First Chapter of My First Novel called Decent Jerks

‘Why don’t you study?’ asked Dad in his typical high alto certifying that he was really angry. He can be scary as and when he wants; it comes naturally to him.

Now, how do you answer to that? Surely, not like this: ‘Dad, I just can’t get enough of Priya who sits on the first desk of the adjacent row in my class. I also can’t help but laugh hysterically at the mind-blowing jokes of my friend Vik that are usually aimed at the teachers and are strictly made in between their lectures. Also, it is not possible for me to leave Facebook, to stay at home and not get out of this place with my friends just for the heck of it, to sit and study for more than fifteen minutes, to not listen to the latest track and to not watch T.V for atleast an hour. And how can you forget my short day naps of minimum three hours? After all, I’m also a human being.’

Unwilling to drive Dad’s anger to the seventh sky, I answered short and sweet, ‘Dad, I wasn’t well prepared this time.’

‘Ha, you said the same thing when you failed in the first and second terminals. Can’t you make up any other excuse?’ Dad’s tone was getting louder and louder with each syllable.

‘Bas bhi kariye, atleast he’s passed this time,’ said my Mum who had apparently interrupted because our ‘conversation’ was causing some prime disturbance to her prime-time Ekta Kapoor soap. I love her.

‘YOU CALL THIS ‘PASSED’, ASHA?’ shouted Dad so loudly that Mum automatically switched off the T.V. ‘45%. He hasn’t scored above 50 in any subject, such bloody precision.’ He added turning to face me into the eyes, ‘With marks like this, you are not going to get a damn admission in any damn college. Then, like most losers, you’ll do a B.Com Pass with correspondence and will later on, shamelessly, join my business and I’m sure you’d bring down my company also.’ With this, he threw my tenth standard’s Pre-Board record in my hands and stormed out of the room. Mum switched the T.V. on, yet again.

Leaving Mum alone with Tulsi and her grievances, I also left the drawing room in slow motion. I was shocked, thoroughly stunned. The shock was bigger than Tulsi’s who had just discovered that her thoroughly principled husband had a son outside their marriage. Not that it was something new for her, she had discovered the same thing before also but this time the other woman was his sister-in-law.

But I am neither married nor do I have any sisters-in-law. I just have a typical set of parents, a typical father whose name alone would beat the best definition of the word ‘Father’ any laureate can offer. He is, as I like to put it, the mother of all fathers. A typical doting Indian mother who asks me sweetly while pouring kheer into my bowl ‘Beta, kitna lega?’ and stops ten seconds after I have screamed my third ‘BAS!’. Somewhat podgy and completely devoted to the world of saas-bahu serials and to the world of the Ram, Krishna, Shiva and others, she showered affection on me, her only progeny, in such astronomical proportions as to make me cringe, as if I was the greatest person ever born. Well that would be true to a certain extent. In my hearts of hearts, I was almost assured that I was the greatest person ever to set feet on this planet.

Now, it wasn’t the first time anyone had ‘abused’ me. My pals hardly speak to me without attaching a superior-level expletive carefully with every single word. But it was certainly the first time Dad had referred to me as a ‘loser’, a ‘shameless loser’ to be precise. I don’t know why but it hurt, very badly and extremely hard. I walked into my room to find the P.C, the fan, the A.C, the bed, the couch and everything you can attach a ‘the’ with staring at me, in deep contemplation, as if questioning themselves, ‘How can a loser as big as him can even attempt to register a shallow existence among other living species?’

Broken, and in desperate need to breathe in some fresh air, I stormed out of my window-less room and climbed up the stairs to the terrace. After a bright sunny day, the wind had also decided to take some rest and I was greeted with horribly humid and chilling air as I stepped on the rough and rocky terrace floor. Maybe, even the weather was mourning my result. My fate.

Notwithstanding, I went and stood at the railings and looked out at the rushing roads and the gleaming distant buildings whose occupants were probably enjoying the essence of life, were probably satisfying their senses, an experience so unmeant for me. So wanted by me.

‘Sam?’ came my mother’s voice from the doorway. She came and stood beside me and asked like one asks an old man on his deathbed ‘Are you alright?’. After a pause, she continued her condolence, ‘You know your father, no? He sometimes blurts out things which he doesn’t mean. He might have said anything but you don’t know how much he loves you.’

‘Oh really?’ I wanted to ask, shout back. Actually, my father did really love me. Infact, he loved me so much that he never used to shout at me after every minor or major mistake of mine. He loved me so much that his feelings towards me never used to undergo a change with every report-cad of mine. He loved me so much that he hardly used to carp me about my various incapabilities and shortcomings during our frequent calm and composed conversations. My father was indeed a very loving and adorable man.

Mum continued, ‘You know, beta, he is always worried about.’ I would be much happier if he stops that. ‘He has never denied you anything, has he? He has always brought everything you have ever demanded. Always.’ Why wouldn’t he? I’m his only son. And besides, is fatherhood all about this? ‘It’s ok beta. I know you are a good boy and that you’ll work hard in your Boards and will pass with flying colours.’ Please, for Satan’s sake, stop that. ‘Now be a good boy and show how you smile to your Mum.’

A beast in my heart took birth and told me that this lady who has been rattling shit incessantly all this while is uncool and knows nothing about the ways of the world. She will make a sissy out of you. Stop her. Now.

‘Mum, I am fine. I just need some time alone,’ my tone was unusually serene, through and through in contrast with the angry beast’s that was scratching my heart. Hell, I can tell you, the beast’s nails were as pointed as my mother’s.

‘Ok, then let me take off the clothes, we will go down together.’

For a split second I thought Mum had gone wacko, completely crazy but understood the next second when she started to remove the clothes off the wire above me.

My air-conditioned room is better, I thought and walked back to my room without a word more to her, she didn’t deserve one. I straightaway retired to my bed that creaked as I lied down, voicing its disapproval over the hopeless occupant it had to supply relaxation for the night.

That night was one of those when you don’t sleep for the first two hours and spend the first hour weeping about your hapless life and the second in deep thoughts, and when you finally shut your red eyes after having made a decision about your future, about your hopeless life.

Dads can never be satisfied; Newton probably forgot to observe this omnipresent phenomenon. Man, I had secured seven percent more than the last time. And Vik? He had dignifiedly deteriorated from fifteen to ten percent. I was a super angel in front of him.

But Dad did not think like this. He was so unlike me. I sometimes doubted if by mistake he forgot to transfer his genes into me since even my physical appearance was very different from him.

My Dad was an Uncle in his physique, with a ten inches protruding belly. He always wore low waist trousers, because his waist size didn’t allow high waists. I, on the other hand, was a lean machine, taller and fairer than Dad, part of a flaunt-it-even-if-you-don’t-have-it generation who had to dutifully and religiously adopt low waists. I would have been close to a Greek God sans my pimples, but girls differed from me in this point of view of mine.

My decisions for the next three months were simple: chuck Priya, screw Facebook, stop feigning damns to the latest track and struggle through a study-filled afternoon. Though T.V. and evening hang-outs with my neighbourhood gang would continue but I will try to make these last a while shorter. After all, the fact that I am a shameless loser doesn’t snatch away my ‘human being’ tag.

***

Everything seems straight when aggression takes over your mind, when fury fills your brain with vengeance. Studies, something which used to seem as alien to me as vegetarianism is to tigers, suddenly became manageable and doable. I was a tiger who had turned vegetarian. I went beyond the realms of nature. I guess India can also tackle the enormous number of obstacles that lie in its path to attain unusual glory through the weapon of aggression. But in the same second, I realize that the only form of aggression our antiquated politicians know of is throwing chappals at each other in the Parliament.

Boards came and boards went, but my anger stayed on. Two words had filled my life with more light. Light, which had shone painfully and had blinded me in the beginning, illuminated my path afterwards.

Since I did not open a single book after the last exam, I did not come to know when the day of declaration of result arrived. But opposite to worldwide expectation, I wasn’t nervous, probably somewhere deep inside I was confident about certain things.

The result was announced at four in the morning. I fail to understand why these board guys don’t usually declare the results in evening or afternoon. I feel they want to take the maximum advantage of anxiety of poor kids who had miserable exam days. Bastards. Though none of my exams had gone miserable, I didn’t sleep that night, just to drench and drown into the air and aura of result-mania.

I secured an unexpected 84%. To this day, I have seldom felt again the delight I felt that day. I ran straightaway to my parents’ room and broke the news to them.

Mum instantaneously went hysterical: shouting, patting, blessing, kissing, praying, hugging. In short, irritating. Actually such a reaction was expected of Mum. But it was Dad who was a surprise package. That day, I saw him happy minus any inhibition for the first time since I have known him, like he has forgotten something. Though there were no tears and hysteria but there were enough blessings and pats to tell me that he was far more contented than his usual self. My two guardians made me feel like a newly knighted king that day.

The morning brought a frenzy of phone calls, like everybody was frantically fighting to hear from me, to congratulate a vegetarian beast of prey. I was on cloud eight and a half. Not nine, because I was celebrating my success without a girlfriend to plant a kiss on my first victory on my face like Bollywood movies and on my lips like the Hollywood flicks.

My parents threw a party the next day to flaunt their son’s intellectual abilities and to increase the altitudes of their personas in the social circle. Soon, my friends started calling me to ask for their share of my victory, i.e., to ask for a treat. I have never understood why a guy who has burnt the midnight oil to get some decent marks in exams has to give treat to his friends and family. Shouldn’t it be the other way round? Isn’t it weirdly awkward that the one who works hard has to literally pay for it later?

You’ve Got Chaos. Yet Again.

It’s the same sight and same story year after year. After months of scorching heat, the much-awaited monsoons visit Delhi and rain so much chaos all over that one is forced to feel sorry about waiting for the rains in the first place. The situation is repeated oh-so-often during the monsoon months that not only the scenes of waterlogged streets, caved-in roads and massive traffic jams, but even the news stories reporting about the same have now begun to appear stale and repetitive.

Now, it’s not as if only the by lanes and minor arterial roads of the city experience deterioration due to the rains. The scenario is same on even the highways and newly constructed roads. But this is not to say that there is not a single stretch in the city that is able to withstand the wrath of the rains. In fact, there are some stretches, such as those in the Chanakyapuri area where all the embassies are located, that do not undergo any declension even after the heaviest downpours. The reason behind this discrepancy is all too evident: usage of quality material instead of substandard equipments in constructing such resilient roads.

And the reason why not all major roads are built like the roads in areas like Chanakyapuri is also too obvious: intensive and extensive corruption at all levels of the civic agencies. That the authorities are able to get away by using substandard construction material while building and renovating roads is somewhat surprising. After all, the construction and renovations do not take place under creaky office tables or inside the premises of dilapidated government buildings, but are executed absolutely in the open, within full public view. The fact that the same inferior quality of material has been in use since decades paints a very worrisome picture of the lack of policing, monitoring and regularization in the city that’s preparing to host its biggest event roughly after a month. With such a sorry state of affairs, it can only be hoped that there is a complete dry spell when the Games are on in October, since hoping that the condition of the roads would improve by then seems like a very far-fetched utopian dream.

DUSU Election: Only Music, No Lyrics

DUSU elections are just around the corner. The contesting parties are campaigning heavily and the campus is abuzz with slogans and political energy. But this year, a drastic change in the method of campaigning by the parties can be observed. There are no more printed placards and posters pasted on the campus walls, there are no more candidates rallying around in expensive luxury cars and there are no more party cards being thrown around the campus. Evidently, after the last year’s strict measures and the consequent cancellation of candidature of many ‘promising’ candidates, parties are playing their cards with much more caution and responsibility. This is an extremely welcome change, as this year around, the campus is not strewn and littered with party notices and posters, even though the election day is only a few days away.

But something is missing as always: all the campaigning and slogans still sound hollow and unconvincing since the candidates are only interested in promoting their ballot numbers and not their ideology. The candidates perhaps consider party agendas insignificant and unimportant and therefore they are highly disinterested in outlining their motives, plans and goals. Till last year, for many students, the face of the candidates was ground enough for casting their votes. But this year, with handmade posters, even the faces are unknown to most students. In such a scenario, one is forced to wonder on what grounds are students expected to vote.

The disregard with which the candidates are treating their agendas, even in a year when it was extremely important to make promises and articulate plans, only goes on to display what they are really interested in: power and no function. Now, it only really remains to be seen how many students come out to vote on the d-day because, right now, even the though the campus is abuzz, the student population is not impressed, let alone influenced.

You Are Blessed (Poem)

If you think you aren’t blessed,
Think of the person who knows he will die soon,
Leaving his place his relatives and his success,
Whose life is like a dark tunnel
Which he knows will end soon.
Think of his feelings, his heart, and his dying mind

If you think you aren't blessed,
Think of the girl who on gaining consciousness
Discovered that she has no parents.
Think of her emotions when this reality dawned on her
That she’ll have to spend her entire life under a naked sky,
Without any father's support, without any mother’s affection.

If you think you aren't blessed,
Think of the guy who lost his everything in a calamity.
With no food, no shelter, no money, and no clothes,
He’s forced to build no dreams, no desires, no wills, and no goals.
His life becomes a burden, a load;
His will to live finishes, explodes.

If you think you aren't blessed,
Think of a deaf, dumb and blind woman,
Whose life is all black, dark, and silent.
Her thoughts and wishes are all neglected and crumpled.
She leads a life so mute, so unfulfilled.
No dreams she constructs, and so has no fear of failure.
She doesn't live; she rather drags her body to death
Through the path of life.

If you think you aren't blessed,
Think of the poor, the diseased, the handicapped.
Think of a man who loses his job,
Think of a girl who was abducted and molested,
Think of a wife who lost her husband,
Think of a mother who lost her son.

And, hush, you had sometimes thought
That you are the only suffering soul in this world,
That mishaps occur only with you,
That you must live no more, breathe no more

THINK OF THEM AND YOU'LL KNOW YOU'RE SO BLESSED

A Boy's Tale (Poem)

This is the story of a guy
Who never spoke a lie.
He topped tenth last
He was everyone’s dear.
Such a fine, simple boy
Who never even demanded a toy.
***
A simple day it was
The teacher taught: Everything has a cause.
The last period was boring
He was waiting for the bell to ring.
With a smiling face he returned to his place
Not having a clue of what he would have to face.
A strange smell came as he entered the house
In his heart, a strange feeling aroused.
He kept his bag on the bed
And went to the kitchen to ask for a bread.
Not finding his mum in the kitchen was a strange thing
He went to the other room searching.
He opened the door and his eyes went red.
He found his mum murdered on the bed
His sister’s body was lying on the floor
And his father had been killed beside the door.
Some dacoits had looted the place
He didn’t even register a case.
***
One week later, he was in a cinema hall
The next day he was wandering in a mall.
He opened the door ‘of his land’
With some CD’s in his hand.
He went upstairs and switched on the TV
After sometime, he inserted a VCD.
He did not come to know when he slept
But mind it, he hadn’t wept.
The other day, he returned home with a box of pastry
His other hand held a bottle of Pepsi.
All he had was the life of his
He spent the whole month like this.

***
Today, the house doesn’t have a living soul anymore
As his blood also stains the floor.
Truly, everything has a cause
Such a fine simple guy he was.

The Task (Short Story)

She was lying alone on her bed. Nobody else was inside the house. It was late evening and everything was dark and silent and still including the room. She was thinking about him and the task he had given her. Suddenly, her phone buzzed. She picked the mobile up and was about to press the “Accept’ button but then decided against it. She must not be disturbed. She must concentrate on the task she had been trusted with. How could somebody be so lethal? The task that he had given her was supposed to be done by the next day. He was never like this. He was never this cruel, this difficult, and never this evil. He had always been very kind, very lenient and extremely friendly. But after that incident at school, everything had changed. He had changed, completely. When she had protested against the task, he had actually shouted at her, scolded her. She had been hurt. She used to love hi but now she was almost indifferent. Angry and sad. If she begins with the task now, she would be able to complete it before her parents arrive and they would never know what had happened in their abode in their absence. After contemplating for a long time, her eyes fixed on the fan circling above her, hardly cooling the room; she strengthened her resolve and got up. She untied her hair and went to the washroom. She washed her face. She kept staring at the mirror before her for a long time, water droplets falling into the basin from her face. Suddenly, becoming conscious, she wiped her face using a small towel. She went back to her room and switched on the small bulb in the center. The time had come. She must now begin with the task or everything will be lost, she would never be able to show her face to him again. She opened her wardrobe and began searching for it. No, but it wasn’t there. She won’t be able to do the task without it. She kept searching but didn’t find it. Should she call him? Yes, she should. She picked up her phone and dialed the number. The bell rang for a long time. And finally he picked it up. Trying to keep her calm and cool, she said, ‘Sir, I think I’ve forgotten my Math book at your home. So I won’t be able to do the questions you had given for homework.’ ‘Neha, if you don’t change your ways and don’t become more careful, you would fail in the school exams again,’ said her sixty-something tuition teacher. ‘Sorry, sir,’ said she and disconnected soon. Now she was happy, delighted. She went and threw herself again on the bed.