Random Expressions

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Five

The next day, Vishal and I finished with classes and took the early U-special back. Smita was still absent, and I hadn t called her up either.Despite the early hour, the bus was overcrowded; we got into it with difficulty, stepping on someone’s shoe here and on another’s toe there. After a dozen apologies and a couple of abuses, we managed to reach a relatively safe corner and lodged ourselves till Pusa Road, from where the bus began to empty itself.

I looked around for familiar faces there were only a few that I recognized.

“Strange people have started commuting in this bus,” observed Vishal.

“Yeah, freshers probably,” I replied.

“Hey Dinesh, how are you man?” a voice called. I looked up at an obese guy wriggling his way towards us. I knew him distantly. He had met me several times earlier during the college fest. I recalled he was from St. Stephens, also doing English Hons. I wasn’t particularly impressed by him, and rued the fact that St. Stephens had chosen to admit him rather than myself.

“Arun, how are you?” I answered politely, when he was right next to us. I hated his chummy attitude, my hatred driven more by jealousy than any other tangible factor.

“Fine yaar. How’s you? College kaisa chal raha hai?”

“College toh wahiin khada hai, hum hi chal rahe hai,” I quipped.

He let out a low chuckle. “Waise, tumhara college is going great guns suna hai ek ladki pregnant ho gayii hai wahan pe,” he winked lewdly.

“Kitna bada ajooba hai na?” I stared at him coldly.”Pahli baar duniya mein kabhi koi ladki pregnant hui hai.”

Probably he didn’t get the sarcasm, because his overt good naturedness continued to flow, “Nahii yaar, it’s quite a scandal, considering that your college is so colorless. Had it been from Miranda House, no one would have batted an eyelid. After all, Miranda House ka MH stands more for Maternity Home,” he laughed, with another all-knowing wink. “Waise, tu jaanta hai kaun ladki hai, humein bhi milade na?”

I was aghast and nauseated. It was impossible for me to listen to this nonsense. Smita was not this kind of girl. If only they could see the purity and innocence in her!

“Nahin, I don’t know,” I hissed, and turning to Vishal I said, “Let’s get down here, I have to pick up a few things for dad,” and as I pushed towards the exit, I half turned and hastily said, “Bye Arun, see ya later…”

We started to move ahead towards the exit. Vishal trailed behind and mumbled something about the foolishness of getting down there since the bus service in the area was poor.

“I don’t care. I can’t hear this nonsense any longer,” I flung a quick reply to him and motioned the driver to stop at the signal for us to get down.

Irritably, I walked to a roadside restaurant, dumped my worn out black bag onto the next seat, and sat down heavily, dropping my head in my hands.

“Kya hua?” Vishal asked, “You never were like this before. Why have you become so touchy?”

“I don’t know,” I clicked my tongue part disgustingly, part resignedly. “But I just cannot bear to hear such remarks about Smita!”

“You love her?” asked Vishal.

“Bilkul. With my heart and soul,” I emphasized.

“And mind?”

“Huh?” I was taken aback. What sort of question was this? “Matlab?”

“Matlab yeh ke kabhi dimag se socha hai ke how you want to take it forward. Sirrf love kahne se toh nahi baat banegi na? Your parents, her parents, society all that have you thought over it all?”

I hadn’t. But I wasn’t admitting that, either. “My parents will be ok. I am their only son. They have always accepted my decision,” I reasoned, more to myself than to him though, even as I said it, I started to doubt it.

“Ok, that’s good. And her parents? Kya kahoge unnse? Ke mai aapki beti se shaadi karrna chahta hun, kyunki woh pregnant hai.”

“Oh, Vishal, come on now. Stop being dramatic. You know its not going to be this way!”

“Ok, but someone will have to tell her parents you or her. By the way, is she getting an abortion?”

“Yeah, she is, though you know I feel that I should marry her and allow the child to live on. Even she initially wanted that.” I was again making castles in thin air, trying to be a great champion of justice.

“Marriage or child?”

“What?”

“I mean what did she initially want to have the child or to marry you, or both?”

“The child,” I replied.

“Have you told her?”

“What?”

“That you want to marry her.”

“Yeah.”

“And her reaction?”

“Negative.”

“And you still want to marry her?” he asked, his eyes wide open and disbelief written boldly across his face.

I shook my head and repeated to him ad verbatim what happened at Smita’s place the last evening.

“And you really still want to marry her?” he repeated his question, like a stuck record. His practical outlook was irritating but I reckon it was absolutely correct.

“But I love her,” I stated obstinately.

“There, we are back to square one! Your love is immaterial and doesn’t matter in the entire scheme of things. She doesn’t love you.”

“She’ll love me,” I went on stubbornly. “She will also realize that it is best to marry a person who loves you than the one whom you love.”

“Bookish philosophy; impractical in real life,” he stated. “I suggest you wait for sometime. Allow her to abort this baby. Even if your utopic views do turn out to be true, ek cheez bataa honestly can you live your entire life with Ashish’s baby?”

I was about to say yes but stopped mid-way. All this while, I had only thought of the unborn child as Smita’s, forgetting that it was Ashish’s progeny too. Suppose he got Ashish’s looks? I dreaded the thought.

I conceded to his argument and we started for home, leaving behind an irate waiter grumbling about customers who leave without ordering anything. From the looks of the rundown restaurant, it seemed that we were not the only ones doing that.

Thankfully, Route No 755, which led to our neighborhood, was chugging along a rundown Blue Line bus, horribly derelict, and impossibly crowded.

“Did you have a chat with Ashish?” asked Vishal, as we got into the overcrowded bus.

I was able to say a “No” before we got into the struggle to waggle some space for ourselves. My thoughts were bit more clear today. I would talk to Ashish, although I had no hope for his ever accepting Smita, but it just might make her understand that I really meant well, and perhaps see the reason in accepting me in the end!

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

Ashish Sehgal, the scion of Sehgal Group of Industries which included a famous tyre brand, one five star hotel and sundry other businesses, was six feet tall with a well toned body, evidently the result of several hours of work out in the gym. He had a slim waist, and wore a tight Lee Jeans, below a figure hugging white T-shirt with a small Nike logo on the right hand side of his broad chest. The T-shirt accentuated his six pack abs, and brazingly revealed well developed biceps. He had a thin, longish clean-shaven and fair face, with well proportioned celtic features, which to me didn’t seem anyhow attractive, but I guess one needed a girl’s eyes to view it. His hair was short and cropped, and I suspect already showing signs of a receding hairline. It was with some glee I noted that in a few years he might go bald.

It wasn’t too tough to find him. I had often seen him near the front gate in the mornings, eyeing lasciviously anything that came in skirt or Punjabi suit. That day too, he was there, with a bunch of cronies.

It wasn’t raining, though the weather was cloudy and dark, and it threatened to pour any moment. The ground was still wet from the previous night’s incessant downpour.

As ever, I had rehearsed the entire conversation, and this time I was determined not to make a fool of myself.

“Excuse me, Ashish,” I said, with a tone of extreme confidence, and took him out of his gang. In trying to sound controlled, my voice was probably a wee bit louder than usual, for his friends also eyed me suspiciously.

“Yeah?” he asked in a faux drawl, perhaps a consequence of his recent US trip.

“I don’t think you have recognized me. We met once earlier. I am Smita’s friend,” I began my rehearsed dialogue.

He eyed me blankly; his face, expressionless. In any case, I found his face holding a very stupid and dumb look. Thank heavens, he wasn’t in films, I thought. He would be another perfect non-actor beefcake, destined to flop after a few films.

“Smita who?” he asked, after a prolonged silence.

I was caught off-guard, and left speechless. Of all the possible reactions, I had never anticipated that he would come up with this!

Licking my lips in an obvious display of nervousness rearing its ugly head, I stammered out, “Smita in my class, second year English.” I tried to say it slowly, evenly and patiently, trying to suppress my anger and irritation, though my voice must have carried some modicum of disaffection.

He didn’t reply, but one of his friends who was watching us, sauntered over, and enquired,”Kya hua?”

“Dunno man!” replied Ashish. “He’s asking about some Smita in English Hons.”

I was sure the friend would have also recognized Smita s name. It was impossible that Ashish wouldn’t have boasted to them about his conquest .

“Arre, that hot chick from English,” laughed the friend. “Heard she is pregnant. Lots of hurry she was to do with it,” he added winking lewdly. And he gave a five to Ashish, their hands clapping in a vulgar show of camaraderie. But with this they had also fallen into their own trap, because in the entire college ‘the girl who got pregnant’ was just a vague entity with lots of speculation on her class and year.

“Not to do it,” I shot back in an acerbic tone. “But to be done with. Since your friends know Smita’s exact class and year and no one else in college seems to, I think there is no point in hiding it any further. I never knew Ashish that you would be such a bastard to forget the life you spoilt, ” I added, their apparent lack of concern acting as a catalyst in replacing my nervousness with anger.

In that split second I saw, he was taken aback at the direct accusation- but his reflex action was fast. He pushed me rudely and exclaimed, “Mind your tongue. Bastard kissko bola?”

I staggered backward, but only physically, because within me a fire had erupted. “You bastard for deserting Smita in this state As I stepped backward, I felt my foot hitting into a small puddle and water splashing around the ankles of my light blue jeans.

He lunged forward and held my collar in a tight grip, “Listen man, this is getting too far now!”

“That’s what. It’s gone too far now Ashish. Think about her!” I struggled to speak, my flaring eyes locked in a tight duel with his burning ones.

“Why? I don’t even know her!”

“You know her, she is no stranger!”

“Look, I am not falling in the trap of someone saying she is carrying my baby!”

“I never said it till now. But good you accept it!”

His hold relaxed from my collar. His friend had come forward too, but since all of it happened too soon, he was confused in his reaction. I noticed that a few others from his gang had seen him holding my collar, and sensing trouble they were moving towards us. I felt a drizzle begin.

“Ashish, please understand she needs you,” I pleaded, taking in quick heavy breath.

“Who needs me? I don’t know her,” he went on stubbornly.

“You know her very well,” I argued.

“I don’t. And if this girl is desperate to sleep with me, send her on, I am game. But listen, I ain’t fallin’ in your shitty trap. And why are you talking on her behalf? Are you her pimp?”

“Bastard!”

“Mind your…”

“C’ mon, leave him, Ashish,” his friend, who had been listening our rapid fire exchange, butt in. He eyed me disdainfully, and said, “I guess it’s his baby only…”

“Shut up and mind your own business,” I fired at him.

“Hey you, relax, and get lost, you don’t want to mess with us,” the friend shouted, and turned to Ashish, leading him away, “Chal, let’s move from here.” The others hadn’t intervened till now, but they were bundling around Ashish, asking him as to what had happened. They moved towards the canteen, and I heard Ashish telling his cronies that I was some mad man trying to implicate him falsely.

I felt weak and powerless. Nothing had gone the way I wanted to. Ashish’s flat denial shook me. How could I force his mind? How could I search a man s deliberately impoverished memory? How could I place some reason in his vacuous heart?

Never before had I felt such immense loathing for someone. My aversion towards Ashish built up steadily, as the rain increased its pace, and with each nonchalant swagger that Ashish took away from me. My blood boiled over and smothered any reason that was left there.

I ran up towards him, and pushed him roughly into the bush nearby; he and his friends were caught unawares, and he let out a stifled scream. I was in a half-mad, half-trance like state, and before anyone could react, I pulled him back, and punched his flat and hard abdomen with a force that was till then unknown to me. He doubled up in pain, but not allowing him any chance, I raised a knee and hit his groin, making him let out a loud painful cry.

His friends pounced on me from behind, but I let out a war-like roar, and pushed them hard with mighty force. My entire concentration and focus was on Ashish, and I saw him struggling to get up. But I couldn’t allow him to do that. Pulling him harshly by the collar, I gave another violent push, sending him reeling onto the tough tar road, splattering him onto a muddy puddle, and kicked him hard in the stomach again. His breath slipped and he doubled up in pain. Two of his friends jumped and held me, as another lunged towards his aid. One of the guys who held me gave a sharp kick on my legs, and I found them collapsing in pain. I took a sharp breath to steady myself, but a blow landed on my sides. The pain ran with a furious force to my brain, but it refused to acknowledge it, and lunged violently to shake them off. Their grip on my shoulders was strong, so I turned my energy towards them, and with both my elbows, I punctured their ribs. In the next instant, I swooped down on Ashish again, yanking him upward ruthlessly and I showered him with blows on his chest and stomach. His face was dazed and contorted, but before he could fall, I curled my hand in a tight fist, and landed him a powerful sack on his cheeks, which sent him staggering to the ground.

Suddenly, I saw around me a crowd had gathered. They didn’t intervene, but they were there for a good tamasha standing and watching with mute awe, desperately kicked to have another scandal in college.

Beyond this my memory fails me. I remember leaving the bruised Ashish on the ground, his friends helping him up. The rain was soaking through my shirt, and I felt an acute pain where I had been hit on the shin and sides. My steps were not coherent.

“Bahanchod,” a voice called. I stumbled and turned a bit to see some one call. Ashish’s friend. I recall that sneer.But without stopping, I took a step forward.

The next instant, something hard hit my head and all went blank.

To Be Continued

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This entry was posted on Friday, March 2nd, 2007 at 4:30 pm and is filed under Fiction . You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.