Short Stories


Story so far: Abhishek, a software engineer from IIIT is trying to kill a friday evening alone, when he chances upon Neha, a past acquaintance. He finds that Neha is in distress, and as they talk, Abhishek finds out that Neha is undergoing a break-up. During the course of their meeting, Neha breaks down.

Neha jerked herself free from him, and stood up, facing him. The light from the street washed her and got reflected from her tears, and in the backdrop of the ink-black Hussain Sagar, she looked ignited. “What can you understand, huh, Abhishek? What can you understand?” She was shouting at the top her voice now. “Can you understand the feeling of being used for six years? No, you cannot! You’re not a girl. How can you understand this feeling, this feeling, of being raped?!!“

Neha burst into a fresh bout of tears, and started walking towards the edge of the sixteen feet high embankment. Abhishek sat on the bench, paralyzed. Neha’s last sentence was still hanging in the air around him, and he felt himself getting crushed under its weight.”

Abhishek sat on the bench facing the shimmering Hussain Sagar, his mind numb. He was a sensitive guy and never had had much proximity to any girl. He had no idea about the amount of grief women can hold in their hearts, and when Neha’s floodgates opened, he couldn’t help being overawed with her emotions. Neha’s words had entered his head and had refused to come out, any which way. “He raped me Abhishek, He RAPED me!!” her voice rang out in his head. Immobilized, he stared and stared at the Hussain Sagar.

Somebody screamed, “Maidaam, hey, maidaam!”

Abhishek snapped out from his shell with a start at the sharp call addressed in alarm to a woman. And the first thing he noticed was that Neha was nowhere about. Somebody again screamed, “Arey, KAHAAN TU BHI DHYAAN HAI MAIDAAM!!!”. He followed the voice to see a young Hyderabadi teen calling out from at a distance of 4-5 feet to a female figure draped in a black dress standing almost at the edge of the shore of the lake, which ended abruptly in a sixteen foot fall into the crocodile-infested Hussain Sagar. The woman was totally oblivious to where she was standing, that a boy was screaming at the top of his voice just at her back, that if she lost balance, that would be the end. She seemed to be lost, staring into space. And to his horror, Abhishek realized that the woman was Neha.

“Fuck this boy, why doesn’t he just grab her arm!” were Abhishek’s first thoughts as he scrambled to his feet. Running like a bolt of lightening, he pushed the bewildered boy aside and roughly reached for Neha’s wrist and pulled her towards himself. Neha was jolted as Abhishek couldn’t control the fit of rage that he just felt at her. “What the fuck, Neha! Have you gone crazy? What do you think you were trying to do?” Neha’s wrist was clutched in his fist, and her face was inches away from his. Her black, round mascaraed eyes stared at him, terrified. Her 24-year old face bore the expressions of a 2-year old child who has just come to realize that he’s in unfamiliar arms.

As Abhishek looked at those eyes rounded with terror, the fit of rage passed out as soon as it had come. The guilty realization came that he was hurting Neha the way he was holding her, and the way he was talking to her. Coming to his senses, he noticed several pairs of Hyderabadi eyes upon them in their secluded corner of the lakeside. And then it dawned upon him why the boy had just kept on shouting from at a distance at Neha. He was a Hyderabadi boy in his mid teens, and going near a woman in an evening dress, leave alone pulling her by the arm would be anathema to these conservative people. Slowly, Abhishek loosened the grip on the delicate wrist. Neha was feeling weak. Abhishek took her arm and guided her to a nearby bench. The Hyderabadi boy kept looking at them incredulously, and then turned his back and left.

Abhishek gently helped Neha down, and then himself crashed on the bench beside her, exhausted. It isn’t everyday that you listen to the naked rona-dhona of a dumped girl, and then pull her away to safety just as she’s getting suicidal. The thinking part of Abhishek’s brain, which had helped him code his way to glory, told him to abandon this baggage there itself, and look for more interesting ways to while away an otherwise promising friday evening. But the students of IIIT Hyderabad, Abhishek’s alma mater, are as much taught in their syllabus to ‘feel’ as they’re taught to ‘think’. Not that every student learns whatever he is taught, but Abhishek was a sensitive guy, always eager to help. And it just wasn’t acceptable to his conscience to leave Neha in this condition.

So they started to talk. She, rather. And very soon Abhishek wished that he hadn’t met Neha, or talked to her in the first place.

For women hold grief into their hearts and hide it and not let it out so easily. As a result, it accumulates. And when it does come out, it becomes difficult for the woman to handle. And for any person who wishes to console another, getting inside the skin of the other is essential. He has to put himself in the other person’s shoes, feel exactly what she is feeling, and then think on his own as to what he should say which would soothe her. Needless to say, the listener’s job is no mean business. It can be very exacting. It takes sensitive hearts to think and feel like the other, and often the flow of emotions can be a bit too much to handle for those selfsame sensitive hearts.

Neha poured out her story. The fun she and Rajat had had; but she quickly came down to the bitter part. How she’d made sacrifices for him, how she’d told lies to her parents about extra classes to spend time with him, and then in college, how she’d saved money to call him and to go meet him whenever possible. She’d given in to his whims and fancies, she’d given up on her social life as he had disliked her talking to other guys, and so on. With each passing incidence, Abhishek felt increasingly sad. Two people in a relationship were like intertwined creepers, he reflected. You could not separate the two without much bleeding. And no amount of balm can instantly soothe a bleeding heart. It has to take its own time.

So they sat and she talked and he listened and listened. A good-looking, made-up girl in attractive clothes, bubbling with smiles and laughter enchants the senses. And a howling girl, sniffing on your handkerchief, mascara from her eyes running down her puffed up cheeks is almost as repulsive. Abhishek had been listening to her, with a patient ‘yes’ and ‘no’ occasionally, braving it all, bearing it all. Because he knew that he could not let another human, who had trusted in him, down. It had been way past his dinner time, way past his smoking time. And then the stories started to repeat…

  • It was late night now. Neha had stopped sobbing. Also, Abhishek had started talking. He told her that she had to pick herself up, however difficult it might seem to her. That she had to do it, as nobody else could do anything in this regard. and then he finally suggested that it was late and that they should both be heading home. At this suggestion, Neha asked him to come closer and when he did, she hugged him tightly, and started weeping. It felt nice to be hugged by a girl. But as the convulsions started coming again, and the tears started flowing, and he felt the back of his shirt moisten, he wished that she would just let go. It wasn’t such a great experience being hugged by a weeping girl after an emotionally draining evening.

    Finally she let go. Abhishek sat quiet, looking at his feet, as he heard the buckle of Neha’s purse snap open. She took out an anti-puff cream and applied it to her puffed cheeks. Then looking into her tiny, folding mirror, she wiped off her mascara and reapplied her lipstick. After a whole evening of howling and sobbing, she seemed much at ease now. Abhishek was famished, sleepy, emotionally drained and his shirt was ruined from the mascara stains all over it. Still, he thought drowsily, the evening hadn’t been a waste. He was happy to be able to help someone. Besides, he’d earned a friend that evening, he thought.

    He saw Neha walk confidently towards the road and hail down a taxi. With half closed eyes, he saw her get inside it. Suddenly, he realized he had forgotten something.
    “Hey, Neha!”, he called out and ran towards the taxi. The taxi had started but it stopped as he approached it.

    Neha looked out from the window. As he stood face to face with her, he sensed that the Neha of ten minutes ago had been replaced by a much more confident and self-composed Neha.

    “Oh, I forgot to thank you Abhishek”, she said, “thanks for being so patient with me”.

    Abhishek smiled in relief, and then put his hands on the window of the taxi. “Aren’t you forgetting something”, he smiled, looking inside. “We forgot to exchange contact numbers”.

    At this, Neha looked into his eyes, and for some reason the thought struck Abhishek that everything wasn’t as he was perceiving it.

    “You know Abhishek” Neha looked straight into his eyes, “I’m getting engaged next week. And the marriage will take place the day after.”

    The words made Abhishek snap out of his drowsiness. If she’s getting engaged, what’s she doing around here, clinging to me like this, he thought. Also…

    His thoughts were interrupted by Neha as she continued, “surprised, haan? well, his name’s Rajesh, and he lives in Germany. I won’t be coming back to India for a long time now, and I thought it best to dump away the bag of unpleasant memories of India in India itself.”

    Abhishek stood straight from his bent position, his mind racing but still not knowing what to make of what he had just heard. It just didn’t make any sense. Neha smiled at his demeanor, and then continued,

    “You were a patient listener, Abhishek. Thank you for making things easier for me. And as for the contact number, well, I don’t give away my number that easily to strangers. After all, we only met this evening after eight years.”

    The taxi rode away, melting into the night. Abhishek fought the urge to fall to his knees in the middle of the road. Somehow he dragged his feet to the side of his road and leaned against the railing. He was beginning to realize that Neha had used him. To get rid of her emotional burden, to let it all out before beginning a new life. She had wanted a patient, understanding ear and a strong shoulder to lean on and feel secure, and he had been foolish enough to provide whatever she had wanted. She had taken advantage of his emotions. It was a new experience, something he had never heard or read about. He had been emotionally used.

    He lit a cigarette and started walking back towards the Prasad’s complex, where his bike had beed parked. Neha’s words once again rang inside his head. “He raped me, Abhishek, he RAPED me.” For a moment, Abhishek wondered if he could say the same thing about himself. But as he crossed the deserted, flood-lit IMAX chourasta, leaving the glittering Hussain Sagar behind him, the fact slowly began to sink in. That this evening, it was he whose emotions had been played with. This evening, it was he who had been raped.


    Old City of Ekta Nagar. Janak Puri and Ibrahim Mohalla, two adjacent lanes off the main Chaurasta. Sitting like two ancient sages with their backs to each other, watching with eternal patience the hustle-bustle playing on in front of them. One lane was inhabited by Hindus, and the other by Muslims. While garlic and onions were stolen secretively into the homes of one, the smell of chicken roasting wafted freely through another. Young women from one lane burnt the midnight oil, studying for their PG degrees, while most of their former classmates from the ‘peechhe wali galli’ were busy tending to their ever growing brood. Cows restricted themselves to only one of the lanes, for they were no longer held sacred once they crossed their threshold and ventured into the adjoining one. Apart from this, the Gallis looked identical. Small, dingy double or triple storey houses, with small windows opening out into the the galli, the absence of anything remotely green throughout their length and collective breadths, heaps of rubbish adorning both their alleys, kids playing cricket in both of them, ever ready to run at the sound of rubber meeting glass. The same churan-toffee, biscuit-chips, cigarette-bidi, gutkha-supari, chudi- bindi, atta-dal, samose-kachori were sold from the generations-old shops, little more than holes on the walls really, which lined the two gallis.

    In both the gallis, people screwed in the nights, went to shit in the mornings, pissed 5-7 times a day, tucked themselves under quilts in the winters and turned the fans on in the summers. Red blood would ooze out if you cut through the skin of a person from either galli, and to each would it hurt just as bad as it would hurt the other.

    In Janak Puri, a red-faced kid monkey, in his restless playfulness, one fine eleventh day of the month of the Hindu Calendar, in front of the Ram Mandir of Janak Puri, decided to hold two parrallel running electric wires with both his hands simultaneously.

    As his charred, brittle remains fell on to the road in front of the Bhagwan Ram ka Mandir, and the smell of his burnt flesh carried into the homes, the emotions of the people welled up. And as usually happens in such situations, the flow of emotions quickly took a reverent turn. People poured out of their small homes in the Janak Puri to pay their homage to this incarnation who had decided to bless their galli by giving up his life on the Ekadashi day in front of the Ram Mandir. Some offered him sweets, other offered him money. While in his living avatar, the monkey would have lived his life bearing the brunt of the local children’s sticks and stones and surviving on stolen edibles, after his death he became divine. The local MLA promptly arrived at the scene, and keeping fully in mind the upcoming elections, announced, to the utter gratification of the gathered residents, a handsome grant so that a temple in the memory of the martyred incarnation be built.

    The temple was built, a statue was bought and a priest duly appointed to look after the proceedings. On the auspicious day, a group of higher priests did the ‘Pran Pratishtha’ of the 3 ft high marble statue. The temple had been built exactly on the spot where the divine life had released its bodily prison on its way to meeting the Supreme. Of Course, the road regulations had been conveniently forgotten in this process and the new temple was built entirely on a piece of land where traffic had been running all these years. But devotion is higher than physical comforts. The pedestrians can hold their pajamas up and step into the drain, the motorists can slow down and pass through the already much encroached upon, and now further narrowed alley. They ought to slow down to pay a silent obeisance to the lord, anyways. The monkey, who would have been regarded as a nuisance in his life, was given a new life of the divine kind by no less than high Brahmins, the representatives of God on this earth. Every morning, carefully scrubbed Hindus passed walked through the muck of their lane, past the garbage heaps, to offer flowers, fruits and money to the ‘Karant wale Balaji’, a thoroughly clean and purified elevated ground at one end of which stood the small Mandir. The inconvenience of the motorists was compensated for by the divine happiness that each person who prayed to the Balaji felt.

    There was another galli, the one just adjacent to this one, to whose residents the Karant Wale Balaji made little difference.

    A bearded, skull capped youth once during the time of the evening Aarati, was riding through the main road after shopping for his dinner. Nafees never entered the Hindu Galli without any purpose. But the shop on the main road was out of green chillies, and he knew that a Mali in Janak Puri would be the only one selling it at this hour. Blissfully unaware of the existence of the Karant Wale Balaji, he entered the Hindu Galli at the usual speed.

    He saw what he was about to hit, but never got the time to react.

    The left bumper of his motorcycle rammed into the side of the elevated ground on which the devotees were standing and singing their evening Aratis. From the impact, Nafees was flung at the feet of the devotees, and he felt a warm sensation inside his mouth as his bearded face hit the white marble floor. The packet of his dinner shopping flew straight through the small gate into the Mandir itself.

    As Nafees steadied himself, he felt his mouth, and as he opened it, one of his teeth came out. Unable to control it, he watched helplessly as a stream of blood mixed with saliva flowed from his mouth on to the sacred chabutra. In the meanwhile, a huge ruckus had arisen at the mandir gate. A full freshly culled chicken, the output of Nafees’s evening shopping was lying at the feet of the Balaji. Some blood from the dead chicken had joined the coat of saffron paint adorning the Balaji’s profile.

    The devotees, with their ever so sensitive devotions, could not stand this outrageous and unacceptable insult to their deity. Not only had a lowly, filthy Muslim destroyed the sanctity of their Balaji by spitting on his Chabutra, he also had had the audacity to flung a dead animal at His divinely alive statue, thereby corrupting their religion (Bhrasht their Dharma)! The floodgates of rage burst out, and among feeble protests from some ‘weak’ members of their community, the members of the vegetarian group wreaked havoc upon the hapless Muslim man.

    This scene did not escape a group of Muslim boys standing at the end of the Galli, smoking cigarettes and enjoying a cricket match at the Pan shop. While a group of more hot blooded boys hastened to show to the vegetarians their true place, the mobile phones of a few others became active. Soon, a large group of Muslim men, armed with whatever weapons they had at their disposal assembled in Ibrahim Mohalla. The group of Muslim boys, some beaten black and blue, and others bleeding, were slowly trickling back into their Galli. The few Hindus going about their business in the Muslim Galli sensed the danger, but for some of them it was too late. They were caught by the Muslim mob, and thoroughly beaten up. A hindu thela wala managed to escape, but his wares were looted by the mob and his thela hacked to pieces. A Hindu Auto Driver, who was dropping some passengers to Ibrahim Mohalla, was beaten up and his Auto Rickshaw set on fire. The lone Hindu shopkeeper in Ibrahim Mohalla was stabbed and his shop plundered and later put to arson. Similar was the fate of the Muslims who had had the ill-fortune to be present inside the Hindu Galli.

    The police had been notified soon after the riots had started, and as night was falling, both the Gallis were put under curfew. The Karant wale Balaji had stood a silent spectator to the ruckus. A small portion of the side of the Chabutra had broken off, where the motorcycle had hit it. The Blood from the chicken had been cleansed off from the Balaji’s profile even through all this confusion. On the Chabutra, the blood from the first muslim mouth had got mingled with the blood of several more from his ilk.

    Ramesh had been one of the hapless few caught up by the Muslim mob in Ibrahim Mohalla. A stave had hit his head, and his skull had burst open. He was admitted in the City Hospital, fighting for his life. It was late night, and the Gallis were still under curfew. A young woman stepped out of one of the houses, taking hurried, tentative steps towards the broken Chabutra of the Balaji. She was Sujata, Ramesh’s wife. In her hand was a lota.

    Looking left and right, she quickly climbed the steps and walked into the Balaji Temple. Hurriedly, she poured the pure milk from the lota at the feet of the Balaji, and with folded hands and closed eyes, the pallu of her sari firmly on her head, she proceeded to fervently pray ‘Hey Karant Wale Balaji, mere pati ki raksha kerna, hey Karant Wale Balaji, mere pati ki raksha kerna…’ (O Karant Wale Balaji, please look after my husband, O Karant Wale Balaji, please look after my husband…)

    (contd.) ‘Hey, Abhishek,’ Neha called out from behind his back, still sniffing into his handkerchief. ‘Listen‘. He turned back, and his heart warmed up. From behind the tears on Neha’s face, was emerging an appreciative and apologetic smile.

    “I’m sorry Abhishek… I’m just, so, so sorry”, and Abhishek could see her eyes pleading him. “I didn’t mean to be rude, just that… I’m in a terrible mood and all…”

    “It’s okay Neha,” and for him, it really was okay. “I understand you must be going through something really, really bad.” He was looking at her, and at this moment, she raised her eyes. “And hey, that’s what friends are for, aren’t they?”

    Neha smiled warmly at this line. And her smile told Abhishek that it wasn’t taken as just another line. “So you alone at the moment, or are you with someone? And hey, what have you been up to all these years?”


    Abhishek narrated his story in short, with all the objective details, how he’d been at IIIT, which was one of the premier institutes of the country, and how he’d landed up with this great job at one of the best companies in the world, and how that had made his family back home proud, and how that pride had kept on growing with every neighbor that dropped in every evening for a cup of chai on their lawn showering his parents with praises for their prodigious son. He’d purposefully kept aside any personal details for later. He’d sensed that later would be coming. At least that’s what he hoped for.

    “…so that’s pretty much about me.” He concluded, as Neha finished the last bit of her chocolate ice cream. “Tell me ’bout yourself now, Neha”, and gesturing at her now empty bowl, “and what’s making you add on so much to that wonderful figure?”

    Abhishek was a sweet, innocent guy, and when he said something, he meant it. He really wanted to compliment Neha on her figure at this point of time, as he’d had the pleasure of gazing at it from so close. But he was again horrified to see Neha’s eyes well up again at the inquiry. Neha looked at him with her large, red swollen eyes which had just begun to shimmer with fresh tears, and then she looked away. Abhishek had the sudden urge to panic, but he’d spent some time with her and knew what to do.

    “Hey, Neha, I know. I understand, he took her hand in his, offering her his handkerchief for the second time, and this time with confidence. “I think you need a walk, some fresh air and a listening ear. Come let’s go check out the lights on Necklace Road”.


    Getting down from the chair, he again took Neha’s hand, and she was willing to be led this time. Sniffing into the kerchief and dabbing her eyes, she walked beside him, past the curious eyes of the security guards at the metal detector and at the gate. Silently they walked, both feeling each others’ presence as they silently crossed the road and started walking among the trees which shadowed the walkway from the blinding lights off the streets. Finding a lonely bench, they sat down looking at the shimmering lights from the Necklace road on the opposite side of the lake, with the crash of an occasional wave against the embankment breaking the silence once in a while. Neha was still sobbing. When she became quiet, Abhishek started, “So, Neha, what’s bothering you so much? Just tell me, maybe I can help.”

    Neha looked staight, past the lake, past the lights, past the star lit sky. “It’s Rajat, Abhishek. We’re, we’re…” her voice was getting fuller with every word, and this point she broke, before managing to spit out “through!”.

    Neha was in hysterics now, and Abhishek put his arm around her, patting her shoulder. “Hey, okay, it’s okay. We won’t talk about it if you don’t want to.”

    But the floodgates had opened for Neha. “Why, Abhishek, why can’t things work out the way they should? I know life isn’t perfect and all, but why did this happen to me? Six years, dammit! He’s the only guy I ever loved!”

    And in between the sobs, the hysterics, the sniffings and the occasional look-aways, Neha filled him in on the details. She and Rajat had been courting each other since their Twelfth, and had sustained a long distance relationship through their college. After college, Rajat had become this really high flying jet-setter., and Neha had watched with pride, and been a part of every one of his achievements; or that’s what she thought. When the time came to give a name to their relationship, his parents flatly refused to even consider her as a prospective bride for him on account of her average looks, the average position of her family in society and the average dowry they could offer. And even Rajat had changed. He’d told her in so many words that he couldn’t go against his family and wished her good luck.

    “You cannot understand, Abhishek,” She looked at him with empty eyes as he thought she’d neared the end of her story. “He used me. He wore me as a trophy on his arm when he wanted a showpiece, ravaged me as a whore when he needed his kicks. I feel, I feel so violated.”

    Abhishek’s heart itself was in tatters. He thought he’d cry, too. Pressing her hand gently, he uttered softly. “I think I can understand how you must be feeling, Neha. I can understand.”

    Neha jerked herself free from him, and stood up, facing him. The light from the street washed her and got reflected from her tears, and in the backdrop of the ink-black Hussain Sagar, she looked ignited. “What can you understand, huh, Abhishek? What can you understand?” She was shouting at the top her voice now. “Can you understand the feeling of being used for six years? No, you cannot! You’re not a girl. How can you understand this feeling, this feeling, of being raped?!!

    Neha burst into a fresh bout of tears, and started walking towards the edge of the sixteen feet high embankment. Abhishek sat on the bench, paralyzed. Neha’s last sentence was still hanging in the air around him, and he felt himself getting crushed under its weight.

    PS: The third part will be the concluding one. And it’ll be out very, very soon. Honest.

    So here I am, back to story writing. Hope people like this one

    Abhishek was standing dejected near the small pool of water, staring aimlessly inside the blindingly brightly lit Prasad’s complex through the glass wall, when his eye caught sight of a familiar looking girl feverishly devouring a chocolate ice-cream at a stall. He gave a start, and a moment later, he was passing through the metal detector, walking towards the girl.

    It had been six years for Abhishek in Hyderabad. Having studied at IIIT, and now working at Microsoft, the pursuit of excellence had carried him forward on the professional front by leaps and bounds. But it had also left him stranded way behind the pack on another. He was 24, single, and trying to kill a friday evening alone at Prasad’s when everyone else was out with interesting company. His heart had taken a leap upon seeing this half-attractive female who’d taken tuitions with him in class XII for some time probably as long as two weeks, and was now going through a chocolate sundae as if it were the last piece of meal left on earth. And she seemed to be alone!

    ‘Hi’, muttered Abhishek as he approached her from her side. Neha was squatting on a high chair at the ice-cream counter, with a monstrous slab of chocolate ice in front of her and a huge spoon grabbed in her fist. Every time she dug the spoon into the ice, a large chunk of rich-brown ice-cream appeared on it which within no time disappeared inside her mouth. Walking towards her from her side, it looked to Abhishek as if she were a vampire bat, devouring her prey with such murderous aggression. As he neared her, he saw her mouth smeared with chocolate sauce, her entire being focussed on tearing apart the huge hapless heap of ice-cream laid before her. The first greeting went unacknowledged.

    ‘Ahem, mmh, mmh ha’ Abhishek cleared his throat. No response. Aggression towards the ice cream greater than before.

    ‘I say, HELLO, Neha!’.

    Now she looked up to him, and for a moment, it looked to him as if some invisible defence mechanism that girls had towards over friendly males snapped put into place. Sitting up straight from her bent-down position, she immediately reached for a napkin, and her eyes narrowed, scrutinising him. He hated it when girls put their guard up against him. What was there to fear about him, after all?

    Neha gave him a suspicious look-over. A moment later, a smile broke from her chocolate smeared lips.

    ‘Hey, Abhishek. Yeah, quite a surprise!’, she said, wiping her face with a napkin. ‘Take a seat na.’
    Something was wrong with her demeanor. Her lips were parted wide, but she wasn’t really smiling.
    ‘So, how’ve you been, huh? my God, it’s been six years.’
    ‘Yeah, it’s been a pretty long time’, Neha said, and looked away. Her eye was partly visible to him, and he could see that it was red and swollen. In fact, her whole face had a puffiness to it. To his horror, (and he was a really, really sweet guy), he realised that what he’d attributed to a natural weight gain, was due to the fact that the girl sitting in front of him had been crying, probably very bitterly till about half an hour ago.
    ‘Hey, Neha’, he said, as softly as he could manage to, ‘is everything okay?’
    And Neha burst into tears.

    Now, for a guy like Abhishek, the sight of a girl, any girl howling like that was too much to handle. And this was a girl he used to know. And because he was Abhishek, any girl he knew automatically became his ‘friend’. He rushed to her side immediately. Gallantly putting an arm around her, he offered her his handkerchief. He could notice people staring. Someone sniggered behind his back.

    ‘What’s the matter? Relax yaar.’ He tried to comfort her.

    She pushed his arm away from her and blew her nose into his handkerchief.

    ‘I’m sorry Abhishek’. She blew once more. ‘Please leave me alone for now.’

    ‘Sure. If that’s what you want.’ He got up, and reached out to touch her shoulder supportively, but stopped. Visibly hurt, he turned to leave.

    For a third eye, the stereotypical actions he had just done were a classic case of flirting-with-the damsel-in-distress. But Abhishek knew that whatever he had done was to make the girl comfortable. He’d never had ulterior motives. He wished that some girl could see and appreciate that.

    ‘Hey, Abhishek,’ Neha called out from behind his back, still sniffing into his handkerchief. ‘Listen‘. He turned back, and his heart warmed up. From behind the tears on Neha’s face, was emerging an appreciative and apologetic smile. (To be continued.)

    PS: Karan’s tag post will be replied to in another story. Hope the tag is still valid after one month of release, though.

     

    Story so far : Leon and Lesa had been college sweethearts, and also the hottest couple of their college. They pass out of their college and Leon’s lack of substance and careless attitute towards life force Lesa to get her marriage fixed elsewhere . Leon is unable to come to terms with this fact and misbehaves with Lesa. They part on an extremely bitter note.

    Leon came straight home from the restaurant and downed a few shots of neat vodka. That instantly relaxed his nerves, which were almost at a breaking point from all the stress he had had in the evening. This made it easy for him to sway his own emotions. He knew something was nagging him from the inside, but by now he’d become an expert at suppressing it, at playing with his own emotions to convince himself of things. ‘Who the hell does that bitch think she is, that she’s the only girl that I can have? That I’ll allow myself to get affected by her leaving me? Oh, she can go to hell for all I care…’ were Leon’s last thoughts before he drifted off to an alcohol induced sleep.

    Lesa got busy with her wedding preps and tried to forget Leon. They’d almost become a part of each other in all these six years, and it was very hard on her. But she had taken her decision after considerbale thought. She’d known Michael since they were kids, had played together and all. Leon did leave a deep void inside her, and many nights she had to cry herself to sleep, but she knew Michael would fulfil this emptiness inside her, and she tried to remain cheerful all this time.

    Leon’s peace of mind grew progressively worse everyday after the first day. This nagging feeling from inside him grew sharper everyday. He was afraid to explore it, and as such tried to suppress it the best he could, but it made him even more miserable. Besides, he was missing Lesa. He tried to busy himself with his office work, tired to mix with his office mates, even took one of his female colleagues out for dinner. But nothing could match Lesa, he realized. Every day continued to be the worst ever for him. He was getting overwhelmed by misery every passing day.

    Leon woke up one evening to find some post in his postbox. Surprised, he looked it up. It was Lesa’s wedding card.

    He grew crazy at the very sight of it. He felt as if he were bound and gagged and couldn’t even move an inch, couldn’t even breathe. He wanted to shout, shout till something happened. Right now, he could punch the walls, jump off from a building, do anything to get Lesa back. But he knew that all this was fultile. Lesa was now with love with somebody else, and he knew that he could turn the flow of the Yamuna river that flowed through his city, but not that of Lesa’s heart.

    Leon got out and got himself drunk. It was late into the night by the time the bar closed. He walked towards his apartment, staggering, falling by the wayside, picking gimself up and then walking. He passed his college building, went to the gate and holding the bars, looked inside. He burst into tears. Howling like a kid, he looked at all the landmarks where he and Lesa had spent the happiest time of their lives. He cried and cried, and with his tears, he felt his own pettiness, all his follies flowing away…

    “Dearest Lesa,I know I have caused you enormous grief. I know I don’t deserve to be listened. But you must do this for me, as you have done numerous things for me in the past. You must listen to me one last time.

    I’ve been a very small man. When it was time to build a character, I didn’t build any. Because to do so, you have to pass through difficulties, face tough times. I had always been a bloody pretender, pretending to myself that I could get past the challenges by doing some quality pretending. Every man has god sitting inside him, guiding him through his voice of conscience. I was so afraid of treading the unknown path, that I not only suppressed that voice, but also tried to shut it down. As a result, now I am left with nothing.

    I know it’s too late for you, and even if it weren’t, you deserve someone better than me. I wish you and Michael Best of Luck for you future life. It’s enough for me that you did love me sometime. The time I spent with you was the best ever that anyone had, and I can find comfort in that. If there’s anything I can do for you anytime, you can have anything.

    Leon”

    Leon wrote the letter in one go, and regarded it once more. He knew that he was drunk, and that the letter lacked any flow, but he felt comfortable from within that although unimpressive for a third person, Lesa would know that it had come from his heart. He carefully put it in an envelope and decided to post it the nex day.

    Waking up at noon the next day, the first thing that Leon did was to hop on his bike and he went in search of a post-box. Last night’s alcohol had him in a terrible hangover, and the soothing effect was also gone. Within a few seconds of getting on his bike, he was back to his usual self; he was again conscious of the phut-phut sound his bike was making, of his swollen eyes, and dishevelled hair, and of the ‘impression’ they would leave on the females passing him by. He again wanted an out, out of this whole business of losing Lesa and apologising to her. He found a post box and stopped his bike in front of it.

    Leon turned off the ignition of his bike, took out the envelope from the bag, and kicked the side stand into place. Slowly, he walked towards the beaten up, dented red and black post-box, hanging miserably from a hook attached to a concrete electricity pole. His jaws clenched, his right hand balled tightly into a fist, almost tearing the envelope it was holding in its grip. The kick he’d applied to put his side-stand into place had been much sharper than necessary. Leon stood facing the mouth of the ugly post box staring at him. He looked at it, and for a moment almost thought it was laughing away at him. He knew he was tense. Taking a deep breath, he pushed with his hand, the letter it was holding into the post box. His hand was now inside the post box, the iron plate of the box biting into the back of his palm. Suddenly, a bolt of electricity ran through his head. Violently, he pushed his hand out of the letter-box, took the envelope in both his hands and tore it to tiny, tiny pieces. ‘God damn! God damn…GODDAMMIT !’ he spat out under his breathe as he walked to his bike, kicked the engine to life, and roared away. A sudden realisation had dawned upon him, that he was a big, big liar.

    PS: So this story ends here. Please be kind enough to write me your brickbats/bouquets. They’ll be read with utmost sincerity.

    PPS: I actually wrote this story a year ago, but lost it in a hard disk format. Only rewrote it beacuse a certain one-year-younger-than-myself fellow deserved that his story be told. Believe me, the story had changed quite a lot in being rewritten, and rewriting was a more difficult job. I hope my efforts have paid off, and atleast someone has enjoyed this story. :)

    Story so farLeon and Lesa had been college sweethearts, and the hottest couple of their batch. They pass out of college armed with PG degrees, and start off with their lives. 

    Their college life had been great, but it had been in a kind of college that provides to its students scarcely anything more than a ‘great college life’. Leon had no intention of studying any further after his post-graduation. And all that he could secure was a job in a call center. Lesa had opted for a PhD programme in the university. Leon worked in night shifts, and got free only on weekends. Lesa was finding the PhD programme too hot to handle. They had promised each other that they’d call twice everyday, but as the pressures of work increased and the frequency of their meeting decreased, the need to make calls started diminishing. Besides, time was running out.

              Leon, deep in his heart knew that the time had come. But he wanted to avoid it. To push it under the carpet. Throughout his life he’d been a showman. He’d always been able to avoid the tough parts by covering them with wit and showmanship. He’d successfully hidden his lack of proper knowledge of language by making do with some extra wit and supreme confidence. He’d hidden his lack of guitar skills by shaking his head with the rhythm and moving with the audience, while others in the band had produced the magic. His football goals had been more a result of his ability to push the opposing defenders around without the referee seeing him than of his actual football skills. Life can go on this way, he’d always thought. You can always avoid the tough things by making do with some quality pretending.

              And Lesa had fallen for it head over heels.

              It had been six months since the completion of their graduation. The frequency of phone calls had decreased from twice a day to twice a week. They still met every weekend, but this time the high intensity of their kisses was more due to the physical separation during the week than due to the emotional bond that they shared. Lesa was still in love with Leon, but she knew that it was time for her to take a decision. She kept dropping hints.

              ‘Leon, Rajiv proposed to Prerna. They’re getting engaged next saturday. Isn’t that great?’.

              And Leon, who had no substantial answer to this thinly veiled question, replied summoning all his charms,’Yeah yeah, I know. I just hope Rajiv gives a good bachelorette party. All work and no drink make Leon a dull boy!’. ‘

              ‘You know Leon, Satya has booked a bigger apartment in that upcoming locality…’

              ‘Bullshit Lesa, how can anybody settle for anything less than a bungalow in GK?’…

    Something from his inside did tell Leon that Lesa needed concrete answers, atleast some assurance; but it was something his weak character could hardly provide. Even if you knew its actual size, a mirror-walled room still gives the impression of living in a big house. Leon had always lived under a mirror ceiling, and he didn’t have the courage to gauge the actual dimensions.

    Leon always waited for Lesa at their favourite coffee joint every saturday. This evening, he found her already there.

               ‘Hey Les, how ya doin’?’ Leon shouted cheerfully at her from across the room.

              Lesa waved and gave him a tired smile. Leon knew something ws up. He came to her and wrapped his arm around her. Lesa brushed it away.

              ‘What’s the matter…’

              ‘Leon, I’m getting married…’

    For Leon, as if a million bombs had dropped in his ear at once.

    And Leon had thrown a fit. Although he knew that things weren’t going very smoothly, he’d never expected anything like this.

              ‘Who’s it, huh? Definitely not me.’

              ‘His name’s Michael. Works in the US.’

              ‘Aah…your old man definitely sold you out.’

    Lesa looked at him with pleading eyes. ‘Leon, you know that I love you, but I can’t go on like this. It’s not about the money…’

               ‘Look Lesa, don’t give me this crap, OK’ Leon thundered, knowing all this while that while he was doing it, he was throwing away everything, all the six years of loving relationship, but still he shouted even louder, partly beacuse of the grief, but mostly unknowingly to shut out the voice from his within that shouted, screamed at him, told him that he was wrong, had always been wrong..

              ‘What do you mean it’s not about the money, huh? What’s it with me? You love me, you’ve told me innumerable times that you do. My face isn’t distorted, I can get mine up…’ and he screamed and screamed till the restaurant manager had to have him thrown out, and Lesa sat at the table, bursting away into tears…

    PS: The second part of the story. Again, please let me know your opinions. Especially did or did I not succeed in painting a clear picture of Leon. The third and final part will be released in two days’ time :)

    Leon turned off the ignition of his bike, took out the envelope from the bag, and kicked the side stand into place. Slowly, he walked towards the beaten up, dented red and black post-box, hanging miserably from a hook attached to a concrete electricity pole. His jaws clenched, his right hand balled tightly into a fist, almost tearing the envelope it was holding in its grip. The kick he’d applied to put his side-stand into place had been much sharper than necessary. Leon stood facing the mouth of the ugly post box staring at him. He looked at it, and for a moment almost thought it was laughing away at him. He knew he was tense. Taking a deep breath, he pushed with his hand, the letter it was holding into the post box. His hand was now inside the post box, the iron plate of the box biting into the back of his palm. Suddenly, a bolt of electricity ran through his head. Violently, he pushed his hand out of the letter-box, took the envelope in both his hands and tore it to tiny, tiny pieces. ‘God damn! God damn…God damn this…this male superiority’ he spat out under his breathe as he walked to his bike, kicked the engine to life, and roared away. A sudden realisation had dawned upon him, that he was a big, big loser.

              Leon and Lesa had been the hottest couple of their college since day one. As he had entered the college gates, uncomfortable in the formals, a group of seniors had snapped at him to come to them, and ordered him to propose to the hottest chic of his batch. And Leon, a class performer that he’d always been, had proposed to Lesa, Dil Chahta Hai style, after having sung ‘Mere sapnon ki Rani’ around her on a guitar with the whole college watching, having been collected around them in ever growing concentric circles. And Lesa knew that she ought to have either run away, or slapped this fellow’s head off. But she stood, looking at this package of boyish good looks, beautiful voice, deep black imploring eyes, and slim, but strong fingers confidently moving across the guitar fretboard with fascination, her face beaming with a slightly embarressed smile. And as soon as Leon had cried kneeling at her feet ,’Will you marry me?’, she’d replied in a low but gleeful voice, eagerly nodding her head up and down, a huge, silly smile on her lips ‘Yes, yes… of course’ and had run away, splitting the crowd into two as she did…

               After that, the five years of their graduation and post graduation had been like a dream to them. Slow bike rides early in the cold of Delhi mornings, with her arms cozily wrapped around him, the exchange of giggles and smiles in the classes, the long walks in the beautiful parks of Lutyen’s Delhi on moist grass and behind thick bushes, sharing books, burgers, gifts, going pubbing, dancing, doing gigs together onstage and winning prizes, her rushing on to the ground and locking lips just after he’d scored a brilliant goal in inter university football, his scooping her up in his arms and dancing circles on the stage when she won the inter college dance competition…Lesa hopelessly in love, Leon the perfect showman. Their college life was stuff that every kid dreams of. And on their farewell party, they were unanimously voted as the ‘Best Couple’ of their college.

              Like any kid with stars in his eyes, they walked out of the campus. To step into the world.

    (To be continued…) 

    PS: This is the first part of a slightly longish story. Do tell me you find it.

    My car wasn’t there!

    Pride of the family, envy of the neighbours and the best thing to have happened to me, apart from the one college romance : my Maruti Zen, was gone.

    Gone meaning, it wasn’t there where I’d left it. I’d parked my car in front of the Royal Cinema, right where I was standing at the start of the matinee show. Now, it was almost 11:30 and the road that had been teeming with late evening shoppers and foragers was quiet. It was a chilly night on the well-lit road, and the only shadow on the road came from a Neem tree that stood nonchalantly under a lamp post casting a misty light upon it. The entire length of the road was deserted, and my car was nowhere to be seen.

    I looked around frantically. For a minute, I tried to be like, ‘what the heck, where can it go? It must be somewhere over here. I’d parked it probably in this alley, or in that one. Lord pardon my forgetfulness.’ Quite insane actually, for I knew from the inside that something had gone very, very wrong. And after a brief but thorough look in all the deserted alleys around the cinema hall, I was standing on the side if the road, with my heart almost sunken to the level of my gut, and my mind absolutely kicking myself for coming to the matinee show all by myself. And that too, to this cinema hall! Why didn’t I go to a decent cinema hall which atleast provided it’s customers with a parking space?

    Some people find it hard to believe, but it so happens that the Royal Cinema doesn’t have a parking space, simply because none is needed. Its clientele consists of mostly the low-mid class people, who don’t give a damn about the facilities, as long as the screen shows something. It’s also a hangout for broke college kids, a class which always looks to save an extra buck. People who belonged to these classes did not own cars. I had once been a part of the latter class a long time ago, and today, to again relive those golden days, and also to escape the cold realities of a humdrum married life, I’d come here. Only to see it turn into the most expensive trip of my life.

    I’d been standing at the side of the road for about 10 minutes now, with millions of thoughts crisscrossing my mind. This car was the only thing that had kept us afloat in society circles. We, who had no good sofa set like the Mittals next door, or a German tea set like the Rais down the corner, had only this car as the saving grace, the showpiece of our status in the neighbourhood. If the car was gone, we’d become just another ‘average’ family and as my wife had made me to believe in course of her countless outbursts at my ‘uselesslness’ , being ‘average’ was the worst thing ever to happen to somebody. I recalled all the loan applications I had written, all the anticipated salary cuts, and the exhaustion of all our savings before we had the car. And then finally the look on my wife’s face when we finally drove it around the neighbourhood for the first time. Oh, how beautiful she looked, beaming all the way. and how that glow had increases manifold, upon seeing the look of open jealousy on Mrs. Mittal’s face…

    “No, this won’t do”, I sturdied myself. “I must ask somebody about it. Maybe it was parked in a no parking zone, and the traffic police had come and ‘craned’ it away.”

    I knew this idea was farfetched; neither was this Delhi, nor that traffic police SP a male avatar of ‘crane’ Bedi. “Don’t panic. Steady. THINK.” I took a deep breathe and paced up the street, trying to clear my head. And then my eye caught a Pan shop at the corner. And I knew what I needed.

    I went to the still open pan corner, and got myself a cigarette. The shop owner was talking to someone about the increasing thefts in the city, and about the b***** Government’s inability to do anything about it.

    I wanted to ask the Panwallah about my car, but I knew that was futile. As the first puff began to show its effect on my mind, I realized that I had no option now but to make a complaint. I shuddered at the prospect. Going to police means getting them to write your report, showing up on court hearings, and coughing up a substantial sum if your car ever is found. If it is never, all the time and energy spent is wasted. But then I thought, philosophically, going to police is one of the necessary evils of the modern day society. You have to do it. Like a bitter pill. You have no alternative.

    So I started walking the 2 kilometers to the nearest police station. I slowly began to grow nervous again. The cigarette had pretty much had its effect. I was feeling pretty low, not just on account of my stupidity in losing the car, but also because of the hard, cruel chill of the night, and the vastness of the empty streets and marketplace surrounding me. I put my arms alose to my chest, and still could not help shivering. I pictured myself, walking alone through the broad deserted street, keeping as small a form as possible, going past a never ending row of huge buildings. And I felt small. The wind hit me hard again. I tightened my arms around my chest to keep warm, and felt smaller. The lifeless buildings were huge, the road was vast, the night dark, and the wind chilly. Where was my existence among all these…

    My mind again drifted to thieves. And I was terrified of nature, terrified of destiny. Grandmother’s teachings from the Bhagwad Gita, dished out to my indifferent ears of a restless kid, began to haunt me. ‘Do unto others, what u want others to do unto you ‘,’Jo kare, so bhare’….now my car had been stolen.

    ‘Why did this have to happen to me! I never stole anything.’ Grandmother’s rasgulle and mother’s kaju-kishmish could hardly be classified as ’stolen’ objects. Even lord Krishna took that much liberty from virtues in his childhood. I wasn’t even in a government job, that I could be accused of stealing government property. Mine was a clean job in the private sector. Although at times I’d wished I had a more ‘milky’ job than this one. But thinking of some fast bucks could not possibly amount to stealing…

    Maybe there was somebody whom I wronged so much that to balance things up, destiny had to deliver me this blow…well, I used to be a strong boy for my age, and had beaten up numerous boys in school over pencil-rubbers and later, girls. There was this guy, my neighbor, who used to keep an eye on my college sweetheart, and I’d beaten him up like hell. But I was friends with all these guys now. I’d even treated my neighbor to a lime soda, despite being broke, after giving him that cow hiding that very night 15 years ago. ‘No’, I shook my head, ‘I haven’t done anything to deserve this. Destiny’s just having having some fun at my expense. Just like the entire neighbourhood will do tomorrow. Life’s unfair!’

    I was nearing the police station, a mere object of destiny’s bitchiness, my clean soul demoralized and beaten by the world, and the powers that be, when my cell phone rang. I regarded this physical object with disdain, for a moment, for having disturbed the greatest philosophical and soul cleansing monologue since Hansie Cronje’s confession, and pushed the button to listen to my friend Vimal.

    “Hey Rajesh, where are u? Done with the movie?”And after I had mumbled an affirmative, “hope you’re not worried. I’m coming to pick u up. Where are you?”My head gave a click for his choice of the verb form ‘worried’, before I could say anything, he elaborated, “Yaar sorry I had to go meet the minister’s PA for my wife’s transfer. You know when u go meet these little bastards, how far can a car go in creating a better impression? You were in the movie so I thought not to disturb you, and took your car over there. Don’t worry; I’ve taken care of the petrol. You’d forgotten your spare key at my place yesterday, remember? Rajesh, Rajesh??? Are u there, HELLO!!!”

    I was there and I wasn’t. You asking me how was I feeling? How did George Bush feel after getting elected the second time, when he himself thought he’d been beaten? I could once again walk in my neighborhood with pride. The Mittals still had their sofa set, and the Rais their tea set, but so had I, my car. I stood up, and downed the chain of my jacket, and started walking back towards the cinema hall, with long, proud steps, defying the chilly wind with just my shirt and what had suddenly filled my body, walking tall, Oh so tall, past the dilapidated, sleeping buildings of the banal, nondescript marketplace

    PS: originally wrote this story for Prof. Marathe’s assignment, and reaceived a blast. Rewrote it, and brought it to this form. Do tell me how it reads. 

    The boy went inside the phone cabin and sat down on the footstool. With shaking hands, he picked the receiver up. His palms were wet with perspiration. His teeth were clenched, and he’d grabbed the receiver like it was some catch he was holding on to for his school cricket team.

    After days of shaking and oohing and aahing, he was finally going to call her.

    Some inner voice told him to relax. He wasn’t going to let this call go waste like all the other calls, (when he’d drop the phone down in terror as soon as it got picked up). He took a deep breathe and relaxed his hold over the phone. He knew he wasn’t completely relaxed, but he had the assurance that he’d written down his lines really well. With his heart pounding against his chest, he dialled the now-all-too-familiar number.

    ‘Hello’, said a soft female voice. He knew it was her. His heart told him that. His heart was now ramming against his chest. For a moment he thought his rib cage was in danger.

    ‘Hello.’ He replied, his voice shaking, left hand fumbling for the piece of paper. There was an awkward pause. He read from his paper, and his confidence came back. ‘Is it Vandana?’

    ‘Yes,’ came the unsure reply… slightly hesitant. ‘Who is this…???’

    Bingo! This was exactly as he’d thought would be, and written down on the paper.

    ‘You down know me, but I know you very well’. Pat came his own reply, with an almost audible smirk. This was cool! Things were going exactly as he’d anticipated.

    ‘Oh really? How’s that?’

    Now he was jumping up and down. Man! what a genius he was. Those were the exact words he’d written down on the paper. Oh, what a coup!

    ‘Like…you know sachin?’

    ‘Sachin, who Sachin?’

    EEEYYYYAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH…..

    ‘Sachin, arre don’t you know Sachin Tendulkar?’

    ‘Nope’.

    The word was like a 1500W imersion rod to his ears. What a dumbass this chic is. His euphoria suddenly evaporated. This wasn’t supposed to be so. Everybody knows Sachin. Oh, Well. Never mind. Everybody knows Shahrukh, too.

    ‘Strange. You don’t know Sachin. Well, what about Shahrukh?’

    ‘Who Shahrukh?’

    ‘C’mon. Shahrukh. Shahrukh Khan. Don’t tell me you don’t know Shahrukh Khan.’

    ‘Well, I have no idea who he is.’

    He was flabbergasted. The chic was supposed to say that she knew Sharukh and then he’d ask her did Shahrukh know her, to which she was supposed to reply that he didn’t and he’d say Lo! You know Shahrukh but Sharukh doesn’t know you, in same way, you don’t know me, but I know you very well. That was what he’d written down in the paper. Everything that had started off so smoothly was in chaos now. 

    ‘Well, Amitabh, then. Amitabh Bachchan?’

    ‘No.’

    He was really desperate now. ‘Hrithik! what about Hrithik? Hrithik Roshan? Dhoom part 2′

    ‘No.’

    This was turnig out to be the worst conversation he’d had all his life.

    ‘Well then, whon do you know?’ he cried over the mouthpiece in desperation.

    What came next was something he’d remember all his life.

    ‘GADHE! Mein TUJHE jaanti hoon. KHABARDAR jo aaj ke baad meri BETI ko phone kerne ki koshish ki toh!!!’

    SLAM!

    In a state of shock, he slowly replaced the receiver. He wanted to die now. 

    Leon let out a puff of smoke, and passed the cigarette to Kiran. He continued to look at his computer program, not aware of who had just passed in the corridor in front of his hostel room. A second later, a sharp, accusing voice broke his concentration.
    “So you are now teaching the juniors to smoke, eh, Leon. Aren’t you content with keeping this filthy habit to yourself?’ The voice belonged to Pankaj, one of those goody-goody ‘idealistic’ kinds of guys, who according to Leon thought it their birth-right to ‘poke their noses in everybody else’s rooms.’ Leon looked up from the screen, trying not to let his irritation into his voice.
    “It’s OK, Pankaj, I didn’t teach him, he’s been smoking since before he got here.”
    “So hadn’t you better discourage him, rather than offering him cigarettes?”
    “I’m not a hypocrite like you. Whatever I have, I share with others. “Muttered Leon under his breath, and pushed the ‘enter’ button to immediately see the correct output come flashing on his computer screen. He shut his computer down, and picked up his trekking shoes and socks from the shoe rack.
    Pankaj was standing in the doorway now, his arms folded.
    “Look Leon, if you think you can get away with making addicts out of our juniors, you’re badly mistaken.”
    Leon had put on his shoes, and for an instant, felt like kicking this sick fellow’s head off. But he knew better. He looked past Pankaj, towards Aakash and Manish, who were standing in the corridor behind Pankaj, looking at this scene with amusement. Leon jumped up, and giving Pankaj a slight push, bolted and locked the door, completely ignoring him otherwise. Aakash, Manish and Leon started walking down the corridor.
    “This isn’t right, you immoral lout”, shouted Pankaj. “I’ll complain about this. Just wait and see…”

    “What’s the guy’s problem, yaar?” Aakash asked, hastening down the stairs, and adjusting the strap of his guitar case as he went. “Why is he always ready to fight his head off? And why is his brow always in crests and troughs?”
    Aakash followed this question up, with an imitation of Pankaj, who always looked as if he were in deep waters, and looked at Leon, who burst into laughter. Manish, too smiled. Aakash was the jester of this group.

    And so, the three of them, the ‘cowboys’ as they called themselves, because of their adventure crazy nature, walked down their college road to the boundary wall of their college, climbing over which, they would walk right into the surrounding woods. It was twelve o’clock in the night, and they had just started, full of enthusiasm for a trip into the woods. Only, they did not know that this trip was going to take them longer than they had thought.

    Leon, Manish and Aakash were engineers in the making. They studied at the Hyderabad Institute of Technology, which was one of the leading institutes of its kind in the country. Leon, tall, lean and handsome, was a tough kid. He was of Anglo-Indian descent; his ancestors had once come to Rajasthan as missionaries. He was passionate about the hills of his native Rajasthan, and had a never-ending spirit of adventure. Aakash, short and somewhat stocky, liked to have fun every living moment. He and Manish were both from Delhi, and as such had never had had any experience with the wilds before coming to Hyderabad. Leon had taken them to the woods for the first time. And the woods had been a love-at-first-sight affair for them, too.
    Now, they were a group of the most adventure crazy boys in the whole college and the most common and nearby source of somewhat keeping in control their insatiable hunger for adventure were the woods surrounding their institute. They often went there, always in the middle of the night, exploring the area, and climbing the big, smooth boulders, which were characteristic of this part of the Deccan, well through the night. This was one of those nights.

    It was a very beautiful night. Lord Indra had smiled only an hour ago, the sky was now clear, and the slight drizzle had settled down the dust particles of the atmosphere. The cool night breeze had a freshness and purity to it, and Leon felt an exhilarating sense of freedom, as the cool wind blew through his shirt, his hair. His gaze wandered off towards his far left, suddenly, he snapped out of his euphoria. In the distance, a large patch of woods had been destroyed and Leon saw electricity poles where eucalyptus trees had once stood proud. The fangs of urbanization had reached this Garden of Eden too, planning to turn it into another concrete jungle. Leon’s heart bled. The sight of cut trees always made him feel that way. Manish and Aakash were fooling around, oblivious to the pain Leon were going through.

    With a heavy heart, Leon lit a cigarette. Then he remembered that he was here to enjoy this night.

    It was a rough terrain, these woods. Once the trio left the road, and walked deeper, away from the light coming from their campus, it grew darker, and the darkness surrounding them made the sky look even darker than it was. The moon shone above them, in one corner of the sky, like a small, tilted vessel of thick, creamy milk, emptying its light silvery contents into the vast, inverted bowl that the sky looked. The mild light of the moon seemed to provide a thin veil to the huge, dark sheet of the sky, a veil from behind which billions of twinkling diamonds tried to peep out. And the three boys, walking slowly among the shrubs and talking and joking among themselves, enjoying the sight, were on a high.

    They were now about a mile into the wilds, walking among the shrubs, consciously avoiding the thickly wooded area. They knew from experience that the woods could be very slushy after the rains. They reached their favorite spot, where there were big boulders around.
    “Remember this boulder, Manish?” Leon asked, as they gathered round the base of a boulder, around fifteen feet high, and smooth and round and even shaped, like a giant egg. There were virtually no cracks and crevices to use as footholds or hand holds, very unlike the craggy sedimentary Aravalis that Leon was so used to in his hometown in Rajasthan. ”The first time we came here, I was stuck while coming down. I could not climb back up, since there were no holds, and as I was preparing to jump from that spot about 10ft high, there I saw a huge snake just where I wanted to jump. Remember?”

    And Manish remembered. That was one of the very few instances that he had seen terror on Leon’s face. Out of the two rock protrusions that could be used as hand holds, one had come off, and there were no footholds. Because of the extremely smooth top surface of the rock, Manish could not even pull him up. So Leon had just hung there, on his one hand, for full five minutes, hugging the rock with all his might for some extra friction, his fingers and hands shaking from the effort, waiting for the snake to go. His fingers had bled and his usually pale face had gone red, and Manish could not even imagine the pain he must have been through.

    “Yeah, that was one hell of an experience, for me, too”, recalled Manish. “Just sitting over there on the top, like a fool, just looking at you hanging down there for dear life.” He gave a small shiver. “God forbid, had anything happened to you, I couldn’t even be trusted to come down that height all by myself to help you.”
    “Well, in that case, Manish, you would just have had to call someone from your cell phone, to come and rescue you”, Chirped Aakash, who was a new entrant to their group and had remained silent all this while.
    But Manish and Leon knew that the inexperienced and carefree Aakash had not accessed the situation carefully enough. Whom could they call, in the dead of the night? Besides, what would they tell them, where to come? Anyone coming into the woods alone for the first time had a slim chance of ever finding his way to this particular spot a whole mile deep into the woods. It would take hours for any search party to find them. Leon and Manish, from that experience had become acutely aware of the fact that once in the woods, they were all by themselves.

    And after that experience, Leon and Manish had got even more addicted to the nighttime splendor of these woods. It had now started to provide a thrilling experience, a feeling of being ‘on the edge’, which lured them to the woods now, more often than before.

    We’ve walked enough, yaar, enough exploring for one night.” declared Aakash, and took off his guitar from his shoulder. “Let’s have some fun now!”
    Aakash was a beginner guitarist, and liked to show off his skills at the guitar at every possible opportunity. It was his own idea to bring his guitar to the woods, and play it, just as the romantic characters of the western movies did on the Prairies.
    Leon and Manish smiled at this childlike eagerness. Manish decided to stall him. “Wait, Aakash,” he said. “Let’s climb that big rock over there, and then you can play. It’ll be more fun.”
    Aakash looked at where Manish was pointing out. The rock was a real piece of nature’s artistry. ‘The rock’ was actually four separate boulders. The structure had a base that was about ten feet high, and extremely flat and smooth at its top, like a huge round conference table. On two ends of a diameter of the rock, were two smaller boulders, roughly cylindrical in shape, and about four feet in height. On those boulders was balanced a huge semicircular rock, with its curved end facing the sky. The whole structure looked like a mushroom whose top was connected to its bottom by only two arteries. Behind it shone the moon, outlining this momentous ‘mushroom rock’ standing against the sky. It was a breathtaking sight.
    Aakash looked at it for a moment, and then suddenly cried, “It is a race, guys. Let’s see who gets there first.” And clutching his guitar tightly in one hand, he jumped on the ground, from the small rock on which he was standing, and raced towards the mushroom rock. How could the other two boys let themselves be left behind? Jumping over small pieces of boulders, and brushing past twigs, leaves, branches and thorns of the surrounding foliage, Leon and Manish, too, charged towards the rock.

    Aakash, who had had quite a good head start, reached the base of the rock first, panting and out of breath, wearing his guitar on his shoulder, which almost reached his knees. Leon and Manish were still running, both of them some distance behind him.
    Aakash stood there, panting, looking in the direction where he had come from, waiting for his friends.

    Suddenly, a click from the bushes behind startled him. He whirled around. The click had sounded metallic, and it had come quite clearly, from the thick bushes. Could it be…no, it was not possible…he took two steps in the direction of the bush to investigate. But at that very moment, behind his back, his two screaming friends jumped from two different boulders towards the base of the mushroom rock, each stretching his arms in the front, holding his hands to prevent himself from running into the huge, solid rock itself. And both of them almost simultaneously touched the rock, and started arguing over who came first. In the ensuing mock argument, Aakash pretty much forgot all that he had heard.

    It took Leon five minutes to climb the rock, and then pull his friends up. Then everybody sighed.

    The base of the mushroom rock was about twelve feet high from the ground. The base itself was located on higher ground. From where they were sitting, they could see the city lights in the distance. A mild breeze was blowing. The top part of the rock did not cover the whole base. Its shadow fell on about half the base, and the remaining portion, uncovered by the top, lay bathed in silvery moonlight. The trio sat over there, gazing at the moon and at the city lights, enjoying the cool night air. Aakash took out his guitar from the case, and started strumming a tune. Leon lit another cigarette, and drew a deep puff. Moonlight, guitar, wilderness, and cigarette…nothing in the world gave him more pleasure. Looking intently at the moon, and trying to make out its own various rock formations, he took another puff. This was heavenly, he thought.

    Then, just then, he heard a shout. And his guts told him that suddenly, something had gone very, very wrong.

    It was a man’s shout, rough, hollering, loud, and triumphant. And it had been in the local language. Aakash stopped playing at his guitar. The three of them stood up, and went to the edge of the rock, in the direction of the sound.
    What they saw made their blood run cold. A man, a huge hulk of a man was standing on the ground, and in his hands, was an ancient rifle, which he was waving like a toy at them.

    The man with the gun again shouted at them, and motioned them to come down.

    Leon knew they were in trouble, and his mind was racing. However, he was clueless against the gun pointed at them. He climbed down first, and faced the man with the gun. The man was huge, with big, muscular arms, and a large mustache and dark complexion typical of the men folk of this region. The man said something to him, of which Leon again could not comprehend a thing. From the bushes to his right, a second man came out, this one brandishing a large club, and holding some thick rope in his hand. Aakash climbed down from the rock, clutching his precious guitar in his hand. Upon seeing him, the smaller man uttered something very loudly, and gave a short laugh. Then, reaching forward, he snatched the guitar from Aakash’s hands and smashed it against the base of the rock.

    His guitar had been one of Aakash’s most prized possessions. Seeing it smash against the rock, he went crazy with fury, and cried out, “Hey man, what do you want? Leave my guitar alone!” He actually wanted to lunge himself at the man, and smash his head against the rock, as he had done to his guitar. At his shout, the smaller man came towards him, and showing his round, red eyes, asked him something, which he again could not understand. Then, without a warning, the little man lifted his club, and like lightening, it slammed into the side of Aakash’s face.

    The bigger man was still standing at some distance where he had stood earlier, pointing his gun at Leon. Aakash went down from the impact of the blow. Leon instinctively ran to him, and bent over to assist him. The little man gave Leon a vicious kick at the side of his knee, which sent him sprawling towards the base of the rock. The little man uttered something, again in the local language, and putting the club down, took a length of rope, and tied Aakash’s hands behind his back. He then dragged Leon, who was still lying on the ground, wincing in pain from the little man’s kick. The man was small, but he had packed a lot of power in his blows. The little man tied Leon’s hands, too. Meanwhile, Manish, too had climbed down the rock, as the bigger man had motioned him to. The little man tied his hands, too, behind his back and shouted at them, and motioned them to walk in front of them.

    Leon could hardly walk. The little man had hit him very hard, although he was sure that nothing was broken. He looked at Aakash, who was walking beside him. Aakash seemed to be in a daze. His eyes were barely open, and he was spitting blood. Leon limped past a boulder, and looked at Aakash again, concerned. In the moonlight, he could see the spot where the club had hit him; it was already starting to turn purple. He looked towards his right to Manish, who was silently walking beside him. The two men were walking behind them, talking to each other, in the local language which none of the three could understand. Leon tried to think, to make some head or tail out of this crazy situation.

    He realized that they, in this night adventure of theirs, had stumbled upon a criminal hideout. What criminals, he was not sure. Most probably, they were Naxalites. He had heard a lot about them. Right now, the Naxalites had become a very powerful anti government organization in this state, although their presence had not been much noted here in Hyderabad, thought Leon. And these criminals, whatever they were, had kidnapped them and were taking them somewhere else. What they will do to us, thought Leon. Demand ransom? Or will they demand the release of their comrades in return? Leon winced in pain as once again sharp pangs of pain shot through his foot as it banged against a piece of stone. The very thought of staying with these animals made him shiver. He did not even dare turn back and have a look at their captors. The kick had been too sharp.

    They had now been traveling on foot for more than half an hour in the woods. Eventually, they reached a narrow road, which terminated into the woods. An ancient, ramshackle jeep was parked on the road. Leon furtively looked around for someone, but no one was around. The road too, was inside the woods, and it was the dead of the night. He tried to catch the number of the vehicle, hoping to memorize it, but the number plate was smeared with mud. The two men escorted them to the back of the jeep, and suddenly Leon felt a damp cloth pushed against his face. Then, everything went blank.

    Manish woke up. He tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but found out that his elbows could not support the weight of his shoulders and head on them from behind his back. He collapsed back, onto solid earth. It was an effort to open his eyes, but before collapsing, he had seen that he was in some kind of a forest. His friends were lying on his left side, apparently unconscious. In addition, an area until a small distance to his left was all that he had managed to see. The two goons were either not there, or they were somewhere towards his right.

    He tried to recollect what all had happened to them. After their captors had doped Aakash and Leon, and thrown them at the back of their jeep, one of them, the little one, had pushed him, too at the back, and himself had sat with him. The bigger fellow had taken the wheel, and the smaller one had kept on questioning him, or so it seemed. Manish could not understand a word of what had been said to him, so had indicated his helplessness to the man, who did not speak a single word of Hindi or English in all his jabbering. Manish’s hands were still bound, and the little fellow had searched his person, and had taken away his cell phone, and whatever money he had. Then he had proceeded to repeat the same operation on his friends. He had had with him a small rucksack, apparently full of something.

    This whole thing had gone on for some time, during which they had kept on traveling through wooded areas, on country roads. Then the little fellow, taking Manish by surprise, had drugged him. The Last thing Manish remembered was the chug-chug of the vehicle, and his own head slumping slowly against the muscular back of Leon.

    Manish tried to think of some way to get out of here, but he fell short. All he knew was that they had been taken prisoners, and that they had to get out of it, somehow. Who these people were, or could be, he had no idea. He had never been one to analyze things, or to plan them out. He decided that with his hands tied behind his back, and his feet tied, too, he really could not do anything. So he decided for either Leon to wake up, or for his captors to arrive. His head was throbbing. He decided to go back to sleep.

    Leon woke up. His whole body was itching; bugs were eating him alive. He was lying flat down, with his back upwards, and hands tied against his back. His legs were tied at the feet. He had been lying there for more than 15 hours now, he realized, as he looked at the sun setting. He tried to look around. He could see first Aakash, and then Manish lying at his left, in postures similar to his. He could see Aakash’s face purple and badly swollen where the little goon had hit him the previous night. Then, adjusting his position, and shifting his weight on his chest, he looked towards his left. There was nothing but trees and shrubs.
    Leon lay flat on his back, trying to think. A bug sat on his cheek. Leon could see it pushing its pipe into his skin. Leon blew from his mouth to scare it away, but the bug won’t go. It pressed harder. Leon again shifted his weight on his chest and shook his head. The bug remained. Leon shook harder, with all his might now and finally collapsed on the ground. To his great dismay, the bug was still there. As Leon looked at it, it pressed harder into his skin. Leon felt tears in his eyes, not from the pain from the bug’s bite, but because of his own helplessness. He had never felt so weak in his life.

    And then, grinding his teeth, Leon knew that he could not lie down any longer. He bent his knees towards his hips. Arching his back, and twisting his shoulders, he now brought the ropes holding his hands and feet to crisscross each other. Now, heaving his whole torso up and down, he started rubbing the ropes against each other as vigorously as he could. The tight, rough ropes immediately cut into his wrists, blinding him with pain. He paused for a moment, and then continued. No pain was greater than the pain of captivity.

    It was then, that Manish woke up. The bugs were eating him alive, too. He could make out Leon trying to undo his ropes. He called out softly, “Hey Leon!” Are you up?
    Leon, for once left his painful ordeal and slumped to the ground. “Yeah Manish, I have come to. I am trying to get rid of these damn ropes. And then we’ll get out of here. “
    Manish’s first thought was that of their captors. “Leon, what if those goons find us while we’re trying to undo our ropes. They’ll give us a cow hiding.”
    “Look Manish”, Leon snarled, “let those bastards come. We can see about them later. By the time they come, we’ll be back in our college.”
    “But how do you go about doing what you want, Leon?” Manish was completely at a loss. “Both of us are helpless.”

    And then, in the fading light of that forest, Manish saw a demonstration of human will power, the like of which he had not seen before in his life.

    Leon started to crawl. From his position of lying face down on the ground, he thrust his middle section upward, to shift his weight on his knees. He then, from his knees, propelled himself forward, to fall on his shoulders. This maneuver brought him forward by some six inches. He tried it twice, thrice, four times. Manish was lying some ten feet away from him. As Leon did this movement for the third time, his trousers gave away at the knees. Still, he kept on propelling himself, this time from his bare knees. As Leon slowly inched forward, Manish could see his trousers turn red with his own blood, oozing from his raw knees. As Leon tried it for the fifteenth time, he gave up. The pain in his knees had been too much even for him. Manish was still about two feet away. Leon turned on his side, and pushed a nearby boulder away with his feet, as far as he could. This provided him with a forward momentum, and he came sliding on the ground on his shoulder, bruising his shoulder as he came. But he was now finally at Manish’s feet. Then, taking Manish’s rope, between his teeth, he started chewing it away, bit by bit.

    Soon, Manish’s legs were free. He got up, ran to a sharp edged rock nearby, and started rubbing his hand bindings wildly against the stone. Soon his hands too, were free. In a few minutes, Leon, too was free of his bonds.

    They stood up, rubbing their arms and legs, which had gone very stiff after almost 16 hours of captivity. It was completely dark in the woods and there was still no sign of their captors. They could make out that they were at some kind of high ground. Their hearts ramming in their chests, they ran to the edge of the hill.

    It took them a moment to realize that they had been doomed. For, below them, as far as their eye could go, was darkness. Far away, completely dark treetops kissed the dark blue horizon. Before that, there was no break in the darkness. There was no sign of light, not even a wisp of smoke against the sky, the presence of at least one of which, Leon knew, was a necessary proof of human inhabitation. Their hearts sank. Their captors had marooned them in some far-flung jungle of the Deccan Plateau, far, far away from any human habitation.

    They sat down in despair on the edge of the hill. Manish told Leon about the little man’s interrogation. Leon grew thoughtful for a while. Then he declared, “Those bastards are not coming back. They left us here to die.”

    Leon explained to Manish what all he had read about ‘proper’ kidnappers. Firstly, they never kidnapped anyone without a proper plan. Finding somebody near his hideout was not reason enough for someone to kidnap somebody else. Secondly, reasoned Leon, real kidnappers never treated their hostages like the way those two thugs had treated them. All the kidnappers treated and fed their captives reasonably well. They even sometimes gave them books to read, to pass their time. Leon realized that their captors had been petty thieves, maybe bandits. They had thought they had some extra cash in their pockets when they saw the boys walking into their hideout. They had probably asked Manish his address or contact number. However, none of them could understand what the boys were saying. They also did not find any identification on them. So they did not know whom to contact for their ransom. Finally, it was possible that they had nobody else with them, and they had realized that kidnapping was too hot for them to handle. So, thought Leon, they had dumped them somewhere they thought they could never find their way out of, and went off on their way.

    Aakash was coming to. The left side of his face was puffed up, the once prominent cheekbone now hidden behind a purple blob. He couldn’t even open his left eye, or talk. Leon and Manish loosened his bounds. He stood up with difficulty, and indicated that he needed some water to drink.

    Leon too had open wounds on his body, and he, too needed water, but they had none.
    “Come on, Aakash, there’s no water here. Let’s walk. We’ll reach somewhere, and the people will give us some.”
    “Huh, Leon, do anything, just get me some water, please…,” mumbled Aakash. Leon and Manish helped him to his feet, and supporting him, got him walking, along the path where they could see the tire tracks of their captors’ vehicle. The boys got a little distance, and Aakash again slumped to the ground, declaring he could not walk any more. Thirst was taking its toll on Leon and Manish, too. They coaxed Aakash to walk a little more. and supported him to walk. But after going a little distance more, they knew it was of no use. They could not possibly walk in this condition. All three of them sat down on the ground, exhausted, and thirsty.

    It was Aakash’s idea to make a fire. Somebody might see the smoke, and come to rescue them. Leon fumbled in his pockets. Their captors had taken away his packet of cigarettes, but had left the matchbox. He and Manish dragged themselves around, collecting dry twigs. Soon, they had a roaring fire.
    It was about the middle of the night, Leon could make out. The three boys were also extremely hungry, besides thirsty. But right now, to find some water was of the utmost importance. In the light of the fire, Leon could see the trees surrounding them. They were tall, deciduous trees, with no fruits on them. Wild berries grew around them, but Leon knew it could be dangerous to eat them. Who knows, he thought, some of them might be poisonous. With the kind of luck they had had so far, anything was possible now.

    They had been feeding twigs to the fire for over an hour, when they heard some movement in the nearby bushes. Their heartbeat grew. This could be one of their captors, too, if they had decided to come back. Or, it could also mean help. Leon sat on his toes, trying to anticipate…

    “Jesus Christ”, let out Leon to himself. “We are finished now.” Manish felt as if he was going to faint.

    All their day’s misfortunes had been nothing as compared to this one. It was a bear. A huge, black bear. They sat against a tree, powerless, hungry and thirsty before it. Aakash gave up all hope. He closed his eyes and slumped against the tree trunk, waiting for the bear to come and maul him. The bear was still about fifteen feet from them. It looked at them with its bloodshot eyes, and then menacingly, took a step towards them.

    Leon grabbed a burning stick from the fire and stood up. He didn’t care for the outcome. It was he, who had taken his friends to the woods surrounding their college. He felt a strong, almost insane sense of responsibility towards them. He picked up a piece of burning wood, and stood up, facing the bear, motioning Manish to take Aakash away. Manish and Aakash, their eyes wide with surprise and terror, started inching their way back, away from the tree. Leon stood in front of the bear, tired, hungry, and numb, his clothes torn, his eyes half closed, and his whole body caked with his own blood. ‘Come on, you bastard,’ he mumbled incoherently to himself. ‘Take me, before you take my friends’. He knew that bears started on their human opponents by first prising out their eyes. He knew the result could be more painful than he could imagine. Still, he stood, facing the bear. From the corner of his eye, he could see Manish and Aakash dragging themselves away from the scene. The bear’s complete attention was on him. He felt relieved. He stood facing the bear, with the torch in his hand, and he felt a strange exhilaration.

    The bear turned back, and slowly padded away from him.

    Leon’s heart leaped. He stood looking at the bear, watching it go. The flame of his torch reached its end, almost burning his hand. He threw it down, in the fire, and ran back, to where Manish and Aakash were. They hugged each other for a long time, tears rolling down their eyes.

    Leon decided that it was now time to move. They could not wait over there, in case the bear decided to return with some more predators. They walked through the forest, for about one kilometer, each supporting Aakash. Finally, arriving at a spot they thought to be safe, they sat down.

    It was decided that Manish and Aakash would wait over there, and Leon would go hunt for help. Manish and Aakash were too tired and hungry to move, and in any case. The three of them could not just lie over there, without nourishment. Leon started walking a path. He was thirsty, his shoulders, and knees had deep cuts. Ignoring them, he walked on. He crossed one hill range. And stood looking for some habitation. Day had broken in, and he could see a small stream of water.
    Leon was so excited he could not stop himself. He hurried down the hill, with whatever strength he could muster. He climbed down the hill, and threw himself into the stream, taking big gulps of water. The water around him turned brown red with the blood and filth he was carrying on himself. Still, he kept on drinking. Fresh water had never tasted so good.

    Two villagers were coming towards the stream. Leon looked at them, his body weary. After taking that relaxing bath, he realized how tired he had actually been. He ran out of the stream, towards those men, and fainted.

    “I wonder how you looked, Leon”, said Aakash, twisting his face towards the right.” Must have been like Mithun, in those B-Grade movies, facing the bear, with the torch in your hand.” Aakash tried to laugh, but winced in pain. His cheekbone had fractured where the kidnapper had hit him. Manish still, had not returned from the hospital. He had been without nourishment for just too long. Leon had been discharged just the previous day. They were sitting in Leon’s hostel room, with their friends, laughing and joking. Leon was feeling edgy. The days in the hospital had been worse than the day in the jungle. They had not allowed him a cigarette.

    He reached for his packet and lit a cigarette. Just as he drew the first puff, somebody peeped inside through his door.
    It was Pankaj, Leon’s not so good friend. Leon was seeing him for the first time in five days. He opened his mouth to welcome him, but then snapped it shut as he saw the cold, hard look Pankaj was giving him. It was Pankaj who spoke first.”Look Leon,” he said, ”if I again see you smoking inside the hostel, I’m going to complain to the warden.“ And stamping his feet, he went away, down the corridor.

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