl as much as her own late husband loved her?

As Anoothi continued to smile at him her cheeky smile, Raghuvir felt himself pushed in to a corner under the quick and countless punches of Aunt Rosa's queries, and in all of it, he found that he had a question of his own he wanted answered first– Just which of the Rosas was more dangerous to the human sentience? Rosa, the car or Rosa, the aunt?

"Don't be silent now young man; please do share your story, eager I am to hear it," Aunt Rosa urged, noticing that the professor was looking a little hesitant.

"Oh, come on Auntie, stop hassling the professor already." It was Kamal, who had returned after completing the sale and now tried to rescue the professor from the clutches of his Aunt's questions.

"Hassling it is huh? I ask what is so wrong about a human being wishing to know the story of another human being. An infringement upon privacy you young people call it, but how are we supposed to expand our horizons if we adamantly confine our cares to just our own affairs. I surely can't, I am a normal human having normal human interests in other normal humans, it is my way, the only other way I see is to become an ascetic, go to the Himalayas and live in a cave there, but that is not my way, my way is the human way and I can't believe that my humanity is being termed by you, young man, as hassling," Aunt Rosa complained vehemently, shaking her head all throughout her little tirade.

"Oh, don't start with the humanity thing again," Kamal sighed, knowing how difficult it was to win in any argument with his Aunt.

"So I am a human, and I am not allowed to talk about humanity, or are you saying that I am not a human then?" Aunt Rosa shot back.

"Oh come on, I never said that," Kamal defended himself.

"But you are certainly implying it," Aunt Rosa riposted.

"In my hometown she lived, at the town's square I saw her, beautiful and lovely she was, fell in love with her I at once, courted her and sang her I serenades, and in time she gave me her heart. Oh how blessed I felt, as her love for me by her tongue was spelt, a long time I spent sharing her sweet affections, with her I would grow old was my prayer and prediction, but then fortune dealt us a cruel fate, amidst us a schism it create, I, a young boy, went away to pursue my education, and she being a girl, for being a girl was her only fault, had her dreams suffer a truncation, mathematics she wanted to study, to paint the whole world with her equations, but her family deemed it to be above her station, never saw her again I, for on returning I learned with a sad sigh, that riots had broken out in our town while I was gone, driving her woebegone Christian family away towards the North, and in North I have searched for her since, on occasions with a smile, on occasions with a wince, and here is a photograph of her now I show to you, hoping you would be able to assist this hapless search with some sort of a clue." And so Raghuvir took out the photograph so dear to him and showed it to Aunt Rosa, who at first did not respond to it, for his narration had bounded her, just as it had bounded the others around, in to a temporary state of fixation.

In time though she rubbed her eyes, shook her head and managed to wring herself out of her thoughts.

"Ah, such, such a tragedy," she commented, placing her hand on Raghuvir's shoulder and squeezing it to convey her commiseration.

Kamal meanwhile looked equally sad but it was Anoothi who looked the most aggrieved. She had spent the whole afternoon passing judgment in her mind on the nomadic search of this man, painting him as some delinquent stalker for it, but now as the reality was revealed to her; let's just say it did not make for a very pleasant feeling.

Aunt Rosa meanwhile was staining her eyes and looking at the picture in apt concentration. For a long while she looked at it, first with her neck tilted to the left, then with her neck tilted to the right, then with her spectacles on, then with her spectacles off, and it was only after trying all the various permutations and combinations possible, that she ruefully declared to have never seen anyone bearing a resemblance to the girl in the picture.

"Are you sure Auntie?" Kamal asked, to which the old woman nodded her head. He sincerely wanted the professor to be successful in his search, especially after listening to his story. "Well may be she lives in the suburbs, people from the suburbs rarely come to Chaura Bazaar."

"That is certainly a possibility, or maybe she lives nearby but isn't too fond of shopping, was she fond of shopping professor?" It was Anoothi who asked, now trying to contribute her bit too.

"She was. Thanks guys, but I guess it was fate that parted us, and it shall be fate that will bring us back together," Raghuvir replied, forcing a weak smile on his face. "Who knows, maybe her family never came up north, it was just the station Master who saw her and her family take a train which was headed for Delhi, maybe he was deceived, or perhaps they were just taking a detour to go elsewhere," he pondered dolefully.

But in that conjecture he was wrong, for the girl he was searching for had indeed come up North, to be more specific she had come to the hill station of Shimla in the lower Himalayas, where she had gone on to fulfill her dream of studying higher Mathematics.

And in that shop right then was present someone who knew all this!

It was the ghostess of love, who had been hovering nearby as a silent spectator while the woeful story was narrated, and just like the others in the room; it had made her soul weep a tear or two.

*******

It was a rare cool summer evening in the city as the seven ghosts were once again gathered over the old Banyan tree in Rakh Bagh, with Jolly Singh joining them for company. Presided over by the latter, the agenda of the present meeting was to solve the ongoing dispute between the ghostess of dreams and the ghost of contentment in the case of one Kritika Chaudhary of Atam Nagar, Ludhiana.

"The girl's father is correct when he says that he fears for the safety of his daughter in sending her out of town." A serious looking Jai Prakash said, hovering to the right of Jolly Singh, who as the case arbitrator had taken one whole side of the Banyan tree for himself.

"Prakatam Vastunam," he then enunciated, making a few official looking documents appear in his hand. "These are the statistics for the number of girls that have been sexually assaulted in this country over the past ten years. Very clearly the high numbers make a valid reason for the father's concerns," he closed his eyes and said another mantra which made the documents float forth to Jolly Singh, who promptly took them up for a closer glance. The numbers were disconcertingly high indeed!

"Now it is not a case of the girl's father trying to bar her from further education. In fact, he is perfectly content if only she joins a local college for it," Jai Prakash continued, and made some more documents manifest themselves in his hand. "These are the statistics comparing the last ten years' average performance between this local college and the out-of-town college the girl wants to join. They are compiled over eight important parameters such as overall quality of education, results, placements, mental and physical well being of the students etc. and what they show is that the two institutes fare very close to each other in almost all of them," Jai Prakash then maneuvered these documents over to Jolly Singh as well. It was evident that he had come well prepared for this case.

"In light of all this, the right course of action here is for this girl to find contentment in joining the college of her father's choice. It is surely the best way forward for all parties concerned," he thus summarized and concluded his argument.

All eyes including that of the arbitrator, now turned to Roshni, an agitated looking Roshni, who was currently in precise opposition to Jai Prakash, position as well as opinion wise. Everybody knew that it was going to be a very difficult task for the inexperienced ghostess to beat a wily old fox like Jai Prakash, most of them expecting her to just throw an emotional tirade or two at best, which would ultimately hold no weight in front of Jai Prakash's rigorous statistics. But how wrong were they going to be proved!

"Since the whole case rests on these sexual assault statistics, let me present some of my own," Roshni spoke and brought out a few documents of her own. "These too are official crime stats, which say that a large number of these assaults are perpetrated by people who are relatives or live nearby to the girl. First of all, I am completely against stopping this girl from following her dreams in the name of a rape-scare, but even if safety is a big consideration, then it is clear that for a girl, her hometown is no safe haven either." It was a quick and concise argument that she put forth, kicking away the very fulcrum upon which the ghost of contentment had based his case on.

"You have anything further to say?" Jolly Singh asked Jai Prakash, and upon the latter shaking his head, he announced his judgment.

"As an independent arbitrator appointed to this case by the Council, I hereby pronounce that this girl, Kritika Chaudhary of Atam Nagar, be not only allowed, but assisted in her endeavor to go to a college of her own choosing. Furthermore, no more attempts shall be made by any of you seven to deter her from the same. And so my judgment rests," Jolly Singh announced with a majestic air, striking his imaginary gavel in the air as he gave his verdict.

The disappointment which etched itself on Jai Prakash's face at this unfavorable verdict was quite palpable, despite his best efforts to hide it behind the veil of a formal smile. Roshni though, was quite happy; now with this barrier removed, she could really help this young girl go after her dreams, which was something she had intended to do from the very first day itself, for no matter what Jai Prakash said, in her eyes none of it made a valid reason for making someone give up on their aspirations.

And so the matter thus settled, the ghosts began to employ themselves in some light confabulation, and in all of it, no one was able to notice the perturbation which was presently chafing the thoughts of the ghostess of love, not even Ankit, the young man who claimed to be so piously in love with her.

By and by the congregation began to break up, with customary farewells each heading off to attend to his or her personal affairs, and so it was not long before everyone was gone, everyone except Neha and Ankit.

"Hey, there's something I need to ask you," Ankit said, trying to draw in the attentions of Neha, who was absently looking in the direction where the last of the specters had headed off to.

"Yeah, what is it?" Neha asked, without turning to look at him.

"The manner in which the ghost of contentment made those papers float towards the Sardar Ji, I mean, how did he manage to do that? I saw his lips move in a silent enunciation before it happened, how come you never taught me that mantra?" Ankit inquired with much curiosity. He had wanted to ask this question ever since witnessing the original enchantment but had held back on it because of the presence of the others.

"It was a Dvijya," responded Neha, trying to pull her thoughts off her own troubles as she knew that Ankit would need further elucidation on the subject.

"The mantras in our ethereal world, they are of two categories, the Sugams and the Dvijyas. The Sugam ones are of common knowledge, like the ones I taught you on your first day here. But Dvijyas, these are the mantras which are hidden, their knowledge esoteric, inscribed in ancient books and on rocks in the form of ciphers and allegories, these can be decoded through years of hard study, or sometimes through plain dumb luck. Wait, let me show you something." And stopping momentarily in her explanation, the ghostess of love closed her eyes and began to enunciate a silent mantra, a Dvijya.

Suddenly zipped out of her, a replica, looks wise an exact copy of who she was, and side by side they began to hover, two of the same kind. Just that there was a difference in the emotions on their countenances, one was looking calm and poised, while the other appeared to be vexed with some great worry.

"See, this Dvijya had helped me split myself in to two forms, each representing a part of my conscience," the calm and poised one now spoke, smiling at a nonplussed Ankit, who was just standing there with his mouth agape. And he continued to be overwhelmed with a feeling a bewilderment, as he then watched the two Nehas exchange a look amidst themselves, before suddenly the flustered one fleeted away in to the night's sky.

"Wow, I mean, I totally want to learn this one," Ankit declared, thinking of all the fun that he could have with this power.

"I wish I could teach you, but that is the thing about a Dvijya, it only serves a single ghost at a time. Say if I pass this on to you, then although it will come under your beck and call, I will no longer be able to use it. That is why you will seldom find a ghost willing to teach you a Dvijya, one must learn one from one's own labors," the poised ghostess continued to smile, despite the sullen look that had come across Ankit's face on learning that he would not be replicating himself like her anytime soon.

"Here, I must also warn you that even if a ghost is willing to pass on to you a Dvijya, then you must be very careful in using it, because the enunciation of it could be serving some ulterior motive of his that might not be perceptible to you at the beginning. A Dvijya can sometimes turn out to be pernicious for its user." Thus she completed the little lecture, and saw Ankit convey his understanding through a nod.

"Alright then, I must go and join my replica now, my Dvijya allows us to be apart only for a little amount of time." And without waiting on Ankit's response, she flew away.

Once again, she had looked her finest when acting as his teacher, the solemnity of her words, the ever present smile on her lips, the sweetness of her voice; it made him wonder if there was a Dvijya that could make her fall in love with him. And if there was one, he would not mind spending the whole of his ethereal existence in searching for it.

*******
4

After a couple of weeks of living in the guest house, time had come for Raghuvir to search himself a domicile. And this Sunday morning with its cool and pleasant weather, was as fine an occasion as any to scour the city neighborhoods for an abode, and towards that end, presently on their way towards the office of a local property agent, were Raghuvir and Kamal, both seated up front in a wobbly Rosa as it screeched and groaned its way over the roads that led to their eventual destination.

The property agent was a relative of a distant relative of a distant relative of Kamal, and so his presence in this trip was required, and as every rose came with its thorns, as success brought along with it hubris, as wealth was accompanied by consternation for its safekeeping, so Kamal arrived with his car Rosa, leaving our poor professor no option but to bear another ride in the hoary contraption.

Once again, to distract himself from the dangers of the journey, the professor took to exploring Kamal's YouTube channel, and of the many categories and types of videos present in there, he decided to go through the ones related to the student activities of the college in which he now taught. Debates, declamations, dramas, competitions of music, arts, and other knick-knackery came together to contribute a potpourri of clippings, and as he went through these, he noticed that one student featured highly there was a young girl named Kritika Chaudhary. From giving speeches on all sort of complex subjects to performing the classical Indian dance forms of Kuchipudi and Kathak in the college fests, she had marked her presence in many videos in there, and in fact on staining the faculties of his mind some, the professor also remembered her to be a part of the college debate team whose prowess he had witnessed earlier.

"Quite a bright young girl, this Kritika Chaudhary, how come I have never seen her around?" the professor asked, as he finished watching her speech regarding 'the role of popular culture in shaping the public opinion' delivered at last year's Annual function.

"That one, she graduated last year professor," Kamal answered with a bit of a mischievous smile, though the professor failed to notice it since they were already arriving at their destination and he was all too eager to get out of Rosa's shaky confines.

The office of the property dealer they had come to meet was located in a very plain looking shop. The walls were not yet painted and carried the original grey color of the cement; the furniture was minimal in the form of a wooden table and a few chairs on each side, and on a shelf at a far wall, upon a bright red cloth, were some pictures of Hindu Gods and Goddesses with a couple of Agarbattis (Incense Sticks) lit up in front of them, presently suffusing the whole air inside the shop with a fragrance of sandalwood.

Upon ascending the few steps that were in front of the shop, at the threshold itself, Kamal and Raghuvir were met by the proprietor of the place, Ballu Dogra, a healthy looking middle aged man with a brawny physique and a sharp featured face, his most prominent characteristic was his heavy moustache, whose right edge he rolled between his index finger and thumb whenever he felt the need to emphasize his manliness.

"Hello Ji, hello, welcome," Ballu greeted them in a blandishing buttery voice, as he stepped aside to let the two potential clients enter his shop.

"Uncle, I am Mehra Uncle's nephew's cousin Kamal, Mehra Uncle's brother in law's father must have called you this morning about me," Kamal thus gave his introduction once they were inside the shop and were seated at the table. About how he managed to accurately state that lineage without losing track of some relation, well that was a question for the posterity to ponder upon.

Anyhow, at Kamal unveiling this close kinship with Mr. Dogra, the latter went in to a paroxysms of warm greetings, whereon he first came and shook Kamal's and Raghuvir's hand, before giving both of them affectionate hugs, after which he shouted for them an order of tea and Paneer Pakoras to a nearby Halwai, until at last he calmed down a little and went to take his seat on the other side of the table. After some causerie about the various trifles and trivialities pertaining to their common kin over that delightful tea and Pakoras, the course of the conversation finally turned to the little matter of finding Raghuvir a place to live, at which Mr. Dogra enthusiastically thumped his sinewy hand against the table and began announcing to his visitors, just what sort of a wonderful perfect place he had under his eyes for Mr. Dixit.

"Sound in its foundation, rich in its tradition, the furniture theres a swiss, nothing is a-miss, kindest of owners in the whole land, any trouble the neighbors will lend a hand, water and electricity full twenty four hours, oh one's mood there is never dour, ain't too cold, ain't too hot, ain't too airy, ain't too clammy, a place where one feels no whammy, and what to say more, of its facilities galore, it's heaven, a cloud of level seven, you shall see, for we shall visit it in a wee."

After this impressive rhetoric, Mr. Dogra offered to take the two visitors to this place, and since Kamal's ambassador was not a conducive ride for some of the narrow lanes that fell in their way, it was the property agent's scooter which became their new mode of transport for the time being. And if the professor had thought that Rosa was a rough ride then this was an experience of a whole another level, oh how the face of this poetic man winced and his hands clutched at the shirt of the man sitting in front of him as that scooter jig jagged its way past some of the tight traffic in those narrow lanes.

It was only after what seemed like a lifetime of doing flip-flops in danger's lap that the sweat inducing journey came to an end, and only minutes later Raghuvir and Kamal found themselves standing inside the place about which Mr. Dogra had earlier sang those encomiums.

Sound in its foundation – The flight of wooden stairs that led up to this first floor apartment, hadn't they heard it squeak under their weights as they had ascended it?

Rich in its tradition – The beverage of tea was a big part of Ludhiana's tradition, and there was a tea shop right underneath this apartment!

The furniture theres a swiss – The single charpai with a dust ridden cheap mattress, along with an old table fan (that may or may not work) in one corner of the room, Raghuvir very much doubted that these were Swiss imported.

Nothing is a-miss – Exactly! Nothing was a-miss. Blotched Walls, creepy spider webs, a thick layer of dust on the floor, the musty smell emanating out of the bathroom, oh yes! It had all of it and much more in ample doses.

Kindest of Owners in the whole land – Enters the owner, a fat scary looking man in a black Kurta Pajama, a big black mole near the corner of his thick upper lip. "Ay Ballu, tell them not to break the rules of this place, no fighting, no loud quarrels, or I will throw out their asses," spoke he, in his heavy wolfish voice.

Any trouble the neighbors will lend a hand – "Abey o mother fucker, Kallu, stop you bastard, today you will die, throwing your garbage once again in front of my door, you will fucking die," came a loud belligerent voice from the street below.

Water and electricity full 24 hours – "And yes, water comes for two hours in the morning and two hours in the evening, so plan your routine accordingly, and the electric generator got shot last summer, so don't moan about it during electricity cuts."

One's mood there is never dour – yes, never dour, though always morbid.

Ain't too cold, ain't too hot, ain't too airy, ain't too clammy, a place where one feels no whammy – "and whichever sister fucker put that black magic doll at my door yesterday, he will die too today with that mother fucker Kallu!"

And what to say more, of its facilities galore – "and yes, don't get any ac installed, it causes overload, no need for any alarm clock either, there is a factory next door, the noise of machines from there will automatically wake you up every morning."

It's a heaven, a cloud of level seven – 420, Swarg Bhavan, Meghdoot Gali, the address of this place. (Translates to Heaven House, Rain Messenger Street)

You shall see, for we shall visit it in a wee – But they were out of there in a wee! Both of them making a run for it under the cover of Kamal's excuse that some urgent work had come up which required their immediate attention.

"What happened there?" the owner asked the property dealer, citing reason for this abrupt leave of his would-be tenants.

"They just need time to think about it, but I am sure they will say yes," Ballu gulped, biting his lips in embarrassment. At this the old man gave him a look of better disdain, uncouthly scratched his balls through his pajama, and marched out of that grim apartment murmuring curses under his breath. But before Ballu could follow him out, his phone began to ring.

"Hullo ji, yes, Ballu property dealer speaking..."

"yes, yes....yes..okay...a house?...no problem Sir Ji..no problem at all Ji, I have a perfect place in mind..Sound in its foundation..rich in its tradition..."

*******

After scurrying out of that abysmal place, Raghuvir and Kamal hired a rickshaw to take them back to where their ambassador was parked, which if the readers remember was right in front of Mr. Dogra's shop. Fortunately they managed to arrive there before the property dealer, which allowed them to make a quick getaway,

"I say we leave the dealers to their dealing, and through a newspaper, search for me a ceiling," Raghuvir declared his intention once they were a safe distance away from Mr. Dogra's shop.

Kamal expressed no objections to it, and so that was the course of action which they followed thereafter, picking up a local daily and using the advertisements in it as their guide.

Half a dozen houses they canvassed for the rest of the day, and it was only towards the evening that a suitable place at last presented itself to our questers. A neat and tidy second floor apartment that overlooked a broad street with a park on the other side, it endeared itself at once to our professor's heart, and with luck on their side for the first time in the whole day, they were readily able to strike a rent agreement with the owner of the place.

What more, the owner even offered that if the professor so wished, he could move in to the place this evening itself! The professor was quick to lap it up, and promptly he and Kamal went back to the guest house to bring back his luggage.

A little while later they were in the Raghuvir's room, about to pack up his things, when Kamal got a call on his cell phone, which dragged him out of that room and in to a solitary corner of the courtyard outside, where he remained for the next hour or so, conversing with the caller in a hush-hush voice.

Afterwards he rushed in to the room on an awaiting professor, with joy of some good news dripping down his face.

"This world is a most remarkable place professor, a most remarkable place," he announced gleefully.

"An hour was enough time for the transformation of the ordinary in to the remarkable?" the professor asked, taking a dig at the young man.

"Leave alone an hour professor, when the universe is kind upon one, even a second is enough for it, as it was today," Kamal replied, his enthusiasm undiminished.

"Imagine professor, just imagine, a girl and her father, walking in to the premises of a college to see its admission cut-off lists. Now imagine them walking to the notice board where these lists are displayed. A keen father with expectant eyes is now scanning through those lists, finding the relevant one and hoping to find his daughter's name in it. From the bottom he begins, calling curses upon every name that he encounters which is not his daughter's, the tension mounts as he edges towards the top, as fewer and fewer names remain, his curses get more vitriolic, five left, now four, three, two, and..his daughter's name is not in there!" here Kamal paused with a dramatic sigh. "heartbreak, you must think that is what the poor father is going through right then, but he is more shell shocked than being aggrieved, you would ask me why professor? Well the name on top of that list is Rajesh Chaudhary; the name on the top of that cut-off list is none but his own!" And all of a sudden, Kamal broke in to loud, almost delirious laughter.

"It was his own professor, his own name in that list, where his daughter's was supposed to be," Clutching his belly he laughed, smacking his thighs he laughed some more, his mirth unrestrained. "And now imagine professor, just give your fancy some wings, and imagine this man's shock turning to anger, his face turning from blue to red, as he marches towards the Registrar's office, seeking an explanation for this lunacy. Almost throwing the door off its hinges, he barges in, straight he heads towards the registrar's desk, with an unquenchable desire to spear his two red horns right in to his asinine heart, but before he could, that sneering registrar brings out from his armor a shield to protect himself, a shield that consists of the documents he had received for this admission..there it is, shining in stark day light, the admission form in his name, forged certificates in his name, both validating the actions of the college, and sending the father in to another shock, his face once again turning back to blue, and then eventually white as he learns that the names on that cut-off list cannot changed now, no matter what. So often bureaucracy is a nemesis professor, but see the marvelousness in the workings of this universe, that this day, it turned out to be bliss."

"A girl got denied admission in a college by some strange events, and you are calling it bliss?" the professor asked, seeing nothing optimistic in the whole story.

"Bliss indeed professor, for this girl is kind of my..." here Kamal paused, letting a sheepish grin come across his features before continuing. "My girlfriend and she did not want to take admission in this particular college but had only applied there under her father's pressure. So it means, that she will now be able to go to an institute of her own choice," Kamal explained, and for a moment hesitated, before continuing. "She is really happy, and wants to celebrate with me this evening, so, I won't be able to help you move in to your new house," he revealed, his grin turning in to an apologetic grimace. "But don't you worry none, I just called Miss Anoothi, explaining to her our situation, and she has agreed to give you a ride to your new place. She lives not far from here, and I will drop you at her house," Kamal proposed, hoping the professor would accept this plan.

And Raghuvir did so readily, for this man whom he had barely known for a couple of weeks had already sacrificed half of his Sunday for him, asking him now to not go ahead with his tryst would be nothing less than sacrilege.

So soon, Raghuvir found himself standing at the door of the Rai household, from behind him he could hear the grumbling sounds of Rosa as it drove away, which filled him with a sense of relief, but quickly it vanished as he was greeted by the furious looking face of a history teacher. Rosa was gone, but now he had to deal with the woman they called Anoothi Rai.

*******

"Come in Mr. Dixit," said Anoothi dryly, stepping aside to let the professor in to her house, her flaring nostrils and her twitching lips along with her loose mane of brown hair presently making her look like a tempestuous storm.

"Just give me five minutes, I shall be right back," said she, before hurtling away, leaving the professor behind in the living room. Alone he thought he was at first, but a little look around revealed to him the presence of a grave and desolated looking Mr. Rai sitting on an arm chair in a corner of the room.

"Oh, what do I do with this girl professor? Just what do I do with her?" the man who had been silent up to now moaned lamentingly as soon as he noticed Raghuvir's gaze falling upon him.

"What is the matter Sir?" Raghuvir proceeded to ask; much concerned he was to see Mr. Rai in this sad state, which was a sharp contrast to his usual cheery and good humored persona.

"You tell me professor, whether a father is any wrong if he wishes for his little girl to settle down in life and find herself a family, if he desires for her to find a good man for herself and find her happiness and support in him. We all need someone to share our lives with professor, being a widower I know how hard it is to get by in this world without a partner, so if I wish for my daughter to not go through such hard times in her old age, am I any wrong in it? And if I am not, then why am I being castigated for it?" he repined. "See, an old friend is visiting me, and he has a son who is a settled Engineer, is of my daughter's age, is very handsome looking from the pictures I have seen of him, but most importantly is single and looking to marry. Then if I want my daughter to just meet him once and see if they can get along, then what is the big sin in that?"

"The problem is not the meeting; the problem is that you went ahead and arranged it without even caring to ask me about it first," suddenly came the sharp voice of Anoothi, who had reappeared in the room after getting herself ready.

Raghuvir was thankful for her return, for he was just not sure how to react to the old man's bereavement, and was afraid that in trying to console him, he might end up committing a gaffe. He had never felt comfortable in meddling with other people's personal affairs.

"But my daughter, these things are not planned. Did Romeo hatch up a plan to fall in love with the enemy's daughter and die young in her arms? Did Paris and Helen ponder upon their situation before they ran away with each other to cause the eventual destruction of Troy? Did Mirza contrive in any great detail about giving his heart to Sahiba and ultimately getting killed at the hands of her brothers? No, none of them did my daughter, for these things are always spur of the moment, impromptu, like the creation of an artist," Mr. Rai tried to explain.

"You do realize that your tragic examples serve to oppose rather than support your argument, don't you?" Anoothi asked, shaking her head. "Anyhow, I am not meeting any settled Engineer and that is final. I don't need to be someone's wife to be happy in life," she declared firmly and then stepped briskly towards the doorway leading to the front door. "Come Mr. Dixit, I need to get out of here," And without waiting on him, she rushed out.

"Just what do I do with her professor? Just what do I do with her?" Mr. Rai reiterated with a dejected sigh.

Raghuvir wanted to say something soothing that could allay the grief of the old man, but since nothing of the sort came to his mind, he just gave him a sympathetic grimace, patted his shoulder twice, and walked away.

*******

"A single woman must be an unhappy woman. Oh what a ridiculous notion!" Anoothi said with bitter disapproval as she drove the professor to his new apartment. She was getting tired of her father's recent attempts at setting up a match for her. The awkward introductions, the superficial conversations, the masquerade to impress each other, the idea that one could decide to spend one's whole life with a stranger after just one or two meetings, the sheer idiocy of the whole process of an arrange marriage was well known to her from the time when her late mother had forced her to meet some so-called eligible bachelors in her younger days, her experiences then having made her pledge to stay away from the madness of it all in the future, so now when her father tried to push her back in to that same quagmire, it infuriated her no end.

"I agree," Raghuvir replied simply, feeling reluctant to involve himself in the discussion.

"Agree with me or agree with my father?" Anoothi asked in a sharp voice.

"With you of course," Raghuvir responded, a little flummoxed.

"Good," Anoothi said, calming down somewhat after hearing his answer. "Do refrain from making ambiguous statements when you are with me," she went on to suggest.

Raghuvir was hoping to avoid any further conversation on the subject in order to save himself from bearing the brunt of her anger, but it was not to be as Anoothi carried on venting out her thoughts.

"And he has given his word, can you believe that? Given his word that I will meet this guy without even asking me about it first! I mean this is some first rate buffoonery," she groaned, at the same time making the car take an abrupt and sharp turn to the right which nearly threw the professor's head bumping against the window next to his seat under the effect of the centrifugal force.

"It is," the gasping professor at once gave his acquiescence, feeling timorous in front of her rage spurts.

"Excuse me. Are you calling my father a buffoon?" She asked, turning her gaze to him and raising a brow. They were going over sixty and she was not even looking at the road ahead!

"No, I called the act a buffoonery, I made no comment about any of the actors involved," he quickly clarified, desperate for her to turn her attention back to the road.

But instead of doing so, she thumped on the breaks and brought the car to a lurching halt in front of a park facing building.

"And we are here. Have we arrived at the right place or has that Kamal erred in the address he forwarded to me?" she asked, ready to call the man in question up and give him a piece of her mind in case the professor did not reply in an affirmative.

Luckily for Kamal, the professor affirmed that they were at the right place, upon which both he and Anoothi got out of the car and made their way in to the spick and span white building. After submitting the initial amount of rent and collecting the keys from the owner who lived on the ground floor, they ascended the stairs to the professor's new apartment. Here for the next couple of hours or so, they ran a number of chores to get the apartment in to a livable condition.

While Raghuvir swept the floors, cleaned the window panes and grills and made arrangement for some drinking water, Anoothi dusted the furniture, set up the kitchen and helped fix the bed sheet, at the end of which both came to the balcony to relax and rest their eyes by gazing at the park on the other side of the street, the verdurous ground currently occupied by some kids playing cricket on this pleasant summer evening.

Outside the park, there were some placards that carried noble-minded messages such as 'Save trees', 'Save water', and 'Save a variety of other natural things'. Reading them ignited a memory or two in Raghuvir's heart, and since no acerbic exchanges had taken place between him and Anoothi for the past couple of hours, it encouraged him to share his thoughts with her.

"Festers o'er untamed rage,

Prime mayhem it begets,

Blindeths all, nuns or kings," said he wistfully.

"Lovely lines, you wrote them?" Anoothi asked.

"Aye I did, on my school's notice board. My teachers got aware of my knack for a bit of poetry and made me scribble some lines on the notice board every now and then," the professor replied, but there was more to the story he wished to reveal. "I also hid in them messages for my girl, to tell her of the time and place of our coming meeting," he smiled, reminiscing.

"The notice board was near the school's front gate and could be easily read through its sliding grills. So in the afternoons when she used to go past it, she would read my lines, and get my ciphers."

"Was there any message encrypted in the lines you just spoke?" intriguingly she inquired.

"There was, if you take the first letter of each word, it translates to four pm IB Bank," he remarked with a bit of a cheeky grin.

Anoothi began to repeat the lines she had heard in her mind, and as she took out the first letter of each word and arranged them in a sequence; it confirmed for her that the professor was not speaking any flapdoodle.

"Bravo! Beautiful!" she shouted admiringly, laying a hand down on his shoulder. "Can you tell me any more of them?"

Raghuvir at that moment turned his eyes to her, and enunciated another little verse, giving life to his words in a soft deep voice.

"Beneath unseen stars,

Sirens trill and nymphets dance,

As thy serene enchanting virtuosity,

Enraptures the night"

As the evening breeze suffused with the scent of flora blew past their faces, as she stared in to his eyes and he stared back in to hers, as he sang his poesy and bared another little fragment of his past and of his heart to her, it felt as if the past had become the present, that the words he spoke were not for a lost love but for the lover sitting right in front of him. And his feelings were getting reciprocated by the woman sitting across; color had rushed to whose cheeks as the petals of his poetry had fallen upon her tingling ears.

"Bus stand at seven?" Anoothi put forth after what was a long pause in the conversation.

"Tomorrow after college?" Raghuvir proposed in return, to which she nodded her head, squeezed his shoulder and leaned in to land a soft kiss upon his cheek, which immediately caused a gleeful smile to be plastered across his face, one that remained unaltered, long after she had taken her leave for the evening.

*******

A moment before they were two distinct souls, journeying through life in their own individual paths, a moment later they had melted in to a single nebulous form, their destinies intertwined forever.

Sometimes it is just the caress of a soothing breeze, sometimes only a kind touch or an amorous glance or the moist imprint of a soft kiss, and at times the catalyst for it comes in the most unexpected of forms, and hard it is to describe, even harder to expound upon, how the magic of an instant gets two people to fall in interminable, endless love.

But in the environs of these new affections, what was one to do with his bonds with the past? Could one just shun them off, now that he had newer avenues to look forward to?

"Uncle, Uncle." Raghuvir was disturbed in his thoughts by a small hand tugging at the hem of his shirt from behind. For the past hour or so, he had been out on the roads walking and reflecting upon his situation.

"Yes beta," Raghuvir addressed one of the two young boys he found standing behind him after turning around. They were untidy and disheveled looking youths in threadbare clothes; one appeared to be in his early teens while the other was much younger and consequently shorter.

"Sahab, Sahab, me and my young brother have not eaten anything since the morning, Sahab." It was the older boy who spoke, looking up at Raghuvir with a sad look in his mousy eyes.

"Have not eaten anything.." Raghuvir murmured softly to himself, his face turning a little grim and his eyes wavering as he deliberated upon the validity of the boy's request in his mind. "You will use the money to eat and not for any drugs or something like that, right?" He said after a pause, his voice assuming a stern quality.

"Yes, Sahab, have not eaten anything from the morning," the boy just repeated, making his eyes even sadder than before.

Raghuvir again fell in to some hesitation, but eventually took out his wallet and held out for the boy a fifty rupee note. But before handing it over, he demanded from the boy a promise for the sound use of the money.

"Promise Sahab," the boy said with urgency, at which Raghuvir gave him the money.

"thank you Sahab, bless you," the boy stated his gratitude, a look of relief coming on his face as he grabbed the hand of his younger brother and scampered away.

As they left, Raghuvir found himself once again immersing back in to his thoughts. But having not eaten anything since the afternoon himself, he decided it best to forgo his deliberations for now and search for some food. After walking around a bit more, he discovered a small sandwich shop at one of the street corners. Run by a man who looked to be in his mid twenties, the shop had a single table up front that held all the ingredients used in preparing the three varieties of sandwiches which were sold there, along with a small microwave in the back which was used to grill the victuals after they were put together at the table up front. A regular looking shop it was indeed, until one happened to divert his gaze upwards at the white signboard above it, upon which was painted in italic red letters the name of the shop, one that aroused in the minds of most men, a feeling of amusement.

'Engineer Sandwich Wala'

Raghuvir too was not immune to that feeling and so somewhat fascinated himself after reading that signboard, he turned his eyes to the young man standing behind that table, who was presently preparing sandwiches for a couple of awaiting young girls. Was this man really an Engineer? Or was the signboard just a hoax intended to draw the public eye towards the shop?

"Any order Sir? We have here delicious sandwiches of the Cheese-Corn, Baloney and Mix-Vegetable varieties, all available in their low fat variants as well." Raghuvir heard the young boy speak to him, his clear and fluent diction signifying that he was indeed well educated and that the name on the board was no dupery.

Raghuvir went on to order himself a Cheese-Corn one and thus joined the other two customers in the waiting list, while the young man in the shop hustled to make them their sandwiches. It was after twenty minutes that the tasty delicacies were served to them on disposable silver colored plates along with a small serving of mustard sauce.

Who said engineers are not good cooks? And if anyone did, then one melting bite of any of those tasty, savory sandwiches there was enough to prove wrong even the staunchest of doubters, it was as if that young man had used all of the analytical and design tools he had learned in his engineering to devise the perfect, most mouth watering recipe for these vittles.

"lip-smacking tastic as always," announced one of the young girls, after taking a nibble of her mix-Vegetable Sandwich.

"It's a good thing you did not get a job after engineering, otherwise we would have never gotten to eat these yummy sandwiches." It was her friend's turn to chime in, and she did so with a little giggle. School aged girls both of them were, and often on their way back home from their evening tuition, they stopped at his shop to partake of its tasty delicacies, so that the sandwich maker by now had learned to ignore the occasional silly comment emanating from their ditzy mouths, but today he seemed to be in the mood for a bit of a rejoinder.

"Have you girls heard of Excel Sheet Technologies?" he inquired.

"Yes of course, it is my brother's dream company, he is also doing engineering these days you know." It was the first girl who replied, a proud smile coming on her face as she mentioned that her brother was also pursuing engineering, but she was sure that unlike the sandwich maker, he was going to be successful in that profession. "Did you also give interview for that company?"

"I did, in fact I was a System Engineer there for two years, and afterwards, an assistant Project Manager for one more," the sandwich maker revealed with an impertinent smile.

In great awe, the two girls were left at that little disclosure, the shock of it causing even their blabbering mouths to cease talking for the next many minutes.

"Why..why did you leave that job?" It was the second girl who finally managed to ask after gathering some of her bearings.

"So that I could open this shop and serve you guys with my tasty sandwiches," the sandwich maker replied with a sarcastic chuckle.

No other questions followed, and after a little while, the two girls went on their way after finishing their sandwiches. Raghuvir, who had been listening to the whole exchange quietly so far, was also done with his and stepped up to the table to pay for it.

"It was delicious, thank you," he complimented while handing over the price of the sandwich to its maker.

"You are most welcome Sir," the young sandwich maker said, opening a drawer under the table and putting the money he had received in to it before closing it back down.

Now usually Raghuvir refrained from meddling in other people's lives, but this was such a singular scenario that his curiosity ultimately ended up getting the better of him.

"Did you really leave a job in that company to open a sandwich shop?" he could not help but ask.

"Yes, left it, but not of my own volition," the young man answered, a pensive look casting itself forth on his visage.

Raghuvir nodded and said nothing more, if the Sandwich maker wished to share his story then he must do so without any persuasion from him, otherwise he was quite ready to thank him once again for the sandwich and just go off on his way.

"A very improbable story it is," the young man did go on, at the same time he was using a rag to wipe his table clean off some sauce that had spilled there.

"One day you are on top of the world, working in a dream job, living with a wonderful girl, then one evening you return back home to find that you have been reduced to nothing but dreg, a most lowly kind of detritus." He said with a sigh. "You come home after a hard day of work, hoping to spend some time with your girl, but instead of her, waiting for you there are a couple of police officers, there to arrest you on rape charges your own girl has filed against you!"

"Yes, Sir, I was completely dumbstruck too. It was explained to me that I had given her the promise of marriage at some time in the past, and two days earlier, when I had told her that I was not ready to marry her yet, I had quite simply gone back on that word. Thus I was guilty of using falsehood to obtain her consent for intimacy, and such consent is no-consent at all in the eyes of the law. At once I was arrested and taken away to be put behind bars. Within minutes, Vishav the Engineer was turned into Vishav the rapist, both by the law, as well as the society."

"The repercussions of such vilification can be dire Sir, as they were for me. Within weeks, I was fired from my job, I was leaking money to lawyers, eschewed by all the people who I thought were my friends, and all that while I continued to spend my time behind bars. Bleak days they were indeed." At that point the young man stopped his narration as he had to attend a newly arrived customer.

It took a total of twenty more minutes before this customer was duly dispatched, in which time Raghuvir just stood mum, feeling much commiseration for this young man.

"So, that was my story. After spending a year in jail, I was offered settlement by that girl. She took off with my patriarchal house, as well as most of my remaining savings, and I was left with only this small shop to my name. Since no company would touch me because of my past, yes the world is superficial like that; I came here and opened this sandwich shop. I used to make sandwiches for my study group during my engineering days, so I said what the heck," he said shrugging his shoulders, a reflective smile on his face.

"You spirit, it is quite commendable," Raghuvir stated, giving him a condolent look.

"Far too much credit you give me there," the young man shook his head and then turned his eyes up towards the ceiling of his shop. "See that hook over there?" the young man asked, to which Raghuvir replied with an affirmative nod. "Just three weeks ago I tried to hang myself dead from there."

That last statement sent a chill down the poet's spine, who now with incredulous eyes was staring back and forth between that hook and the face of that young man.

"Luckily I was saved as the rope that day snapped under my weight. Looking back Sir, I am glad that it did. For when I woke up the next day, all my grief was gone," the young man recounted.

"Gone?" a confused Raghuvir inquired.

"Yes, gone, whoosh, disappeared, just like that. I mean those memories were still there, but no longer did they haunt me. It was like a miracle, as if I had been given a second chance."

"Quite difficult to believe that grief could just disappear like that," Raghuvir replied, suspicious that he was being lied to by the Sandwich maker.

"I know Sir, I know. Even I could not believe it. But it was just gone. As they say, time heal all wounds, no matter how deep, all one needs to do then is not to give up. And I am thankful to my fortunes that saved me from giving up that dark night," he declared, some enthusiasm creeping in his voice for the first time during the whole conversation.

"Life teaches us many lessons indeed," Raghuvir could only offer the threadbare axiom as a paltry requital to the young man's insights; he was still not sure about the veracity of his words.

"Many lessons indeed it does, Sir," the young man agreed. "You want to know the most important one I learned?"

"Please do tell."

"Well next time I am with a girl, I am not even touching her before I get her to sign an affidavit stating that I had not obtained her consent through any dubious means whatsoever."

And the last comment made the two men exchange amidst themselves a bit of a chortle.

Raghuvir wondered if he should propose a similar thing to Anoothi during their date tomorrow. Will she accede to signing such a document, or will she smash his head in to a brick wall first? Very much sure that it was going to be the latter, it only took him close to a couple of seconds to drop the idea altogether.

*******
5

In front of the city's clock tower, Ankit and Neha were hovering. It was late after midnight, in moon light blues the red bricked structure of the tower and its surroundings were dipped, the air around was heavy and was suffused with the eerie humming of the crickets, to whose haunting buzz danced innumerous tiny little motes in wave like patterns, and coalescing with it all were the dull grating sounds emanating from the movement of the black hands of the turret clock over its white dials.

The time on the dial facing the east was 15 minutes past 3.

"Are you going to tell me what exactly we are doing here, staring at some clock at such a late hour?" asked Ankit, his voice a hushed whisper. There were men asleep on the footpath near the base of that tower, but Ankit was not concerned about disturbing them, for he knew that only ghosts could hear ghost voices, it was rather the quiet of the night that he wished not to disrupt, and thus he kept his voice low and soft.

Neha did not reply to him at all, instead she seemed busy concentrating upon counting the passing moments by flicking her thumb across the tips of her fingers in a sequential manner. As those clock hands began to drift precariously closer to each other, she suddenly grabbed Ankit by the arm and tugged at it forcefully, pulling him along as she flew straight into the dial of the clock.

A sudden yelp, a sharp gasp, a whizzing journey through a whirling kaleidoscopic tunnel, and suddenly Ankit found himself thrown in to the confines of some poorly lit basement. He looked at Neha, who was still beside him, with perplexed and astonished eyes – Just what in the name of physics defying sorcery had happened here?

"Whenever the hands of that clock overlap, it creates a portal we ghosts can use to travel in to the nether world," Neha revealed, as she sat herself down on one of the crates there in order to catch her breath.

"Wait, you mean we are in the nether world right now?" Ankit asked looking around, when he had first heard about it from Neha , he had imagined it to be some sort of a surreal fantastical place with all sort of enchanting and grotesque apparitions, but this old dusty basement with these stacks of crates, well it could only at best be described as bland in his opinion.

"Indeed we are. Come, there is someone I want you to meet," Neha said, as she fleeted towards a flight of steps that led to the upper levels. Ankit readily followed her, and it was soon that he found himself standing in the premises of a smoke filled bar. The whole place was irradiated by a dim red light, the center aisle surrounded on either side by tables and comfortable chairs, upon which were seated specters and wraiths of variegated forms, blithesomely enjoying their hookahs and booze.

But then there came an abrupt cessation in their mirthful activities, as they noticed the presence of the two pristine white ghosts amidst themselves, who were a sharp contrast to their own colorful forms. Ankit saw that he and Neha had begun to attract many a sharp and spiteful glances from these other wraiths, which perturbed him and caused him to momentarily halt in his steps.

"Come along now, you don't want to stand in this antagonistic crowd for long," Neha whispered to him urgently, as she once again grabbed his arm in an attempt to usher him off. Gathering his bearings, Ankit duly responded, and soon they crossed the whole of that aisle, and found themselves coming across the main bar section at the end of it, where a young woman, with red flaring hair and a light freckled snub nose, was busy preparing drinks that were then percolated through the whole of the premises by the waiters present there.

It was this young woman, whom Neha went on to address, their conversation inaudible to Ankit under the din of the rock metal music blaring over the speakers of the bar. By and by, the young red haired woman, after listening to the white ghostess' entreaty, stepped out of her bar area and led the two of them away towards a wooden cabin located upstairs.

"I will go and tell him of your coming, you just wait here," the barmaid instructed the two of them, now that the commotion of the outside was drowned out by the wooden walls of the enclosure they were in, Ankit was able to hear her raspy voice quite clearly, which to his ears, felt as chafing as that distasteful music downstairs.

Fortunately he did not have to bear with it for long, as the red haired woman rapidly departed from there after that, leaving Ankit and Neha alone in the cabin. The cabin, made up of four wooden walls, was stacked on three sides by comfortable looking red velvet couches, while the fourth was reserved for the door through which they had entered it. The upper halves of these walls were embellished with a motif of sparkly purple and red flowers, while the ceiling above was painted in an allegory which bespoke of a popular lore of this world, wherein the hero Kirtirath, depicted in the form of a lofty powerful figure, was being handed over the greatly coveted Madira flower by the Gods, after he had won it for the nether world in a game of magical pebbles, defeating Vir Ras, that celebrated specter of the higher realms, who was portrayed in the fable as a dwarf kneeling in supplication at Kirtirath's feet. As a result of Kirtirath's triumph, the Madira flower, from which the inebriant Madrico was extracted, could only be grown in the lands of the nether world from that day onwards, thus making the other two realms, mortal and spiritual, forever dependent upon it for their alcoholic needs.

"The ghosts out there did not seem too fond of us," Ankit commented, as he seated himself in one of the corners of the cabin.

"Many of them have always had an aversion for us outsiders, especially since the middle ages, when the Gods barred them from entering the mortal world because of the havoc they created back then. All those horror stories from the ages past that kids hear from their grandmothers and great Aunts, all true, and all bestowed upon humanity by these ghosts of the nether world, from the time when they were free to roam the earth. But then one day the Gods got sick of their stunts and just confined them to this underworld; the portal used to move between the two worlds was closed for beings of their spiritual energy, and to this day it only grants passage to us, the specters of the positive spirit, which only fuels their envy and enmity towards us," Neha explained. "I am not saying all of them are punks, there are many who are perfectly wonderful creatures to mingle with and be friends with, but yeah, most of them are dangerous, as such I would advise you to be very careful while roaming around here."

"Yeah kid, listen to her, it will save you a lot of trouble." Suddenly fell upon their ears, the rough masculine voice of a figure which had sneaked in to the cabin during their little chat.

"Monty, the maverick," Neha turned around and gave a smile of familiarity to the entrant before floating forth to hug him. Monty the maverick, a tall lanky specter, dressed in old denims, a fine pair of brown leather boots and a black Nirvana t-shirt, his face carrying the glow of youth, black eyes carrying the gift of clairvoyance, his dapper look completed by his curly beard combed out and tied under his chin with a black rubber band along with a black turban tied around his head that tapered in to a sharp impeccable apex, all in all, the man looked a mannequin of some high end fashion store come to life.

"Neyah, Neyah, Neyah," exulted Monty, reciprocating the ghostess' embrace. "How come you are here today huh? Finally got time for this friend of yours?"

"You know how it is. The whole love business keeps me effing busy, or else I would have visited more often," Neha explained with a shrug of her shoulders as she stepped back after breaking the warm hug.

"You and your love business, and when the hell are you yourself, is gonna fall in love huh?" Monty quipped.

"Come on now. Don't turn so quickly from Monty the maverick, in to Monty the spastic," She rejoined with a giggle.

"Shut up, Neyah the Neanderthal," He riposted, and both of them fell in to some friendly laughter.

"Oh I forgot to introduce..." Neha said, shaking her head at her momentary forgetfulness. "This here is Ludhiana's new ghost of wisdom, Ankit, and this here is one of my dear friends, Monty."

"Glad to meet you kid," Monty came forward and proffered his hand towards Ankit, who was looking a little lost in his thoughts at the moment.

The warm hugs, the affectionate repartees, him being introduced with that tepid official title while the other party was getting labeled as a dear friend, the whole string of events was all so disconcerting to him, engendering in him envy as well as a feeling of being left out.

"Hey kid, you alright?" Monty tried to draw his attention, his extended hand still lingering there.

"Oh..y..yes.." Ankit stuttered, and took the adversary's hand while coming out of his reverie.

"Good, good, my company can be a bit overwhelming to some at first," Monty chuckled some more. Ankit of course was least amused by his hackneyed jest, and just replied to it with a smile, out of mere courtesy.

Monty and Neha then went on to place their ethereal derrieres on the couches there, and with Ankit already seated, the three of them were finally ready to confer about the more important issues of the night.

"So what is it that brings you here tonight?" Monty began by asking. "Another shopping excursion in the Pret-Bazaar?"

"Not this time around, No. Actually I need a small favor from you, it is about one of my..ermmm..love cases," Neha responded. "You know any of the Shimla's seven?"

"A couple of them yes, fond of my booze they do visit the club once in a fortnight or so," Monty answered.

"Well, next time you see one, just..." Neha paused, and silently enunciated one of the Sugams, which then made appear a folded piece of paper in the palm of her hand. "Deliver to them this message of mine." And she thrust her hand forth and handed the paper over to Monty.

"A billet doux, is it?" Monty inquired cheekily.

"Yeah, heart shaped dots over my I's, verses of romantic poetry, and an impression of my lipsticks kiss at the bottom, need any more information?" Neha answered back with a little shake of her head.

"Alright, alright, no need to get all cranky on my ass," Monty sniggered, before tucking the letter safely away in to one of the front pocket of his jeans. "Is that it then?"

"That is it for now," Neha replied with a nod. "We can peacefully spend the rest of the night getting drunk," She went on to suggest, giving the cue to Monty that it was time to order those drinks.

"Sure, sure, but before we do that, I have something else I need to tell you," Monty said, before hesitatingly pointing towards the newcomer in the room with his gleaming clairvoyant eyes.

"He is a friend, don't worry, I trust him completely, you can say what you have to say in front of him," Neha urged.

Good to know she still considers me a friend, thought Ankit, his only thought in the whole conversation, in which he had been sitting so far as a mock spectator.

"Well, that haggard looking ghost of your city, what is his name, yeah Arjun, well recently he has begun coming around here a lot, almost every other night," Monty revealed. "But that is not what concerns me, no, countless ghosts come here to this place to drink away their sorrows, it is not at all some anomaly for me to be concerned about, what caught my attention though is the crowd he has been keeping with in these past few weeks." And here, Monty scooted forth, before disclosing the rest of the information in the form of a surreptitious whisper. "It's Vichitrasen and his boys he has been hanging around with."

"Vichitrasen and his boys you say?" Neha repeated, as she sank in her seat a little. "What is he doing hanging out with those thugs?" she wondered out loud.

"That I have no idea of, I thought I best tell you before he ends up falling prey to one of their wicked tricks," Monty went on. "Its best you advise him to stay away from those swindlers."

"Yeah, as if he would ever listen to me," Neha responded with a wistful sigh, mindful of Arjun's acerbity towards her. "But I will see what I can do," she added. "Is he here tonight?"

"No, he is not," Monty answered. "Anyways, let us order those drinks then, for getting you drunk is my best chance of getting you in my bed," Monty joked.

"Distasteful humor of an old maid," Neha murmured, rolling her eyes.

"That is why I want you to add some spice to it," rejoined Monty, with a mischievous wink.

"Just shut up and order those drinks, will ya?" Neha sighed in defeat, knowing there was no winning this verbal joust.

And so Monty got up from his seat, went to open the door of the cabin, and standing at its sill, yelled out instructions for the barmaid downstairs, who in due time came up with their drinks. For the next few hours, the three of them stayed there, enjoying the different tangs and varieties of that ethereal liquor Madrico. While Monty and Neha continued their banter and also reminisced over some incidents of their shared past, Ankit continued to feel left out and kept sulking in silence.

It was towards the wee hours of the morning that this binge finally came to an end, after which the two ghosts of the mortal world, with their white forms ripply due to all that booze in their systems, took their leave and stumbled out of the bar in to the dark foggy streets of the underworld.

"How do we get out of here then?" Ankit asked, yawning, specks of golden whiskey flying out of his mouth as he did so.

"Huh..??" Neha exclaimed, and burped. "Oh..yeah..getting out of here.." she muttered, some delayed understanding dawning upon her sloshed mind. Lacking much coordination in her movements, she somehow managed to grab Ankit's hand and flew with him upwards, up above all that dense fog.

Higher and higher they went, until they were in the clearing, over them was the radiant night sky littered with streaks of green aurora lights and innumerous twinkling blue stars, underneath them was the shroud of dense fog that covered the whole of the underworld and presently hid it completely from their eyes, and a little in front of them, was an ominous looking gothic clock tower, its ginormous height making it the only structure in the visible range which jutted above all that fog.

"So, I guess, it is more of the same routine," Ankit said, to which Neha just bobbed her head a couple of times, and so they headed for the dials of the tower. Upon reaching it, Ankit noticed that they were late, for the minute hand had already crept past the hour's one by a few degrees. "Just a few minutes late we are," he exclaimed with a tired sigh.

"the clocks..here..actually run backwards, so we are rather a few minutes early.." Neha answered, her half closed eyes wandering lazily over the dial, waiting for those clock hands to come together so they could make the journey back home.

"Oh..very well.." And as Ankit paid close attention, he indeed discovered that the minute hand was approaching the hour's one rather than going away from it.

"What was that letter about?" Ankit asked, staring at the clock and seeing that they still had a little time to spare.

"That man on the rooftop from the other night, remember him?" Neha replied.

"Yeah, the one smiling at the stars, I remember him," Ankit said.

"Well, he has been searching for a woman he loved for the past many years, the letter was to arrange a meeting between them," Neha disclosed. Her face then suddenly attained a sad and pensive look, as she murmured in a heavy drunk voice, the next three words. "one..last..meeting.."

"Wh.a.." Ankit was about to ask, but before he could finish with his query, he was getting pulled by Neha towards the dial of the clock, whose hands were now perfectly overlapping one another.

*******

Last evening she had fallen for the romantic innocence in the words of a nomadic poet, and this evening she had a date with the same fella, but before the evening, there was the morning and there was the afternoon, ones that in an ideal world she should have spent in the anticipation of the coming rendezvous, but as destiny would have it, Anoothi was being forced to expend that time on entertaining a trio of guests, who were there in her house towards the purpose of arranging a marriage for her.

Firstly there was the father of the boy, a shrunken old man dressed in a somber grey suit of some long past fashion, whose whole existence consisted of nodding his head to everything his wife said, that light grizzly moustache upon his blanched lips, perhaps the last little attempt to hold on to some former known manhood.

Then there was his wife, the mother of the boy, an imposing, presumptuous and judgmental lady of a portly figure, dressed in the finest of silk Saris, a doting mother who could not hear a word spoken against the glory of her perfect son, her most prominent feature being her thick plush lips, currently coated in dark maroon lipstick, these were the sort of lips that suckled the life out of husbands all around the world on a regular basis, the poor chaps thought that they were getting kissed, but in fact they were getting their spirits sapped and their dreams crushed.

And lastly there was the boy himself, stalwart and sinewy, the sharp rugged features on his clear face and his neatly trimmed crop of black hair matched by the immaculateness of his black designer suit, he sat stiff and perfectly motionless in the couch, add a pair of trendy dark goggles and he would have been India's answer to western alien fighters.

Side by side the three of them sat on the couch, a host of snacks, condiments and potables present on the table in front of them, beyond which, upon an armless wooden chair, sat Anoothi, dressed in a black churidar pajami and a yellow kurti along with a black dupatta, her attire completed by a pair of yellow sandals and yellow framed spectacles, which along with the disgruntled look in her eyes made her look like an angry wasp, ready to sting these intruders out of her house.

And she would have, if it was not for the preclusive presence of her father, who was seated in an easy chair by her side, making himself too a part of this masquerade. And it was quite natural that he be a part of it, for by inviting these eminent personalities to their house, he was the man responsible for arranging it in the first place, the shriveled father of the boy being his childhood friend.

"So beta Ji, for how long have you been teaching history?" It was the mother who spoke, her insidious honey laced words directed towards the maiden seated in front of her.

"Eleven years," Anoothi answered, stifling back a groan. She had been through this grind numerous times before, having been compelled to meet many a suitors and their families when her mother was alive.

"Bravo!" the mother bounced in exultation after hearing her response. "Eleven years is wonderful indeed. I firmly believe that to be good in a profession, you have to stick to it for at least a period of ten years. The rule of decadence I call it, and I advise everyone to adopt it in their lives. Look at Mr. Kharbanda here for example," she said pointing to her husband, while Anoothi wondered if this ingenious lady had any idea about the meaning of the word decadence, which in her pretentious cleverness she had thought to be some fancy form of decade. "After his retirement from his government job, he decided to try his hand at cooking, but lost his interest in it after a while. But I, being the wife I am, did not let him break the rule of decadence, and so to this very day, he cooks all three meals in our house, and with time, he has gotten even decent at it. If I had not forced his hand to persevere at it, then he would never have acquired this skill. Aren't you thankful for that, Mr. Kharbanda?" she asked with a look of lofty pride upon her face, to which poor Mr. Kharbanda, the majority of whose days were now spent in the kitchen and the scullery, replied with a subservient nod, thereby allowing the life sucking succubus, that his wife was, to continue her monologue unabashedly.

"And don't think beta Ji that I am someone, who preaches without observance. If ten years are required to make you good at a task, then it takes at least fifty for achieving any level close to excellence in it. Take my own personal example, for thirty five years I have been head of our society's women committee. Each month, I put my efforts in towards organizing the best of the kitty parties for our members, the finest food, the best locations, the trendiest tapestry, the classiest cutlery, and a myriad of other little hassles there are, involved in organizing a proper kitty party, and despite thirty five years at the job, I still mess up with some aspect of it every now and then. It is only natural, since I still have fifteen more years to go to reach that level where the possibility of a mistake is finally eliminated, and though it can be hard on one's nerves, going through such an arduous ordeal every month, I am still keeping at it, not letting my patience dwindle, like some soldier standing firm at his post, like a perfectionist grinding to make his ultimate master piece," the lady thus pontifically concluded, smiling in some kind of great self-satisfaction.

Anoothi's father, who had witnessed the proceedings up to now in relative silence, concluded from the look in his daughter's eyes that she was perilously close to losing her patience with this woman, and knowing that some sort of a sharp retort could come from Anoothi at any coming moment, he haphazardly intervened in an attempt to rescue the situation.

"Oho bhabhi Ji. Why are we boring these young people with our tedious talks? I say it's best if we leave them alone and give them a chance to know each other," he slipped his old bottom forth in his easy chair and suggested with an uneasy chortle.

"I don't mean to offend Bhai Sahab, but this is not some tedious talk," the lady, that great mother expressed her disaccord by wrinkling her heavily made up face in to all sort of contortions. "But you are right, there will be enough time for me to teach your daughter my ways of life after the marriage," she said, her last statement prompting her to loosen her twisted face back in to its human form.

"So you have already decided to marry your son to me?" Anoothi asked, raising a brow from behind her glasses. Aren't you supposed to ask my opinions, or will about it first? – She wanted to add, but refrained herself from expressing any dissension, for she had thought of at that moment a better way to get rid of these morons.

"Well of course beta Ji, you are the missing puzzle to our otherwise perfect family. Mr. Kharbanda here is a retired government official, I myself am an illustrious socialite, Ayush here is an Engineer from IIT and have been employed in Doodle for the past ten years, a job for which he draws a very handsome salary, my older daughter, she is a renowned Heart Surgeon, while the younger one is doing her MBA from IIM, you see, all we needed then was someone like you, a college professor to complete our family, and so when Mr. Kharbanda told me about you, I had to pounce upon that chance," Mrs. Kharbanda said, before turning her eyes towards her son, Ayush Kharbanda, who had been sitting there all this while, upright and stoic like a piece belonging to the ancient Stonehedge. "Go ahead beta, spend some time with your future wife," Mr. Kharbanda added, and as if on cue, the brawny pillar got up from that couch and was ready to go wherever his mother would direct him to.

Mr. Rai, who was expecting his daughter to throw some kind of a scathing tirade in response to the rubbish tripe this woman was muttering (yes, despite his strong desire to see his daughter get married, even he was finding it hard to bear with Mrs. Kharbanda's insightful views!) was rather surprised and a little bit disappointed, when his daughter docilely got ready to leave with the pillar for the privacy of her room. He had not raised his daughter to take this sort of rotten talk from anybody, why then was she putting up with it? Was it her way of punishing him for arranging this meet in the first place? Anyhow, there was nothing he could do about it now but witness the ongoing travesty with a meek smile.

By and by, the Pillar disappeared with Anoothi in to her room, and once in there, he started asking the questions his mother had taught him were appropriate and necessary for such an occasion.

"So what are your hobbies?" In a firm voice he asked, his handsome chiseled face expressionless.

"Porn," Anoothi promptly replied, completely nonchalant to what she was saying.

"P..porn?" A stutter! Perhaps there was a chink in this man, whom up to now we had thought to be some kind of an impregnable fort, as he now looked at the girl in the room with a somewhat agitated look on his face.

"Yeah porn..I mean, do you like watching porn?" Anoothi asked with a casual shrug of her shoulders.

"No, of course not!" he answered defensively, crossing his arms in front of his stout frame.

"Then you would not know about this I guess," Anoothi stepped to her vanity, and rummaging through the drawers in there for a minute or two, came up afterwards with a newspaper clipping in her hand. With a resentful smile, she handed it over to her supposedly future husband.

'Local Professor falls prey to an MMS scandal'

In a shameful turn of events yesterday, as obscene MMS was discovered featuring one of the local female professors of the city. Rubina (name changed to protect identity), a local professor here in Ludhiana, was in for the trauma of a lifetime, when she inadvertently came across on a confiscated student mobile, a video clip that featured her in some of her most intimate moments with an ex-boyfriend. The distraught teacher, suspecting her ex-boyfriend to be behind this loathsome crime, went on to file a complaint in the police, who is now investigating the matter. Now while a great number of similar MMS cases have come to light in the city in recent times, the victims in most of them have been young college or school girls, although this one shows that not even a professor is nowadays safe from this technological nemesis.

While he read that column, Anoothi was busy noticing the changing colors of his countenance, first there was the inquisitiveness, then came the whole 'why am I reading this' bewilderment, little by little sprouted forth the signs of suspicion, the ones she had been waiting for before she gave him the prescribed dosage of shock.

"Rubina, name changed to protect identity, was actually me," she revealed, turned her back to him and began counting down from ten in her mind. She had barely reached seven when she heard the dull thud of the bedroom door closing, three seconds, that was all it had taken for her would-be husband to cast her off.

She turned, knelt down, picked up the newspaper clipping that was lying on the floor, dusted it off with her fingers before moving to put it back in one of her drawers, in case she needed it again to ward off similar candidates for her hand in the future.

It was ten minutes later that she came out of her room. The guests were gone, leaving behind them half eaten victuals and a sour aftertaste in the mouths of their hosts. Her father was sitting in his easy chair, looking desolated and forlorn.

"Sorry daughter, I am sorry I put you through all that," he said in a faltering voice.

"It's alright Dad," softly she replied, leaning down and kissing him softly on one of his cheeks. "I know you were only doing it for my happiness, but its best to let these things happen at their own time."

"Still.." the old man shook his head and sighed, this last hour seemed to have added years to his age.

"Don't worry dad, life will turn out to be just fine for me, I have full faith in that," Anoothi said, rubbing her old man's shoulder.

"Can I ask you something?" After a long pause he spoke. "Why did you tell him at all about that horrid incident? A simple No would have sufficed."

"I don't believe these people were at all interested in my say on the matter. For them I was just some perfect product they had come to shop for and a product has no choice. I thought the best way to send them away then was to show them a blemish or two that the product carried."

*******

In a city full of expensive restaurants and fancy food joints, there stood the pleasant anomaly of the EAT N TREAT café, one of those rare places that bestowed upon its patrons the warmth and coziness of a home. Situated above a ground storey housing a number of shops, the café' consisted of a wooden shack like structure in the back and an open terrace up front. Under a canopy on that terrace, the old and young of the city were often seen immersed in games like the chess and checkers, while on the benches near the wooden balustrade one could every now and then come across a dilettante musician playing his guitar and singing old rustic songs, and inside the shack, apart from the service area and the kitchen, there was also a quiet section with a little library of books provided for those wishing to absorb their senses in to the imagination or the didacticism of the written word, and despite all these amenities', EAT N TREAT did not at all overcharge its customers, a delicious hot cup of coffee was only priced at a reasonable twenty five bucks while its famous chocolate pastry could be had by shelling out a sensible twenty.

This cool summer evening, scurrying up the wooden flight of stairs that led up to the café' was Raghuvir, and as he stepped on to its terrace, he was greeted by the deep bass voice of the musician who was singing of the coming rains.

'With thunder aplenty..

the cold drizzle will fall upon me face...

long this summer have been..

now I need the rains to give me some solace.'

He noticed her sitting at one of the tables, dressed in all white she looked serene and beautiful in that twilight, like some angel of the first order. The musician's solace was in the rains, but Raghuvir's was in the vision of her face.

As he approached her though, there was a miffed expression of annoyance on her visage.

"Fifteen minutes late huh?" she said, rolling her eyes and pointing to the watch on her slender wrist. In a louder, more emotive voice, the singer went on.

'Lo! How the dark clouds rumble and groan..

The lazy quiet of the hot days now gone..

And the violent winds, yeah the violent winds ablaze..

In to the eye of the gale, in the eye of the gale I gaze..'

"I got late in trying to find this place," Raghuvir explained, in response to which Anoothi just turned her eyes away sulkily.

"Come on now," Raghuvir said in a bit of a wheedling voice, as he pulled himself a chair beside Anoothi. "It is just fifteen minutes, an infinitesimal and insignificant amount of time if you compare it to the age of our cosmos. Surely it is not some infraction that cannot be excused."

'The rains come as heaven's forgiveness..

For these scorching lands, they are a new breath of life..

Surely you can't stay broody in these rains..

It don't matter, if you are someone's mother and no one's wife.'

"Fifteen minutes my dear professor is far from being an insignificant amount of time," said Anoothi in a taunting sing song, as she turned her eyes back to look in to that of Raghuvir's. "I was ten, when I was taken by a couple of men, kidnapped I mean. They took me to the railway station, I think they were trying to smuggle me out of town. But because their train arrived 15 minutes late that day, my father and the police were able to get to me and rescue me from their clutches. Had it not been for those 15 minutes, who knows, my life would have been completely different today, or perhaps it would have ended long ago."

"I think, you are missing the point of the story," Raghuvir pointed out with a sheepish smile.

"No, I am not. The point of the story is that 15 minutes is not an insignificant amount of time, that's what it is," Anoothi objected sharply.

"No, no, the point of your story is.." And Raghuvir paused for a little dramatic effect before continuing. "That being late is not always a bad thing," he added with a guilty grin.

"Alright then," she picked up her handbag from the table and got up abruptly.

"Wait, where are you going?" asked Raghuvir, getting concerned.

"Around for a walk, I will be back in 15 minutes. I waited for you, so it is only right that you wait for me too," Anoothi announced and began stepping away from the table.

"No, stop, I am sorry okay," Raghuvir apologized haphazardly.

"You are what?" she inquired, pausing in her way.

"I am..sorry okay.." he reiterated, gently.

After musing upon his apology for a couple of seconds, she sat back down, the dull grimace on her face turning in to a smile. "So what do we do now?" she asked.

"I don't know," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "It has been a long time since I have been out on one of these."

"Well I am no regular at it either," she echoed his sentiments.

"Shall we order something to eat?" he wondered out loud.

"Have you come here to just eat then?" she teased.

"Well what are we supposed to do then?" He asked, acting clueless.

"Should not we sit holding hands or something, for a while at least?" she proposed.

"You want me to hold your hand?" he slowly began moving his hand in her direction.

"I don't know..may be..I think you should.." she said after a brief moment of hesitation.

"O..okay," he said, gulping, feeling a little feverish as his fingers brushed the soft skin upon the back of her hand. Her hand shivered in the warmth of his touch in return before grasping it.

"Okay you are supposed to..open those..fingers now..interlace them, no don't squeeze so hard...you sure you have done this before?? Okay..it's finally good now," she expressed her satisfaction when they were finally able to overcome one or two clumsy failures and managed to twine their fingers in to each others.

"I like that you don't have a sweaty palm, I have never liked sweaty palms, yours is warm but not sweaty, I like it," she added.

"Yours is...wonderful too.." he responded, as his eyes wandered to the beautiful pearl necklace she was wearing around her neck.

"What, our first date and you are going to start ogling my breasts?" she asked sharply, seeing where his eyes were pointed to.

"W..wait..who said anything about..breasts..I was talking about your palm," he clarified, stuttering, looking up at her face again.

"Heading west, looking north huh?" she shot back.

"No, I was just...looking at your necklace," he explained.

"Since when did men become all interested in necklaces?" she refused to believe him. "If you were looking at my breasts, at least be honest about it."

"But I was not...looking..." he groaned.

"Well I don't believe you," she said, and looked away.

Dumbfounded, he sighed and began to pull his fingers out of hers, only for her to grasp them firmly. "I said I don't believe you, I never said I want to stop holding hands with you."

And while the two of them were engaged in this awkward confabulation, there arrived upon that terrace a younger couple who were having no such troubles. Arm in arm they walked, with the girl's head laid upon the boy's shoulder, their forms lightly swaying to the soft melodious guitar picking of the musician.

The twilight around them was fast fading, and the lamps at the terrace were lit to immerse the whole of the environment in to a romantic light of a faint orange hue. But the romantic birds with their souls lost in each other were little aware of these optical gradations, as with arms around each other they began to dance to the music.

And it seemed that their dance was endless, that for eternal time they would remain immersed in the beatings of each other's hearts, that not even hapless pain could stop the two of them from being together with each other.

But then, the boy's eyes fell upon Raghuvir and Anoothi and at once, the scent of love which was suffusing his surroundings turned in to that of anxiety.

And now his heart fluttered even more, as he saw the two of them coming towards him.

"H..hey..professor..hello Miss Rai," he greeted them with a nervous stammer.

"Why Kamal, what are you doing here? And who is this lucky girl with you?" Anoothi asked, the girl still being in Kamal's arms had her back turned to them.

"Girl..which...girl..?" And Kamal was literally trying to press the face of his date in to his chest in order to prevent any chance of his colleagues having a glimpse of who she was.

"The girl with you of course, stop acting like some dimwit," Anoothi reprimanded him, Kamal's silly behavior making her more inquisitive about the identity of the girl.

"I am not some dimwit," he protested. He was feeling like the last standing soldier of a defeated army, desperately trying to hold his ground in the trenches while being under heavy artillery fire from an indomitable enemy.

"Stop it now you," Anoothi shot back with a distasteful frown.

"Come on man, there's nothing to be ashamed of, you are out on a date here, you have not committed a burglary," Raghuvir tried to assuage him, there was nothing wrong in a man spending a romantic evening with a woman, he himself had come here in anticipation of something similar before the whole breasts saga had put an embargo on all things amorous.

"What date? There's no date," Kamal stressed again but seeing her man continuing to make a fool out of himself prompted the girl to separate herself from him and turn around to face the intruders.

"Good..evening..Ma'am," the short statured girl greeted Anoothi meekly and formally, her dusky eyes lowered in embarrassment.

"I cannot believe it!" Anoothi gasped, and looked at Kamal with even sharper disdain. "You have been dating Kritika! Have you gone completely nuts Kamal?" she reproofed, before turning her eyes to the girl. "And what is up with you? Last I knew you; you used to be an intelligent girl."

Raghuvir who was at first feeling somewhat baffled about the belligerent disposition Anoothi had adopted towards the couple, now after having gotten a better look at the girl's countenance, recalled her as being the same person he had seen in all those video clippings on Kamal's YouTube channel and therefore acquired a clearer understanding of why Anoothi was acting the way she did.

"But Ma'am..it was just ..it was.." the girl was thrown in to a fit of discomfiture at being scolded by her favorite teacher, and so that stumbling tongue of hers, could barely speak out any words of explanation whatsoever.

"It was what? You lost your all good sense and decided to date one of the faculty members of the very college in which you study," Anoothi repined.

"Well, technically," Trying to shield her darling from the harsh spotlight, it was her techie boyfriend who jumped in. "She is not a student but a 'former' student of our college, since she already graduated a couple of months ago," he said with an innocent grin.

"Well then..I see nothing wrong with that," Raghuvir put in, only for Anoothi to turn her disapproving eyes towards him. "I am only saying, they have not technically broken the teacher-student code," he added with a hesitant shrug of his shoulders.

"What about you? You want to hide behind that technicality too?" Anoothi asked the young girl, to which the hapless creature just nodded her head. Her response elicited out of the history professor a long sigh of resignation. "Okay then, as long as the code is not broken, I guess I have no problem with it. I will leave you guys to enjoy your evening," And so she turned away and walked off to her table. Raghuvir too followed her after giving Kamal a consolatory pat on his shoulders.

"You want to order some coffee now?" Anoothi asked, as Raghuvir returned.

"I think its best we do," he agreed, calling one of the waiters nearby and placing their order with him.

Meanwhile, Kamal and Kritika too had taken a table for themselves, and not surprisingly they had chosen one which was as far away as it was possible for it to be from that of Raghuvir and Anoothi's.

"So, you believe in the code?" Raghuvir would ask after a little while, when they had begun to partake of the delicious coffee.

"Firmly. You don't?" Anoothi inquired, raising a brow.

"No..No I do," he quickly explained, not wanting to get in to another fracas with her. "Though I have seen it getting breached, plenty of times," he added.

"You don't say!" she exclaimed, a little surprised.

"It's one of the advantages of being a nomad. You get to see the world in all of its different shades," Raghuvir spoke in a sincere voice.

"Well I never broke it. When I first started teaching, I was only 23 and I had some..offers. But I stood my ground," she revealed. .

"And boy how you regret it now," Raghuvir quipped and broke in to a chuckle. He knew he was treading dangerous ground but he had not been able to help himself. Luckily for him, it was one of those rare occasions when Anoothi understood a joke, and rather ended up joining him in the mirth.

The evening afterwards, stayed convivial, the delicious coffee and the delightful chocolate pastries of the café improving the moods of one and all alike with the warm informal ambience of the place coalescing to keep it that way, so that by the end of their respective trysts, both couples present there were having a good time to themselves.

Kamal and Kritika had gone back to dancing while Raghuvir and Anoothi were standing at the parapet, looking at the splendor of the market in the street below while sharing quirky anecdotes with each other.

"For some 20 minutes he chased us all over town like a madman. Never again did me or any of my friends throw another water balloon at a rickshaw wala," revealed Anoothi with a stifled chuckle.

"Well I have a water balloon one too. But we did not attack no Rickshaw wala, no Ma'am, we did something much more foolish. It was a wedding procession, everyone dressed in brand new sparkly clothes and we assailed them with balloons full of colored water. Looking back, it was sort of a mean thing to do, but as kids we did not know any better."

"Well talking of wedding procession, there was one passing in front of Aunt Rosa's shop one day. During that time, a man worked there, Happy Uncle we all called him. Anyhow, as this procession was passing, there were a couple of guys in there holding whiskey bottles, pouring glasses of it for anyone in the procession wanting to indulge in a little alcohol. Happy Uncle on noticing that picked up a steel glass from the shop, rushed in to that procession, and gulled one of these men in to filling up his glass with whiskey. We were all present there at that time and had quite a laugh about it."

"Why don't you tell him about Happy Uncle's palm scratching adventures?" interjected a voice from behind, and as Anoothi and Raghuvir turned to look, it was Kamal and Kritika who were standing there.

"I guess...it's best you tell him yourself," Anoothi replied softly, her voice having relinquished its earlier pugnacity.

"Well this tale goes back to the time when Happy Uncle used to work at a bangles' shop in his younger days. The young Happy Uncle was at most times surrounded by beautiful lady customers who came to the shop out of their fondness for the colorful bangles. But unfortunately he found himself unable to flirt with any of them lest he ended up inviting the ire of the shop owner. So he invented the most ingenious, the most cunning method of romancing the history of human civilization has seen..." Kamal paused for some dramatic effect before going on. "At those times, glass bangles were in vogue and the thing about glass bangles was..." Kamal turned his eyes to Anoothi, giving her the cue to take over the narration momentarily.

"The thing about glass bangles was that you could not get them on yourself. If you tried, more often than not you ended up breaking a couple as you tried to slip them over your hand," Anoothi thus edified, before returning the task of the narration to Kamal.

"So salesmen those days, at the time of selling these bangles, also helped the ladies in getting them on. Our Happy Uncle learned this art and after that, while he would be holding a young woman's hand and slipping on her bangles, he would furtively give her a little scratch on her palm. If she would flinch or grimace, he would stop at once, but if the maiden blushed or smiled, then..." And here he stopped, letting a naughty wink finish his anecdote for him.

"Well I guess I best be going now, getting a little late for me," Anoothi announced, looking at her watch. "Any of you need a lift?"

"Well actually Ma'am, I am leaving tonight for Shimla," It was Kritika who spoke; the dusky young girl was apparently not harboring even the faintest of acrimony towards her teacher despite her earlier rancid behavior. "I got an admission in a college there for my Masters. My bus leaves in half an hour. It would be really great if you could come with us and see me off," humbly, she requested.

"Yes of course," Anoothi gave her acquiescence at once, as the night had passed, she had been feeling a little guilty about the rash impulsiveness with which she had reacted upon seeing her favorite student in the arms of one of her colleagues, and so was now somewhat relieved to notice that the young girl had not developed any ill sentiments towards her because of that.

And thus the four of them left the homely confines of the Eat N Treat and made their way to Ludhiana's bus stand, where on Terminal 4, they came across the Volvo in which Kritika was to leave for the hilly town.

After exchanging some emotional hugs and kisses with her boyfriend at the terminal itself, she also came and embraced Anoothi. "Thank you Ma'am, for all that you taught me." And with that final expression of gratitude towards an erstwhile teacher, she boarded the bus, which was going to take her towards her future, a little part of which was going to have huge reverberations for the life of one of the three she had left behind in her wake.

*******

A bare and withered Amaltas, its branches frail and its wizened trunk beset by rot, its vitality sapped and its life force fast abandoning it, lone it stood on a road side, its silhouette in the night providing the most haunting and gloomiest of sights to any passerby.

Not far from this crumbling macabre, was the ghostess of love Neha, staring at it with a look of grave concern in her eyes.

"In the name of the High and the Low Seas, how did things come to this!" mumbled the ghostess as she approached the decaying tree. When she came nearer, she saw the one in whose search she had come here. With his shrunken form laid upon one of the branches and with his pale spiritless eyes gazing tiredly at the stars above, he looked to be in no better condition than the Amaltas.

Neha grew even more worried as she noticed this, though she remembered Arjun to always have had a morose and shabby look about him, she had never seen him in such a weak and decrepit state, he looked akin to some human who had been suffering from some kind of a severe and protracted ailment. But ghosts were supposed to be wholly immune to all mortal diseases, weren't they?

She resolved that she must try and have a talk with him about what was going on, and towards that purpose, she approached him while he still lay upon that branch.

"Hey, how are you?" she greeted him, her voice cordial.

"W..What are you doing here?" Arjun was a bit flummoxed as the image of Neha appeared all of a sudden above him, disturbing him in his listless star gazing. "What are you doing here?" he asked once again, sounding a little peeved.

"I was just passing by and thought I come and say hi," She answered.

"Oh, but you never came by and said hi before," he sneered. "Why don't you get to the point of why you are here?"

"Well, okay," she sighed, and paused to gather her composure. "I heard that you were hanging out with that rogue Vichitrasen and his touts; so naturally I grew a little concerned about you. And now I come here and see you like this, all weak and shriveled up, really Arjun, what is going on?"

"Oh so you are concerned about me, huh?" he dismissed her phony cares with a bitter scoff, his eyes holding nothing but contempt for her. "I should have guessed, Little Miss Oh so Righteous and Proper was always going to have a problem with anyone being friends with anyone she does not approve of," he said with a sardonic chuckle, the hollows of his cheeks giving a morbid quality to the whole thing.

"Hey I did not come here to be insulted," Neha protested, miffed by his behavior. "I know we have not been friends, but that is no reason for you to treat me with such disdain. I was just worried about you," she reiterated, struggling to keep her patience from running out.

"Well you need not worry about me, or come here and advise me. I can decide myself what is good for me and what is bad for me," Arjun waved her away with his bony hand.

"Yeah it seems you been doing a mighty fine job at it lately," She retorted. Why it was that a foolish head always had to be a bitter and blind one too?

"Yeah, whatever, so why are you not on your way yet?" he asked mockingly.

Neha said no more and with a sympathizing grimace (for sympathy was her proclivity) she flew away, leaving Arjun to go back to his star gazing, in what was one of the few remaining nights of his ethereal existence.

******
6

The overnight bus journey had Kritika reach Shimla just as dawn was breaking over the hilly town. Stepping out of the Volvo, she was immediately enthralled by the beauty of the morning in those scenic surroundings. Up above, the sky was covered in a canopy of white clouds, while down below, the roads were glistening from the intermittent overnight drizzle, the freshness of the air was a refreshing contrast to the perpetual polluted atmosphere of the place she had come from, and as far as her eyes could see there were Pine and Deodar trees, swaying in the whispering winds and sparkling in the nurturing dew, rendering to the whole vista a picturesque beauty. As she walked down a narrow pedestrian path cut out along the edge of the mountain, she saw on one side of her the vast expanse of the surrounding hills while on the other, beyond the road were some of the buildings of the town designed in neo-gothic and tudorbethan architecture, a throwback to the British times when Shimla used to be the summer capital of the country.

As Kritika walked further on that pathway, dragging her suitcase with her, the prevalent chill in the air caused her to stop every now and then to rub her shoulders, and after doing it a few times, she finally gave in to it, as she got out one of her sweaters from the suitcase and threw it on. A few more steps and she came across a roadside tea vendor, certainly a steaming hot cup of the beverage was an enticing proposition in this weather, and Kritika wasted no time in buying herself some of it. A little ahead she found herself a wooden bench, and after wiping off the glossy water droplets that were adorning its seat with her handkerchief, she sat down upon it, enjoying the delicious hot tea while gazing at the beautiful panorama in front of her.

What followed was the most peaceful fifteen minutes Kritika had spent in a long time, nature with its simple yet enthralling beauty had brought to her heart a joy that none of those fancy malls or expensive contraptions of her city ever did. No wonder there was a beaming unvanquishable smile on her cheeks when she finally left that bench and went on with her walk. It took Kritika another half an hour before she finally reached the premises of her college, and in that time, this maverick of a town continued to inspire in her great awe and wonderment.

From the entry gate Kritika went straight to the hostels, where a room was allotted to her after the necessary formalities. A tidy and airy room it was, the window in the wall opposite the door overlooked the hostel back yard, where currently some of the girls were engaged in the game of badminton. Deferring the task of unpacking to later, Kritika for now just remained at the window, watching the back and forth flight of one of the shuttles down below, while feeling the drafts of a cool breeze brushing against her face.

These soothing caresses soon lulled her in to a soporific state and she decided to hit the bed. At leisure to settle in since her classes did not start for another couple of days, she drifted off to a quiet sleep, the prospect of spending the greater part of the next two years of her life in this lovely town inducing in her many a happy dreams.

It was in the afternoon that she woke up from the restful nap, and after freshening up, went out to breathe in the beauty of the city once again. If in the morning it was the peaceful tranquility of the mountains that had enthralled her heart, now it was the hustle and bustle of the tourists on the narrow hilly roads that captured her interest.

The famous Shimla Mall road she walked in that warm and delightful afternoon sunshine, here she saw a man on the roadside selling posters while there she came across a peddler dealing in hand crafted toys, by and by she stopped in front of a woman selling all sort of homemade articles and bought from her a khadi shopping bag. The vibrant orange side bag with its rustic embroidery went rather well with the yellow kurti she was wearing, and the now variegated girl marched on with it slung across her right shoulder, looking every bit as colorful as some of the vacationists on show.

Eventually she came across the Victorian steps near the town hall, and here she lounged for a little while before continuing her sightseeing. It was near the ridge of the Mall, where the famous Shimla Christ Church is situated (the second oldest church in whole of North India) that she found herself a music store, and immediately felt an urge to go shopping in it.

A total of five CDs she bought in there but unbeknownst to her, while coming out of that store, she had not five, but six CDs in her khaki bag. While she had been moving from the 80's rock section to the Country Section of the store, she had happened to pass by the Local Indie Collection, and it was here that this sixth CD had slipped out of its slot from one of the shelves and furtively dropped itself straight down in to her bag.

It was only when Kritika had reached back her hostel room that this little intruder was discovered by her, lying at the bottom of her bag. 'Jive-2009' read the CD cover, letters in black calligraphy over a plain white cover. The back side showed it to be a Concert recording of Local Indie bands, and barring one or two of these, all of the other names that were listed there, she had never heard of before.

With an intention of returning this CD at once, Kritika stepped out of her room, but she had barely made it to the stairs when a sudden invisible force thrust it out of her hands and sent it clattering down the steps.

She felt a cold shiver running down her bosom, having strongly felt an energy presence near her before it dwindled away as rapidly as it had manifested itself. With her wits still trying to grapple with the situation, she climbed down those stairs and found the CD lying in the hallway at the bottom, its casing cracked.

Picking it up with ginger fingers, she returned with it back to her room, knowing that the store would not take it back in its present condition. She went about pacing the length of her room for the next several minutes, feeling unnerved as she replayed in her mind countless times the scene of that CD flinging itself out of her hands, as if it had a life of its own.

Half her mind was set upon throwing away this article of possible black art while the other was curious to play it. After much deliberation, it was curiosity which prevailed over fear, and as such Kritika got that CD out of its casing and prepared herself to insert it in to her laptop.

Ready to duck, in case her laptop blew up in her face or something, she timorously slid back in the CD ROM and then as the CD came whirring to life inside her laptop, she with a thumping heart awaited for the events to unfold themselves.

Thankfully, nothing of the cataclysmic sort she had imagined occurred, instead a video popped up on the screen showing a stage set at the very ridge where she had been to earlier this afternoon. The stage was bathed in dancing spots of psychedelic lights, and visible in the nocturnal background were the silhouettes of the Christ Church and the Jhakhu Hill. The area around it was surrounded by a large crowd of excited, shrieking youngsters, making it a typical scene for a Rock concert.

Eventually a young man with a Mohawk appeared on the stage, and after screaming welcomes to the crowd and the city of Shimla, invited the first of the bands to 'gettt thissss eveningggg rollingggggg'.

A band of boys, all dressed in loose fitting coats and pants with walking sticks in their hands began a tap dance routine and then began to sing to the beats created by their feet. It was different, peppy and quirky and it did not fail to bring a smile upon Kritika's face.

And so what had began as an inspection in to the supernatural, turned in to a deep engrossment in the music that was being performed on that stage. One amusing act was followed by another wonderful one, each of the bands that came up having something different to offer, and clearly the intentions of the universe in bringing to her this CD were to just expose her to these zippy spirited artists.

'Ping.'

She was interrupted by a message on her IM, it was Kamal.

"Hey Sweetie, sorry have not got a chance to call you, been busy the whole morning. How is Shimla?"

"It is mesmerizing to say the least. The whole place is akin to heaven," She replied.

"Wow that is great to hear. Hope I can visit you there soon."

"Well if you come, I don't think you are ever going to be able to leave."

"What! Don't tell me you are planning to keep me in some kind of captivity there."

"Ha! For now I am totally captured by this concert video I have come across. Some of these songs are really beautiful, and since they are of local Indie bands, I don't think most people would have even heard them."

"That is a pity! May be we can change that. Why don't you send me some of the clippings? I shall upload them to my YouTube Channel."

"That sounds like a terrific idea. I will get working on them then. Check your inbox tonight."

"Whoa! Now I am scared. Last time you said that I received that stupid break up letter from you."

"Never going to let me forget about that, will you?"

"Just being cautious."

"There is no glory in caution."

"It is your love I seek, not glory."

"Yeah, right. You and your silly lines. Anyhow, I need to go grab something to eat. Time just flew by while I was watching that concert. Love you. And do check your inbox tonight."

*******

Many a beautiful songs he had received in his inbox last night and Kamal was sitting in the college canteen, listening to one of them on his tabs, a beautiful romantic rendition of a melody, when he suddenly felt a hand being laid upon his shoulder from behind.

As he turned to look, he found Anoothi standing there. As was the norm, she had a serious smile on her face and some books in one of her hands.

"What is it you are listening to?" he heard her ask as he paused the music that had been playing in his headphones.

"It's some sort of an indie girl band, Angels in the Shadows they call themselves," Kamal replied, as he began taking out the earplugs. "You want to have a listen?"

"May be later, I am in a bit of a hurry right now. Just came here to invite you to a little party I am having at my house tonight," Anoothi told him.

"A party? Why?" he asked.

"The thesis I had submitted for my doctorate, it has been accepted," Anoothi announced the reason for the coming celebrations. "You are now looking at Dr. Anoothi Rai." She did a little curtsy, her balance awkward at best for the heavy books she was laden with.

"That is wonderful news Ma'am...Sorry Doctor," Kamal rose up and gave her a congratulatory hug. He knew that Anoothi had been working towards this doctorate for a couple of years now, and it was a lovely thing that she had finally achieved what she had been striving for.

"It indeed is. So do me a favor and don't be late for the party, I hate late comers as much as I hate historically inaccurate facts," she brandished him a grin. "I will be on my way then, got a few more people to invite," she said, ready to step away.

"Does one of these few people include our English lit professor by any chance, eh?" Kamal teased.

"You are lucky I have not told my father about your little fling with Kritika. Only been dating her after she graduated, eh?" Anoothi taunted back. "Try that sophistry on someone else Mister," she shook her head and chuckled. "Anyhow be at my house at 7 sharp, and don't be late. In my parties, the VIP is the one who arrives on time." And with that she walked away.

Some fifteen minutes later Kamal was walking across one of the college's lawns when he found Raghuvir, sitting there in the grass with a cup of tea and Walt Whitman's leaves of grass in his hands.

"Hey professor, in a poetic mood today I see?" he jested as he sat down by his side in the grass.

"I exist as I am, that is enough.

If no other in the world be aware I sit content.

And if each and all be aware I sit content."

Raghuvir thus quoted a verse from the book he had been reading, there was a quaint peace on his face as he idly ran his fingers through some blades of grass.

"He really was a magician with words, Whitman," Kamal opined as he soaked in the verse the professor had just recited.

"More of an enchanter I would say," Raghuvir said, as he looked at how the sunshine that fell and glistened across the surface of the freshly mown mead.

"I guess we would have to agree to disagree," Kamal quipped. "So you know about the party tonight?" he ventured forth.

"Of course, I am dating her remember," Raghuvir replied as he closed the leather cover of the book of poesy that lay in his lap and took a sip of his tea.

"Well you look quite excited about it I must say!" pointed out Kamal at the lack of enthusiasm he noticed in Raghuvir's manners towards his seeing of the history professor.

"Yes, I am a bit perplexed you can say, even somewhat conflicted right now," Raghuvir confessed.

"And why is that?" Kamal inquired.

"I don't know, one moment she is this wonderful intelligent woman, the next she is peeved like she had smelled the devil's smelly armpits," Raghuvir revealed with a wistful sigh.

"She is a petulant tempest on occasions I agree, but I don't see that as a reason for you to stop seeing her," Kamal said in a frank manner as he attempted to placate the professor's doubts. "We all have our little oddities, in a way that is what makes us beautiful as human beings, or else we would just be some sort of utopian, homogeneous, freaks of nature. To love I believe is nothing more than embracing these oddities we find in each other."

"The perspective you put on this whole subject is a refreshing one I must say," Raghuvir commented appreciatively, as he saw that there was indeed a lot that was true in what Kamal had just said.

"Well, I do tend to dabble in the art of love every now and then. I am not always a technology brute as people suppose me to be," Kamal said with a sheepish smile.

"You are indeed not my dear friend, you are indeed not," Raghuvir patted his back in brotherly affection. "And I believe you have saved me from making one grave error today."

"Well that is what I am here for, to save people," Kamal went on with his jesting. "So I pick you up at six?" he asked.

"You better, for in her parties.." Raghuvir began.

"The VIP is the one who arrives on time," they both blurted out together before falling in to hearty girlish giggles.

"Alright professor, I will see you at six then," Kamal stood up to take his leave after the chorus of laughter had finally dwindled.

"I will look forward to your arrival, like a budding VIP ready to sprout out of his magical lamp of power, influence and wealth," Raghuvir said, only momentarily able to keep a straightish face before he fell back in to the grass in wild guffaws again.

*******

Kamal as planned, arrived at Raghuvir's apartment exactly at 6, and the two men drove out of there 5 minutes later, determined to be at the party on time. Owing to its decrepit condition and the added city traffic, Raghuvir had calculated that it would take Rosa some 40 minutes to drag them down to Anoothi's place, which was around seven miles from where he lived, and even if they did hit a few extra bumps on the way, he could not see them getting late for the party in any possible way.

What he had not fathom though was good ole Rosa during their journey having a quarrel with one of her front tires, before in a moment of impulsive rashness, she would discard it altogether, sending it rolling down its own separate way on the road. Now other cars in the world, no matter how much of a jerk their tires were being, seldom took the risk of parting company with them, since that always carried a greater risk of them losing their own balance and turning over, and very well banishing themselves to a life in a dingy scrap yard thereof. But our Rosa had no such fears, for her speed limitations put her beyond any such risks. And she was proved quite right in her conjectures, for only after a few seconds of breaking ties with that fool; she easily managed to come to a wobbly screechy halt.

Raghuvir, who had failed to foresee this act of whimsical rashness, carefully stepped out of the now tilted car and groaned in frustration as he looked irately at the discolored front axle, stripped of its wheel and grinded in to the road.

"Although I do not utter profanities often, but we are so fucked," he said with a heavy sigh to Kamal as the latter came out, and it turned out to be a regrettably precise prophecy, for despite their best labors, it took them close to two hours before they were able to locate themselves a mechanic, get the wheel remounted (not the original but the spare one, so at least Rosa was happy) and get themselves going on their way again.

It was already close to nine by the time they reached the neighborhood where Anoothi lived.

"She is so going to kill us," Kamal announced with a nervous shake of his head.

"Kill you right away, of course. Me, no, I am not going to be that lucky. Death shan't have me so easily. Torture, painful torture shall befall my lot before that," Raghuvir bemoaned, he had been trying to keep Anoothi updated about their situation but on the third call she had hung up on him and had not picked up her phone since then.

"I have an idea, why don't you get her a present? May be it will help her forget about our lateness!" Kamal suddenly proposed, and before he had even finished his sentence, he brought Rosa to a lurching halt in front of a mini Market Complex they were then passing by.

"Oh she won't forget, but it is worth a shot," Raghuvir agreed.

"How about...that huh?" Kamal said, pointing with his eyes towards the display of a lingerie shop on the first floor of that complex. A number of faceless mannequins stood there, dolled up in elegant and sensuous female undergarments.

"That?" Raghuvir replied, his voice doubtful.

"Yeah, what is wrong with that?"

"Well, I mean, isn't that kind of too personal? I mean, we have only been out on just one date."

"Oh come on professor, be a little adventurous in life for once. So what it is a little personal, I say shed off these chains of societal propriety for once, break free from these manacles of customs, burst asunder the fetters of banality, it is time to jump head first in to the well of life and drink up its sweet elixir!" And by an ardent thump of his thigh, Kamal concluded the passionate speech. Presently, he seemed akin to some feisty young Colonel, trying to inspire his men to overcome their personal frailties and rage battle against a stronger and more defiant enemy.

"Really, I should do that?" Raghuvir asked again, still finding it hard to make up his mind.

"Well of course professor and you better do it fast, unless you want to reach that party after it has ended," Kamal warned. This spurred Raghuvir in to action and he quickly got out of the car and walked with a brisk gait towards that market complex.

Kamal was watching him go when he got a call on his phone from Kritika, attending which had him take his eyes off the professor. It was some ten minutes later, as he was putting down his phone, when Raghuvir returned and stepped back in to the car holding a small plant in one of his hands.

"Got it," he announced triumphantly.

"A plant? Wait a minute, why had you gotten her a plant?" Kamal asked, confused.

"What, you told me to get one for her!" And Raghuvir signaled towards the first floor of that complex with his eyes, just like Kamal had done earlier, only he was not pointing towards the lingerie shop, but rather at the nursery located next to it.

"Damn, I was not talking about getting her a plant professor," Kamal grumbled.

"What were you talking about then?" Now it was Raghuvir's turn to feel confounded.

"Ah, forget about it. We are quite late as we are," And Kamal put Rosa in to acceleration, for whatever acceleration meant for that hoary contraption, and got them back on the road to Anoothi's house.

*******

"One of the biggest occasions of my life and you guys are more than two hours late, anyways I welcome you." It was Anoothi's sardonic smile that welcomed the two of them at the doorsill of her house.

"The car, it broke down," Raghuvir tried to explain, as he had done so before on the phone, causing the unhappy woman to turn her sharp gaze away from him and on towards his pal.

"I will never understand what is it with you and that car? Why in seven hells would you hang on to that piece of junk is beyond me. If it was up to me, I would have long razed it down to a flatbed," Anoothi spat out.

Kamal did not make any replies, instead started to prod Raghuvir's side with his elbow. "Give her the plant, give her the plant," were the faint murmurs he muttered in to his ear. The plant, although not the best choice for a gift in his eyes, might turn out to be the only thing that could save them here.

But as Raghuvir was about to extend that plant forth towards Anoothi, a bunch of children from the building engaged in a game of tag came running in to the hallway where he and Kamal were standing, and he had barely any time to register their presence before one of them slipped and ran in to his back, causing the plant to drop from his hands and go tumbling down to the floor, where it shattered with a loud clack, spreading a debris of broken pot pieces, dirt and flora at the threshold.

"Lovely, first late and now breaking things for me to clean up at my own party, what more can a girl hope for!" mumbled an even more upset Anoothi as she went back in to the house to get the cleaning supplies.

"Wait I will help you," and Raghuvir, that aficionado rushed after her, but as he was hurriedly making his way through some of the amused looking guests in the party, his eyes missed the empty beer bottle that was lying on the floor up ahead. As he tripped and went hurtling down, in desperation he grabbed for a table that at that moment was within his arm's reach, but although he managed to prevent himself from falling, the table and the bowl of punch upon it were not that lucky.

"And while I am at it, I will grab a mop and some gloves for picking up glass fragment too, oh lucky me!" Everyone including Raghuvir heard Anoothi exult in false joy before she disappeared in to the storeroom.

Over the next half an hour or so, as the party was put on a hiatus for the cleaning of the mess that their arrival had created, Raghuvir and Kamal were seen shrinking back in to separate corners of that living room, two hapless creatures afraid of the light.

It was only when the music resumed, and the accusatory gazes from the people around them began to abate, that they gathered the courage to step out of their crevices, but only to sneak like thieves in to the balcony of the apartment.

"Some luck we are having today," Raghuvir sighed, before leaning against the balustrade and taking a whiff of the cool and fresh nocturnal air.

"Well, when life gives you lemons..." And Kamal brought out from behind, two beer bottles that he had managed to pilfer while making his way out here.

What a tumultuous night it had been so far, and yet it had much more in store for our poor professor before it was going to be over. And paving the way for this 'much more' was the brilliant idea that struck Kamal as he was halfway through his bottle of beer.

"Why don't you ask her for a dance?"

"A dance you say?"

"Yes, a dance. I have this beautiful song that I came across last night. I think it is a perfect melody to bring the two of you together." And without warning, he grabbed Raghuvir's arm and pulled him inside in to the living room. Once there, Kamal left him and to get everyone's attention, went over to the music system and switched it off.

"Alright, guys. What do you say we have a romantic track for all the couples in the party?" He announced, and getting some acquiescing nods from the crowd, went on. "So everybody grab your partner, I want you forward on the dance floor," urged he, and using his sinewy arms, pushed aside some of the furniture to make room for the dance.

As people began to step forth, he hooked up his tab to the music system and got ready to play one of the tracks that Kritika had mailed to him last night, a romantic melody performed by an all girl band, Angels in the Shadows. As the first few notes of a sweet cherubic guitar riff began coming out of those speakers, somebody in the room dimmed the lights.

Kamal rushed to Raghuvir, who was still standing in the place where he had left him, unmoved.

"If you don't go ask her for a dance, I swear I will give you no more rides in Rosa. You be walking your way around for as long as you are in this city," Kamal warned him in a hushed voice, trying to bring him out of his stupor.

No more rides in Rosa! That in itself was enough of a lure for Raghuvir to happily relinquish not only Anoothi, but every other woman in the world as well. But too beautiful she looked, dressed in red in that dim yellow light, smiling almost like a child as she sat on that sofa with her arms folded around her knees, swaying herself back and forth to the beautiful music that was filling up the room.

Fascinated, he walked to that couch and extended his hand out to her, asking her for a dance, and she in return just smiled even more before giving to him her hand. To the make shift dance floor they moved, holding each other and swaying to the melody.

Now as the first verse of the song is about to begin, imagine yourself in front of a split screen, on the left are Raghuvir and Anoothi dancing in that dimly lit room, and on the right are Angels in the Shadows, true to their name they are just silhouettes on a stage, three figures on chairs, one holding a guitar, other a saxophone, and the one in the middle, the lead singer about to break in to the first stanza.

'From where comes this song..

This happy melody..

That reminds of the times..

When you held me..under the starlit sky..'

That voice, that voice he knew! That voice was hers.

'A promise of love, and the meeting of two souls..

As crickets buzzed, a nightingale sang, the ditties of loving hearts..'

Was there any doubt? There could not be, for that voice was imbibed in his very soul. He stood frozen; the woman in front of him looked at him with concerned eyes, but he stepped away dazed, towards that Tab, and here he came face to face with those silhouettes.

'Sunshine..oh..sunshine..

Won't you sooth me a little longer..

Dark clouds I see, far above those trees..

And with the raindrops, my tears a will come falling too..'

'But I know you be there, to shed some tears with me..

For crying alone is a very lonely thing to do..'

And indeed he was crying, overwhelmed, tears were running down his face.

'As I sit and talk to my guitar at night..

It whispers your name in every note I play..

And as I scream my pain, to the heavens above..

A picture of you, smiling at me comes..

And soothes me like the sunshine..'

'Oh the meeting of our lips, like a drop of dew kissing a rose..

Oh the life that could have been..

The joy we could have seen..

But what's left is a distant dream, and a picture, your picture..

Smiling at me..

And soothing me..like sweet winter sunshine..

Like sunshine..like a little place that is all mine..like home..a place like

home..our home..'

And as the music ceased, and the crowd broke in to applause, as the lights on that stage turned on to give those silhouettes back their distinct appearances, there she indeed was, his eternal love, his Roshni, our ghostess of dreams.

*******

"It is her, the one singing that song, it is my Roshni," A breathless Raghuvir said for what was the umpteenth time in the past one hour. Anoothi and Kamal both nodded to show that they understood, but it was not going to stop him from keep saying that.

All three of them were out on the balcony, the party having been brought to an abrupt end by Anoothi when she had come to learn of what Raghuvir had seen in that video. She was standing in one corner, watching him pace the length of that balcony with anxious steps as Kamal was on his tab, trying to find anything he could about this 'Angels in the Shadows' band.

"Damn it, this connection just keeps breaking," he suddenly groaned in frustration.

"I have an Ethernet connection in my room. Use that," Anoothi suggested, and went back in with Kamal to set him up at her laptop.

When she returned, she saw that Raghuvir still continued to pace that balcony. The ceaseless yearning she now saw in his eyes towards this woman, she wondered if she would ever be able to find a similar place in his heart for herself, or may be after tonight, there will be no place left in his heart at all for her. But now was not the time to dwell upon these thoughts, now was the time to step in and support her friend.

So she stepped back on that balcony, trying to placate him however she could, at times by indulging him in conversation about his Roshni, and at times leaving him in silence to dwell upon her memories.

"I hope Kamal would be able to find something," said Raghuvir, a lot of time had passed and he found himself growing more and more impatient.

"Don't worry, he will. He is very good when it comes to stuff like this," Anoothi tried to assuage him, wishing herself that Kamal would hurry up. And her wish was soon granted, as a flurried Kamal rushed out on that balcony.

"Alright, after a lot of snooping around, I found a website that listed some information about this band. Now it had not been updated for long, but I found some numbers there, and dialing them, I found one of them to be active. This person I got through to, used to be the band's old manager. Well, after a lot of begging and pleading, he finally consented to give me the number of one of the band members. It was not Roshni though; it was Meghna, the one on the saxophone. So I dialed her up, and call it dumb luck, but she is in the city right now and she has agreed to meet us. She is leaving in the morning though, so we will have to go straight away. She is staying in the Le-View. It is a hotel near the railway station. Come on then you guys, we got to move," He urged, eager to get going.

"Wait. I actually..." Raghuvir hesitated a little, but eventually spoke out his mind. "I actually want to go alone if you guys don't mind."

Although Kamal felt a little disheartened by it but he could understand Raghuvir's need to make this journey by himself, and so could Anoothi, therefore none of them made any objections to his wish at all.

"She is expecting you. Just have the reception call her in room 503, and she will come down to the lobby," Kamal gave him all the information he would need.

"And take my car," offered Anoothi, as she thrust her car keys in to his hand.

Raghuvir thanked them for their help, and carrying their best wishes with him, hastened out of there. As Anoothi saw him walk out of that door, she could not help but wonder if he had just walked out of her life too.

"Quite a night, huh?" Kamal broke the silence that had spread momentarily, flopping down on one of the couches, there was nothing for them to do now but wait.

"Yeah, quite a night indeed," Anoothi agreed, as she looked at that big punch stain on her carpet and smiled rather fondly at it.

"A couple of very strange things happened though," Kamal started to reveal. "Firstly as I was talking to that Meghna woman on the phone, she talked to me like she had already been expecting this kind of a call. And secondly, during my internet searches, I found that Roshni was not using her real name in the band. She went by a pseudonym rather, almost as if she was avoiding discovery."

"That is strange," Anoothi agreed, her brows furrowing.

"Indeed." But before Kamal could go on any further, he received a text on his phone. "Ah! It is from one of my friends. I had asked him to help me in my search about Angels in the Shadows and he has just sent me a couple of relevant links. I think we should check them out," he opined, and soon thereafter, the two of them found themselves in front of a laptop, browsing through those links.

The first one was just another database website that had not been updated for a long time, and it was quickly discarded off as useless. The second though, proved out to be far more interesting. It was an old fan page of the band, apparently on some college's website.

"So it actually started off as more of a college band, based in the city of Shimla, three band members, the instruments they played, some of the songs they wrote, indeed she was not using her real name..." Anoothi was skimming through the page, looking for any relevant information that could help them locate Roshni. And then something on that screen suddenly caught her attention. "Wait, what is that link, yeah, that one near the bottom right corner."

As Kamal maneuvered the cursor and clicked that link, what popped up next on that screen left them pale with shock. For several minutes, there was just ominous silence in the room as they stared blankly at the screen in front of them.

"We have to go at once. We should be there for him, when he finds out," Anoothi said at last, and both of them hurried out of the house.

*******

The drive to that hotel was a long one. Every yard stretched in to a mile, every mile in to a lifetime. The window of the car was rolled down and the night breeze was pricking his face like thousand jagged edged splinters. His more than a decade long search was finally coming to an end tonight. He could feel his heart palpitating in his chest, sweat rolling down his spine as he drew nearer and nearer to his destination.

And when he was finally there, his feet refused to move, as if they were set in cement. Somehow he managed to drag himself out of his car and in to the hotel lobby. At the reception, he asked for the person he had come to meet. In his turmoil he thought he had forgotten her room number, only to remember it at the last second.

And then there was more wait, more agonizing wait, as his eyes stared without blinking at the elevators. Finally she came out of one of them, a woman in her mid thirties, dressed in her night clothes, holding what looked like a folio sized scrapbook under her arm. She had a pensive look on her face as she approached him.

"Raghuvir, is it?" she asked, although she already had a strong inkling that it was him. Ever since the incident of yesterday evening, she had been expecting to meet him.

She was sitting in her bedroom, doing some embroidery on one of her dresses when all of a sudden she had felt the presence of a strong warm energy around her. The next moment, the beads in the tray on her lap had begun to slide around all by themselves, and while she looked on in utter astonishment, they had arranged themselves to form the following words.

'go to ludhiana take the songbook'

First thing this morning, she had taken a bus to Ludhiana, and now some twelve hours later, as she stood in front of him, she could say that her trip had not been in vain.

"Raghuvir?" she asked again, seeing that the man was lost in some sort of a stupor. This time he nodded his head and as he did, her hand reached out to his arm in kindness and she led him towards a sofa in that hotel lobby.

*******

Some distance away over a Peepal tree, Neha was hovering. Her eyes were closed and she was enunciating a Dvijya. A few seconds later, the leaves and the branches of the Peepal tree began to shake vigorously, before it suddenly spewed out from its thick foliage, our ghostess of dreams.

The evening Roshni had found out about Raghuvir being in the city, the evening that she had learned from Neha about his wanderings of the past eighteen years, violent and irrepressible emotions had overwhelmed her good sense, and in desperation, she had adorned her erstwhile mortal form with the desire to meet her lover.

It had only been Neha who had stopped her at the last moment, for not only were the repercussions of such an action going to be dire for her, but it could have left Raghuvir with scars that would have marred his psyche for the rest of his life.

Somehow Neha had convinced Roshni that the best way forward was the truth, to tell Raghuvir of what had befallen Roshni so he could get a sense of closure and move on with his life.

When Roshni had expressed to Neha her inability to endure the coming episode as well as her fear that she might end up doing something drastic under the effect of her sentiments, Neha, using one of her Dvijyas, had put her in to a state of hibernation from which no one but only the ghostess of love herself could rouse her, which she promised to do once this was all over. And that brings us to the present, with Neha having just brought Roshni out of that dormancy.

A little bit of time it took for the ghostess of dreams to regain her bearings, before she finally asked the pivotal question. "Is it done? Does he know now?"

"Yes it is," Neha told her, moving closer and giving her a warm embrace.

"Can I go see him now?" Roshni asked. "I won't do anything stupid."

Neha thought upon her request, and after some deliberation, gave Roshni her consent. "Come on, I will take you to where he is."

*******

"I can't believe your stupid car broke down again, it's a lucky thing there was an Auto passing by or we would still have been stranded there," Anoothi grouched. She had just paid off the Auto Driver who had brought them here, and along with Kamal was briskly making her way towards the hotel lobby of the Le-View.

But just as the two of them reached the front entrance of the hotel, they saw coming out of it, the slouched, grief stricken form of their friend. One look at his haggard face, and they knew that he knew.

As he came to a halt in front of them, his teary pain streaked eyes looked in to theirs.

"Sh..She is gone..she..di..ed.." his frail, strained voice told them.

No words his two friends said back to him. Instead they just stepped up and put their arms around him in a tight hug. Instantly he broke down in to tears, his form slumping forward but his pals were there to hold him.

Up above, Roshni was looking down upon the whole scene with moist eyes of her own.

"Don't worry. He has good people around him. They will help him through this," Neha told her, rubbing her shoulder.

"I can see that," Roshni said, wishing for nothing else in life but for him to find his happiness.

The two of them remained there, looking on as the three underneath them continued to remain in each other's embrace. It was a long while before they moved from the entrance of that hotel, Kamal and Anoothi helping Raghuvir walk towards the road, as they would help him walk towards a fresh beginning in the coming months.

"Come on, I have got some good booze stowed away from my last trip to the nether world, let us make a night of it," Neha tried to chirp up her friend, as the two of them watched the other three depart. She knew that there was no feeling in this world more terrible than the feeling of being left behind.

*******

"You never told me what happened though?" Neha inquired, her voice slurring a little from the effect of the alcohol. She and Roshni were hanging out at her Banyan tree, about to finish their second Madrico bottle of the night.

"What happened was..." Roshni began, the booze having lowered her inhibitions. "Not long after we came away from our town, I was pressured in to an arranged marriage by my family. I tried to refuse, but in the end, neither my reasons nor any of my pleas moved them at all. So like an idiot, I let myself be forced in to it..." here she paused, shaking her head at that horrid memory. "And I got what I deserved, an abusive marriage."

"Anyhow, it took a couple of years of abuse that made me see the light. So one day, I just ran away, away to Shimla, away from all that shit. Heavens knew it was time for me to do that. Anyhow, as I made my great escape I had the good wits to take some gold with me, and this kept me on my feet. I enrolled myself in to a Mathematics course in one of the colleges in Shimla and eventually graduated in it. It was there itself that Angels in the Shadows also came about."

Neha nodded her head grimly as she came to terms with her friend's life story, before she poured another glass of Madrico for her. "I still don't understand one thing though," Neha could not help but ask. "Why did not you try going back to Raghuvir?"

A heavy sigh which carried the heartache of a million lives suspired out of Roshni's bosom.

"I often thought about it but I always had two things holding me back," she looked up at the stars with a somber expression on her face. "Guilt of not having fought for my love and fear of him having moved on from it."

*******

A little while later, while the inebriated ghostesses were still busy sharing their life stories with each other, arrived on the scene a frightened looking Ankit.

"He, he has shriveled!" cried he as he came nearby. "You need to come see it."

"Who has shriveled?" Roshni asked, her weeks in abeyance having left her unaware of many of the recent occurrences.

"Arjun. He has been sick. As asked by Neha, I have been checking up on him daily. And now he has shriveled!" Ankit shrieked again.

"What are you talking about? Ghosts do not fall sick. Are you out of your mind?" Roshni looked at the messenger with a distasteful frown, the alcohol making it even more difficult for her to grasp the situation.

"You, you guys should come and see for yourself," Ankit urged them, and after Roshni gave her acquiescence, the three of them were quickly flying off towards Arjun's Amaltas.

If last time it was all shriveled and barren, then the condition of that tree as it came in to their sight now was even worse! Rot had set in the trunk; worms and termites were crawling all over it, eating it from the inside; while on the ground, near the decayed stinking base lay Arjun, turned a ghastly shade of blue and shriveled to the size of a midget.

"What in the world has happened here?" cried Roshni as she quickly went down to her knees by Arjun's side, horrified at the state she found him in.

"Hey, where have you been all this while?" a debilitated Arjun asked in a weak voice, forcing a sad decrepit smile on his lips which had turned an icy shade of blue.

"How did this happen Arjun?" Roshni asked him, her voice on the verge of breaking as she picked up his shrunken head and placed it in her lap.

"Thi..s.." suddenly he fell in to a frit of coughs, and as he did, cold visible breaths came out of his mouth. "I..was..deceived.." was the pitiful wail that he uttered afterwards.

"Deceived?" asked an incredulous Ankit.

"y..yes..deceived..they..gave..me..a..mantra..that..helped..men..forget..

about their..grief.." And he coughed more, and then when he stopped, his eyes began to close.

"Don't, don't close your eyes! Come on hang in there," Roshni wept, shaking him by the shoulders in an attempt to keep him awake.

"they..stabbed..me..in the back.." he bemoaned, and those were his last words, for afterwards his eyes closed fully, never to open again. His shrunken form then disintegrated in to tiny specks of blue stardust that at once flew off towards the firmament.

'Star dust we came from, star dust we shall all become.'

And while the motes of Arjun's remains began their journey for the cosmos, a loud creaking sound was heard coming from the trunk of that rotten Amaltas, and moments later it began its fall towards the road it had been overlooking for the past so many years, and as it fell, it smashed straight down in to an old Ambassador which was standing under it, turning the car who went by the name of Rosa in this world, in to an unsalvageable wreckage.

*******
About the Author

What to say, the man is awesome!

Contact Details

Facebook Profiles:-

https://www.facebook.com/ramitglt89

https://www.facebook.com/diariesludhiana

Email:-

ramitglt89@yahoo.co.in
