MOCHA

MOCHA

My eyes were bedazzled. I had just seen a couple kiss for the first time in my life. Standing at a corner, holding a tray in my hand, I kept staring at them. They were sitting on a couch half embracing each other, sideways. The guy was playing with the girl’s hair, twirling them into curls. His fingers were caressing her fair skin around the neckline. One of the girl’s hands lay on the guy’s thighs. Every now and then they exchanged looks and smiled. Suddenly she turned and bit the guy’s earlobe. His face twitched a little and then he placed his lips on the girl’s and they kissed again.

“What are you looking at?” Kabir said nudging me with his elbow, breaking my rapture.

“Nothing” I replied, looking at the floor.

“How can someone …”

“This is common at this place. You will get used to it.” Kabir interrupted. He patted on my back and went to attend a call from another table.

My name is Arvind. I am a simple guy and come from a small town. I am not telling you the exact name as you won’t remember it in the same way you won’t remember this story after reading it. I came to Mumbai in search of some work and now I am working at Mocha (a famous coffee chain) as a waiter. Kabir who was born and brought up in Mumbai has been working here for past one year. That was my first day at Mocha. Kabir later told me that this was how Mumbai was. No one bothered the least about what was going around. Everyone is lost in his own world.

There were a lot of other things about Mumbai which I learnt soon. Earlier when I used to walk on the roads, everyone would overtake me. And by everyone I mean everyone; be it men going to their offices, ladies returning from the market with over flowing bags, kids going to school with their back loaded with the burden of a dozen books, and even old people with capacious bellies making home after their walk. Gradually I learnt to keep pace with them. I also learnt how to grab a seat in a local train and how to cross the busiest roads within minimum time. Kabir told me that the secret was never to be afraid, or even if you are, never to let anyone know that you are. Once people know that you are afraid they would never hesitate from trampling over you.

It had been almost one month since I was working at Mocha. The job was easy but still irksome. The place was a little too dark for my liking; and smoky as well from the cigarette and hookah which boys enjoyed, inhaling and exhaling and trying to feign that they were intoxicated and in a different world filled with eternal pleasure. Their artificial faces which loomed through the grey smoke suggested otherwise. The aroma of the place, though, was nice, a soothing blend of coffee, chocolate and vanilla.

I had almost reconciled myself with the new lifestyle of Mumbai, only little did I know that the rhythm was soon going to be disrupted. One day when I was working at Mocha, a girl came and sat at sat at one of my tables. (I say ‘my’ table because the tables are divided among the waiters, each having the responsibility of taking the order at the table allotted to him.) She was very beautiful and was wearing a white salwaar-kurta.

“What would you like to have madam?” I asked with a smile. I was supposed to smile whenever I took an order but perhaps this was the first time that it was not stilted.

“Nothing as of now. Actually I am waiting for someone.” She said smiling back at me. Our eyes met for a second and my heart stopped at that moment. She had large candid eyes and thick eyelashes. I was reminded of the Chinese doll which my uncle had brought from the city for my younger sister.

“Thank you ma’am”, I said and left.

I stood at the corner and kept admiring her hoping that the person she was waiting for gets delayed. But that did not happen.

A guy soon came and sat beside her. I noticed that he had small squinted eyes which would give no inkling of what emotions or intentions hid behind them. He was wearing a cross which hung over his dark leather jacket. By a slight gesture of his finger, he summoned me and ordered two cups of cappuccino.

As they sat and drank, I stared at them, envious of the guy who some how appeared a little shrewd to me, unworthy of the delightful company he was savouring.

“The girl was too innocent and too beautiful to be with a guy like him”, I thought.

“Don’t even think about her. She is like an angel, whom you can not even touch.” Kabir said,

interrupting my stare.

But I had already fallen head over heels for her.

The next few days I was very restless. Kabir kept telling me to forget her. But I could not. I hoped that the girl would come again at my table and that our eyes would meet again and she would reply with the same innocent smile. I also hoped that this time she would not be accompanied by that guy.

My hopes partly came true when I saw the girl enter through the gate to my immense pleasure but unfortunately accompanied by the same guy. They once again sat at the same table. The girl was wearing a sleeveless mauve shirt and jeans.

“What would you like to have ma’am?” I reiterated the well rehearsed question.

“Two cappuccino and a walnut brownie.” The guy ordered, before the girl could speak, in plain emotionless voice. I felt that his voice was similar to his eyes, denying any revelation.

The girl did smile back at me though. But she also smiled with the guy. They laughed together and flirted with each other. Every word which the boy spoke, every move, every gesture he made, every expression on his face appeared well crafted to me.

The second meeting with the girl had made me even more vulnerable. I just kept thinking about her. I tried to think of ways so that she could be mine, and not that phony guy’s; but every time reality sunk in I ended disappointed and frustrated.

One night I was lying down in my bed and thinking about her. I had a cigarette in my hand which remained the only meager source of illumination in my shack after the flickering bulb had surrendered. I inhaled and exhaled and tried to feel the way boys used to after taking puffs of hookah. The girl’s face hovered in front of my eyes behind the cigarette smoke.

“Will you be mine?” I asked her, but she did not reply.

“I don’t like that boy you go out with. You should leave him.” I told her.

I felt that she was about to say something when suddenly the pinch of a mosquito bite on one of my legs disrupted my train of thoughts and her face disappeared. I slapped my leg to kill the mosquito but it flew away in the dark, as if trying to teasing me. Then I realized something. I did not even know the girl’s name. That made me sad.

I kept thinking about her through out the next day. Kabir kept reminding me that I should forget her. It was almost nine in the night and was drizzling outside. And then she came.

She was looking different. Her hair had crinkled slightly due to the rain. She wore a black dress which revealed her legs below the knee. This time they did not sit on my table.

“Kabir, will you do me a favour. May I take the order at your table?” I asked.

“You can not help it. Can you?” He smiled. “Go boy, she is all yours.”

“What would you like to have ma’am?” I asked with a smile.

She smiled back.

“Did she recognize me?” I wondered.

“We will have two cappu…..no, wait.” The guy turned towards the girls and inquired thus with a mischievous smile.

“Let’s have some thing different tonight. May be whisky? What do you say?”

The girl refused.

“Come on.. be a sport. You are slightly wet and it’s cold outside.”

He finally convinced her and they ordered whisky.

I did not like the girl having whisky. The way she was drinking it suggested that she was having alcohol for the first time. They continued drinking and chatting. Then they ordered another whisky. After about an hour, I felt that the girl was beginning to feel it.

I have told you, the guy appeared shrewd to me. But I had never imagined what happened next. The guy tried to kiss the girl. But the girl turned her face. He tried again and she pushed his head away with her hand.

“That bastard is trying to take advantage of the whisky kicking inside the girl.” I thought. My blood was boiling hot. I could hear my heart thumping against my ribs.

“Calm down.” Kabir told me.

I was not listening to him. After a while, the guy tried the same trick again. That was enough for me.

“O.K., that’s it.” I said.

I went to the table and said, “Sir, kindly leave the girl and let her go home.”

The guy was taken aback for a moment. He would never have thought that he would be interrupted by a waiter. But he was too experienced a player to be bogged down upon by such an interruption, and in a moment he regained his composure.

“Be in your limits and mind your own business. Why do you care what I do with my girlfriend?” He replied in a stern voice.

“But I don’t find your girlfriend comfortable with what you are doing?”

“Shut up! And get lost.”

“Sir I am not getting lost until you leave the girl.”

“What the hell do you think of yourself you bastard?” He shouted and threw the remaining whisky on my face. Every one was looking at me including the girl. She was stunned.

The manager came running.

“What is the problem sir?” he asked.

“Why don’t you better ask your waiter? And teach him some manners.”

The manager asked me but his words were falling on deaf ears. My ears were red.

“We are leaving.” The guy said.

“Please don’t go sir”, the manager said. “I apologize on his behalf and I give you the assurance that you will never see him here again.”

But he did not stop. He picked the girl grabbing her hand and then they walked past me.

As the girl passed by me, being dragged by her wretched boyfriend, I noticed through the corner of my eyes that she was looking at me with a hint of admiration. The manager was scolding me but I didn’t care anymore.

That was the last time our eyes met.

The next day as I sat on my bed contemplating about what happened, Kabir came to my home.

“You should not have done what you did.”

“And, why not?” I enquired.

“Because that was of no use.”

“Don’t say that it was of no use.”

“You tell me what was the use of what you did there. Do you think you are a saviour. Or do you think that the girl was so impressed that she would return back to you. Get some sense you idiot. You have lost your job as well. It is not easy to get a job in Mumbai.” He was speaking to me like a concerned teacher.

I, like a bad student though had no answer.

It has been six months past that incidence. Kabir was right. It is not easy to get a job in Mumbai. After trying hard for three months I did get a job though. Now I am a waiter in a pub. The place is not very different from Mocha apart from the aroma which was good there. It is dark, smoky and the smells like a mixture of various hard drinks. One day the same girl came again to the bar. For a moment I was delighted. Then I saw that she was accompanied by another guy. He was not the same guy but was similar. Especially the eyes were same, small and squinty. They sat at one of my tables. I did not go to take the order immediately. I waited where I stood. Then I called a fellow waiter and said-

“Will you do me a favour? Will you take the order at my table?”

A RANDOM WALK

A random walk

An abrupt thud woke him up. Something had hit the glass panes of his window. Nikhil reluctantly pulled open one of his eyes. The table clock was showing fifteen past three, contrary to the brightness his eyes was trying to adjust to. He looked harder. The thin yellow second’s hand had stopped moving.

“Why the hell did I wake up?” He contemplated, taking a turn away from the light coming through the translucent window.

“Must have been the bloody paperwaala”. He tried to sleep but could not, partly because of the light, but prominently because of the irritation in his right foot caused by the new leather shoe he was still wearing. With a dejected sigh he sat up and looked at the motionless clock wryly. He did not make any further attempt to know the time. Perhaps, he just did not want to know the time. He finally dragged himself out of his bed, thrust his leg so that the shoe flew to another corner of the already chaotic room and limped towards the wash basin.

As he washed his face he tried to recall when and how he had fallen asleep the last night.

It was Friday, and Lehman Brothers (a reputed investment bank), where he had been working since past one and half years had thrown a party, which they often did to make a futile effort to appease the generally pissed off employees. He had been to numerous such parties before, all of them ended inevitably after midnight and then they all went back home stuffed with free food and alcohol. He was exhausted after having worked hard for two days and a nearly sleepless night, and hence decided to skip the dinner. He went straight to home, the cozy bed was invitation enough to fling himself on it without bothering to undress, and started snoring, needless to say, within seconds.

He went to the balcony to have a look at the news paper.
A head line with three continuous letters in bold effortlessly caught his attention.

“Another IIT student commits suicide”
The news read.
His face twitched.
“Fuck” he muttered and scanned the news.
A third year electrical engineering student had committed suicide by jumping of the main building. The reason had been extra academic pressure. The dean had made a promise to look after the matter but had also suggested that a certain standard was necessary to maintain the brand name of the institute, which on any condition could not be compromised.
Nikhil became reminiscent. He himself was an IIT Delhi graduate, had passed the institute just one and half years back and was well aware how screwing the IIT system could become if you meddled with it. He felt sorry for the boy.
Then he realized that his own life had become no less a mess than the boy’s might have been.
“Working late in the night, smoking dozen cigarette’s a day, listening to boss’s non stop non-sense, busting your ass off with the least clue of why you are working apart from a handsome salary which could buy you Italian or Chinese but not a descent home cooked Indian meal, what your long term goals are.. life was no better than shit.” He had crumbled the edges of the paper while thinking all this. Looking down the balcony, for a moment or two, he toyed with the idea of finishing it all in one go.

“God! What am I thinking?”

He shook his head and then decided to go for a random walk.

Heera Nandani is the perfect place to live in for all those people who believe in man and his power more than nature and her beauty. Concrete cast into grand structures with ornate façades resting on thick stocky pillars create a majestic arena, most of buildings are either offices of multinational companies, or shopping malls or are apartments (with surprisingly small flats). The area, naturally being a nearly flawless abode for the emulous Gen-Y, is one of the costliest places to live in India.

Nikhil recalled that he had loved the place when he had first arrived here, but never again did he get time to admire it. He treaded lazily examining his locality. Few people would wake up at this hour, and he could only see some doodhwaalas and paperwaalas hurrying on their Adam aged bicycles. Some were out for the more conventional morning walk, as Nikhil gathered from their shorts and joggers contrary to his jeans and sandals.

He took a left from the next square.

D’Mart .. HSBC ATM.. Crossword.

“Crossword.. can’t remember when I read the last book”, he thought. Nikhil used to vouch on books when he was in college. But he had not paid a visit to Crossword since ages.

A reverberating black Pulsar caught his attention. His head moved in an arc following the bike which seated a couple, the girl’s hands curled around the guy. They looked very happy.

Nikhil sighed. He took out a cigarette, ignited it and took a couple of deep puffs.

A young girl suddenly passed by him. She was jogging. After she had moved a few yards ahead of Nikhil, she stumbled over a stone, her ankle twisted and she fell down. Nikhil quickly went near her but before he could lend his hand for help, she got up on her own examining her elbow which was slightly bruised.

A missed opportunity had left him a slightly bitter. Perhaps, that was the reason why he deliberately did not put off his cigarette, even though the girl was graceful and elegant enough to command a natural respect and modesty. She was wearing a white T-shirt and navy blue shorts which left her legs bare revealing her shapely calf muscles. She had walnut coloured skin and her thick hair was tied neatly into a pony tail. Tiny droplets of sweat on her forehead and nose glistened in the early morning yellow light. Her personality exuded a rare aplomb and poise.

“Are you all right?” Nikhil inquired.
“What do you think?” She replied, beating the dust out her shirt.
“Your elbow is injured.”
“Don't worry about it. It's just a small bruise. Thank you for your help.”
Which male, that too a bachelor, would hesitate from offering help to an attractive lady? He thought.
“But I haven't helped you.”
“You at least came for help.”
“Hmmm... do you go for a jog everyday.” Nikhil asked with subtle emphasis on 'everyday' after they had taken couple of steps.
She sniggered.
“No, I don't go for a jog everyday. But I try to. It's not easy though, I can assure you.”
“I would be the last person to disagree with you. I mean, look at me. My life so botched. Don't have time to arrange my room, leave alone go for a jog.” He said taking another puff and then exhaling through his nostrils forming two thin clouds of grey smoke.
“What is the problem?”
“Jeopardies of the job”, he smiled a little, wryly.
“Actually I work in Lehman Brothers, and you must be aware how screwing life in an investment bank can be. So, let's say, the hectic professional life is taking its toll. And plus that motherfucker Srinath.”
Her countenance changed which vividly suggested that she was displeased.
“I am sorry for the use of the word.” Nikhil apologized, drooping his head.
“Who is Srinath?”
“My boss. He is a bugger. Just keeps coming at me, never allowing a second to breathe.”
“But that is his job. Isn't it?”
“Now you don't start taking his side. O.K.”
Another puff.
“O.K.”
“Let us keep my disarrayed life aside. Tell me, what do you do?”
“I work in Kingfisher Airlines.”
“Air hostess?”
“No,no.. marketing division.”
“Ohh..your life must be busy too.” He said with a slight surprise.
“Yeah, sometimes.”
They walked a couple of yards and nobody spoke. She was limping slightly. Nikhil took another puff.
“Why do you smoke?” She asked, pointing towards the cigarette.
He snickered.
“Hmmm... let me put it this way. When you feel the heat, you just let the smoke out.”
She did not like the answer.
“I think, I would disagree. In my opinion, it's not because you let the smoke out that you stop feeling the heat. It is because you are converting your own body into a kiln, so you don't feel the heat inside you. All I want to say is that you are ruining your own body.”
“Who cares? After all it's my life.”
“No, it is NOT your life.” Her voice became firm and slightly louder.
“What do you mean?” He asked, startled at her sudden outburst.
“I mean, it is not your life completely. Everyone who loves you, cares for you, every well wisher, every friend, every relative owns a part of your life. You do not have complete right over your life as you are responsible to them as well.”
A frown on Nikhil's face clearly portrayed his confusion.
“Well, I will explain it in your language. Assume that there a company and you are the owner of that company. Even though you have the right to take all the major decisions for the company, yet you can not ignore the shareholders, who own a part of that company. Your decisions, morally, have to take care of their interests. Your life is similar. You can take all the major decisions of your life, but you can not take such decisions which ruin your life or you can not just end your life as you are you are responsible to people who own a part of your life. Do you get my point now?”

That was too much for Nikhil.
“Mind blowing”, he thought.
He was highly impressed by this girl, almost completely bowled over.
“Wow!!” he said with disbelief.
“I have never thought on those lines.”
He threw his cigarette. She smiled.
“But the problem remains..hectic life, unorganised routine.”
“Come on, we are into this professional corporate world because we were thought of as smart persons. If we don't find an optimal solution to balance our private and professional life, who would?”
He was even more impressed.
“You are right.”
“Here comes my apartment”, she said.
“Ohoooo” he said in a muffled voice.
“What happened?”
“Nothing, it's just that we have been talking for so long and we don't even know each other's names.”
“Yeah right... I am Kavita.”
“I am Nikhil.”
They smiled at each other and shook hands.
“Nice meetin....” he suddenly noticed something in her hand
which forced him to take a pause.
It was a wedding ring.
“You are married??” He blurted out.
She sniggered and nodded her head.
“Not only that, I have a one year old kid too. Remember I had told you, it's not easy to go for a jog everyday. And one more thing. Srinath is my husband.”

AMNESIA

AMNESIA

His palm lay still on the velvety emerald table, the thumb supported the cue which was held firmly by his other forelimb. Eyes traversed past the white cue ball, the object ball and the dark pocket at the corner, one at a time, the three of them were making a sharp angle. the shot was not going to be an easy one. A fine lock of hair hung over his creased forehead reaching just below his eyebrow. He blew it off and retook the aim.

The cue hit white ball. It rolled forward to hit the object at the precise spot driving it straight into the pocket.

"Super shot, to end a near flawless game" I thought.

He made an unpretentious triumphant gesture with his hand, picked up the sleek goblet kept on the polished chocolate wooden table edge and finished off the remaining vodka in one gulp. He changed his formals and put on a milky 'kurta-pyjama'.

As he was about to go to bed, his eyes caught up the various CD's scattered on the table beside his laptop. They were lying there since many days and he had ignored them everyday. But today he decided to arrange them.

" Spiderman, V for Vendetta, Gladiator..."

he muttered as he arranged them one by one into a stack.

"...Basic Instinct." he looked at the sensual picture of Sharon Stone on the CD cover for a

second, smiled a little and put the stack in the closet.

Before turning off the light he read me. I was hanging on the wall right in front of his bed.

"Woods are lovely dark and deep,

but I have promises to keep,

and miles to before i sleep

and miles to go before i sleep."

“Yeah, yeah..miles to go before i sleep"

he reiterated with a sigh, shook his head and went to sleep.

I am an ordinary cardboard wall hanging, with the famous words of Robert frost written

in gold in a calligraphic fashion, on a once jet black paper. but now i have become dull,

and my corners have wilted. And perhaps even the words written on me have lost its significance. And this has become a daily routine of Himanshu after he has started living alone. before that he shared a flat with one of his friend, who got married six months ago.

I know Himanshu since a long time, its almost ten years now. He had bought me from an Archie store, when he was in college. And since then he has been reading me everyday before going to sleep. the way he reads me keeps changing though, sometimes with a lot of passion and energy , sometimes depressed, sometimes helpless and sometimes it just a glimpse. The frequency of glimpse has increased ever since he has joined his job. But I think we still share a bond, and I feel like I have become an inseparable part of his soul. I can see what he sees .I can feel what he feels. i know everything about him, and sometimes I feel I know more about him than he himself does.

Himanshu is an academic genius. He was brilliant in his college, got placed in a top consultancy firm and now he is brilliant at his job. He will finish of his official projects with such ease and elegance, that his colleagues can not help but envy him. His boss is always happy with him. But he is also considered as an emotional fool. In fact he was teased by a nickname, 'mother' by his friends in his college. The reason was that, once in his college he had started crying on seeing a documentary on Mother Teresa.

It is Saturday. A weekend ahead and no job to do. Tomorrow there is a party in the evening at a fancy restaurant in the newly opened Sahara mall. And Himanshu is left with almost nothing to do on the mundane morning. He lay on his cozy sofa surfing through the numerous channels on TV, all of them almost alike and equally boring. Suddenly though, he saw a gruesome news of farmer's suicide in Andhra Pradesh. The soul cause of the suicide was poverty.

He had left behind his two little kids and his wife, whom a reporter was interviewing, his kids clinging to their mother, helpless. The anguish and frustration of the lady came out of her mouth in a steady pour. She was crying out loud, and cursing the government, the media, the people of India... everyone.

"It is the fifth suicide in past two months in this area and the government has till now

not taken any step to check the crisis situation."

"Next we take you to the coverage of the wedding ceremony of the most gorgeous couple

of bollywood, Aishwarya and Abhishek. But only after a short break. Stay tuned."

the newsreader recited like a trained parrot in his stereotypical irritating voice.

"Fuck you." he said switching off the television with his remote.

He got off the sofa and took out a bottle of orange juice from the refrigerator.

It was tasteless. The leathery morose face of the indigent lady was still hovering

in front off his eyes. She was blaming everyone, he remembered.

" Am I also responsible for her state." he wondered.

Then suddenly he was reminded of a quotation he had read in an article last week.

“If you are not a part of the solution, then you are part of the problem."

It made him more dejected.

"Forget it" he mumbled after a while shaking his head.

He took another sip of the juice, it was almost still the same, tasteless. Perhaps even

slightly bitter this time. The whole day he could not concentrate on anything. He tried

billiards, he tried a novel, he tried a movie, all useless.

The bell rang at five in the evening. One of his colleagues who was quite older than him

had come to pay a casual visit. And it was not difficult for him to make out that Himanshu was not all correct.

"Feeling lonely... feeling down." he asked.

"Yes."

"Trouble in your work?"

"yeah....." He muttered in a low voice.

"Actually no... Its just some other..some different stuff."

"Don’t worry... it happens with everybody at your age..even the best of guys..

things sometimes get you down... but you will recover.."He preached.

"Yeah..yeah.." Himanshu kept muttering.

“I am a little pissed off.. perhaps need to clear my head."

" Try and get over it. Do something.. get drunk..

get married.. whatever.. And do not think too much.you will be all right, i know."

I was wondering how could getting drunk or marrying be a solution to any of the miseries.

After his friend left he took out his car and went to the Noriman point.He liked sitting there facing the sea. He saw waves colliding with the rocks which had been smoothed by the water. All the irregularities had been corroded and what were left were shining and polished flawless surfaces. He sat there for a long time, baffled. He wanted to do something more earthly, more concrete. Something more worthy than advising the Indian Tobacco company, on how they could capture more market in the rural sector, or suggesting the Honda group if launching their new car in India at this point of time would be a good idea.

"Babuji, would you like to have some-coconut water."

An under-nourished old man in tattered vests asked him.

"Ya" he said after a while.

He took the coconut and offered a fifty rupee note to the man.

"Keep the change". His voice reflected frustration more than generosity.

The twinkle in the old man’s eyes was hardly of any help.

He came back home late in the night. He flung open the window of his room trying to invite a non existent wind, hoping perhaps that it would blow off all the ideas in his head and scrape off all the filth and smoothen everything like the waves had done to the rocks. He flung himself on his bed and read me again.

"Woods are lovely dark and deep

But I have promises to keep,

And mile to go before I sleep

And miles to go before I sleep."

"But in which direction do I have to go. And where am I going."

He asked himself. But there was no answer.

I wonder sometimes if I have made a difference in his life. I think if I would not have been there Himanshu would have been different. he would have been less confused. He would not have thought if he is going in the right direction. He would have been more ‘practical’, so to say ,in the language of humans. But more than that I wonder if he would ever get an answer to the questions he poses before himself.

I think I make him more miserable.

It’s amazing what a sleep can do to you.

The next day Himanshu woke up late. And he was all fine. Just an eight hour sleep had done it. All the ideas in head had vanished. Abosolutely clean. I think it is a common 'human being syndrome.' And all humans suffer from it.

Amnesia, it is called . You forget things. You forget everything.

In the evening Himanshu went to the party and had a good time with his friends. Good food, costly wine, nice music. It looked a perfect world, only perhaps too artificial.

"What the hell are you doing here kid?" Himanshu's friend asked a child who was

trying to clean the car parked outside the mall.

"Just cleaning it sir." he replied.

"Hey! don’t you dare touch my car with your filthy hands you sick bastard."

"Sorry sir, I just need some money for my books."

"Get lost I say." his friend roared.

“Why were you so rude to him." Himanshu asked his friend, clearly disturbed.

“You don’t know these guys... they are thieves. They will steal the tape recorder,

or may be drain out the petrol, you never know."

"But he might have been saying the truth." he poked again.

“Oh! Come on. I know these guys too well. They are the scum of the earth."

The guy looked no different than the farmer's son Himanshu had seen yesterday.

And once again all the thoughts that troubled him came back.

He wanted to get over it.

He set the billiards table and took aim. But all the shots lost their target. The vodka had lost its punch as well. Everything he tried to do appeared so shallow, so dull, so unfulfilling. It was like a song without music, like smoking without inhaling, like college without girls, like sex without orgasm.

He lay on his bed and read me again.

"And miles to go before i sleep." he muttered.

He was staring straight at the ceiling, his brain blank.

A void surrounded him. He was going crazy.

Suddenly a tiny bright orange moth caught his attention. It was entangled in a cobweb in a corner, fluttering its wings trying to free itself. A spider approached it slowly and then its legs started moving in a synchronized motion. Like a skilled craftsmen the spider weaved around the moth and chocked it to death.

Abruptly Himanshu got up from his bed, took a duster, and smacked it twice.

The spider was dead. He threw the duster, and fell on the easy chair.

“What the hell am I doing? Killing a spider." he thought pulling his hair, his jaws

clenched tight , his body stiff and his brain blocked.

The phone rang.

"Hello"

"Hello beta, how are you." his mother asked.

"I am OK mom, I am OK."

But his voice was sullen enough to suggest otherwise.

"What's the matter son? Not feeling well?”

"Just tired of work. That’s all."

He woke up early in the morning got ready and went to office.

"Amnesia" I thought.

Himanshu has come home after a week today. And he has brought a beautiful guest with him, his wife. He had gone to his home town to get married to this lovely lady his mother had selected for him.

"I hope this is for the better." I said.

His wife changed the whole look of the house. The billiards table was replaced by a dining table. The vodka bottles have been replaces by orange squash. There are no cobwebs anymore. The 'Basic Instinct' CD was thrown into the dustbin and so was I.

Yes, one day, his wife brought a beautiful scenery with a beautiful house, and trees around it and a rising sun in background, and hung it where I was. And I like a tattered used tissue paper was tossed into the dustbin.

"I hope it is for the better. And I hope it will end his miseries."

I thought.