by Kunal Sharma
The First Day of the Rest of Your Life
Talukdar was trying to decipher the dynamics of what Nakul had just told him. The rendezvous with Aisha seemed so good that it was almost unreal. “So you think she slept with you because you told her you make lots of money?” he had asked Nakul, when Nakul called him up and narrated the story of the previous night.
“She didn't sleep with me, we had nothing of the sort, I remember just slumping off in the sofa and I remember closing the door behind her. She...I anyways don’t think she would ever think of being with someone who is ear deep in a slimy jam as myself,” said Nakul.
“Do you realize how bitter you've become about yourself?”
“Forget it, man,” said Nakul in defiance.
“Yaar, I am speaking to you because I have known you for 4 years in college and seen you try and find meaning in everything. I understand you and I see what you are going through. I am also very sure you didn't tell her about the millions you are making.”
“Millions, right!” chuckled Nakul, “You know the story. I feel miserable because I am just a cog in this wheel that’s just spinning in thin air. I am responsible for distilling the truth with a wrapper of numbers that anyways fall in deaf ears. If that weren’t enough I am working for a bunch of thankless bastards. While they get richer, some of the more deserving people will find it difficult to provide for their family. And if the injustice that I am deepening wasn't enough, I am actually trying to give myself a good time while at it.”
Talukdar didn't say anything.
Nakul resumed, “I guess I am staring at a thankless life if this goes on…more than that…I think I am struggling to understand what sustains injustice around us and why are we so helpless when confronted by it? If there was any one point in my life that I was lost, none could come as close as this one,” grieved Nakul.
“Hmmm, I understand,” said Talukdar.
“Anyways, I am sorry I just keep ranting, nothing ever changes in my life anyways,” said Nakul as he hung up the phone.
He regretted just hanging up the phone on Talukdar. Maybe he really was bitter on himself and his friends. Nakul poured some orange juice and sat on his bed. This was a long weekend, Monday was off. He decided to just relax, watch some TV, and then go for a long run for the first time in months. He was hoping against hope that he hadn’t made too much of a fool of himself last night. Then he might even hear back from Aisha.
After a while, he typed a text message to Talukdar: “Yaar I am sorry I really am a bit sad these days...I don't know where life will lead me. Initially money was what moved me but now that I see what is happening so clearly, each day I am inclined to shun everything that has anything to do with this job. Forgive me, friend.”
By evening, nothing moved in Nakul’s ecosystem. Rohtaj was away on some bogus deal and so was Viraj so this was Nakul’s dream weekend. He called up Prashar and Neel for another night in the city. He then dressed up and reached the designated bar well in time to avail the Happy Hours.
Past midnight, they were actually just half way into the evening. They swaggered their drunken selves towards the popular curry and roti shop that is thronged by the night owls in Colaba when they are done with the jiving and the grinding at Leopold, HQ or Woodside.
The moment when the target is shifting base is construed to be the most vulnerable for the target, a fact not less acknowledged by Don Hamid who wanted to send a signal to Don Raju by targeting his weakest and incidentally the most recent allies.
Two men in their late forties, harboring scars that depicted a story of their violent means to earning a living, were approaching Nakul and Prashar just as Neel drove out and away in his Honda Brio. Just as the shorter of them glided a knife 5 inches from Nakul’s neck, Prashar turned around and instinctively grabbed Nakul by the shoulder to push him away…
“Run!” shouted Prashar, himself already dodging people, vendor carts, dogs and potholes and lunging towards anything that resembled a pillar. Nakul tried to pick himself up from the footpath wrapped in banana peels, filth and wastage. He slipped to hit his head against the big metallic BMC bin lying nearby. Aware of the danger lurking in the darkness nearby, he shot up again and sped off down one of the narrow bylanes in Colaba causeway. Meanwhile, voices kept ringing in his ears: “there he is!,” “get him!” and he mustered more strength to sprint towards the popular eatery catering to scores of customers even at 3 AM in the morning.