Unclothed

by Probir Sengupta

  Onni wondered how it was constructed in a way that sunlight was never able to reach there. ‘Just like the Egyptians who built those pyramids.’ He enjoyed seeing their cartoon pictures as he flipped everyday through the same comic book while Didima lovingly fed him before school.

  The engineer and the builder must have made a big mistake when constructing the staircase. But he thought so only when he had grown up. When he was all of six, the only thing that mattered was thinking up stupid excuses whenever he was asked to go there, to Pootoo-Mashi’s house up in the tower.

  In reality, the house was just on the first floor. But the climb was so cold and dismal that it was almost like one that led to another world of ghosts and demons.

  ‘I have English homework to do...’

  ‘Solving sums… I can’t go now.’

  ‘No, it is time for school!’

  But there was one man who would always find ways of taking Onni up that dark flight of stairs – Mr. Kamath.

  Now Onni’s aunt, Pootoo-Mashi, as he called her, lived outside the country. She was a single lady and wanted to remain that way. Even her well-paying job in Chicago could not change her mind. Sometimes, she came to stay in India. She came alone, but laden with gifts for everybody, like Santa. When she left, she left alone again, without the gifts, of course.

  Her flat would have been locked up and forgotten. We can rent it out and make a little extra money. Pootoo won’t mind her place being used when she is away...’ was Dadu’s opinion. And to make that extra buck, the flat was given to Mr. Kamath.

  This man only wanted one room. And the house had only one room, with Pootoo-Mashi’s huge suitcase in one corner, left behind on one of her visits. Mr. Kamath did not mind it. He just wanted enough room to sleep every night. He was very strange, as far as Onni was concerned. And the others never really saw him.

  Mr. Kamath came home late, after everyone was asleep. And left before anyone was up. He never mixed with anybody. Not even the the building’s friendly watchman, who was the only one who ever saw him. Onni sometimes met Mr. Kamath, when he came to pay Dadu the monthly rent.

  ‘Oh, you are the grandson they speak about all the time! You seem to be a sweet little boy. Come over... I have lots of gifts for you,’ Mr. Kamath said to Onni one day when he had come with the money.

  ‘Go with Mr. Kamath... He is a nice man,’ Dadu said. He actually wanted to know how Pootoo-Mashi’s house had been kept by Mr. Kamath. Onni did not understand this. But the little boy walked away unwillingly, holding Mr. Kamath’s finger.

  One dark step after another led upstairs. The silent gloom waited to envelop them. Just then Mr. Kamath reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a pen-like torch to help them navigate up the shadowy path. As they climbed together, he held the torch to light the way ahead.

  Suddenly Onni saw two pairs of dismembered feet moving together on the cracked stairs. Thankfully, the shoes reminded him that they were his and Mr. Kamath’s.

  There were intermittent creaks of the wooden steps.

  ‘Watch out for the stairs...’

  ‘Yes...’

  It felt as if the climb went on forever. Onni tried to go faster so the ordeal of passing through would end soon. There was a dim flickering light that waited for them at the other end.

  If someone changed that, would it be any brighter? No, chances were the darkness would swallow that light too.

  The smell hung in the air was bad. It felt like years of bad memories had putrefied there. Onni was actually very thankful that he could hardly see the damp, leaking walls. ‘I think they have eyes that blink in the dark!’ he thought with a shiver.

  Mr. Kamath took out the keys in the semi-darkness. Onni played with the slim torch that was in his hands now. The keys slid it into the keyhole in one go. ‘It is easy for Mr. Kamath because he is doing it every day,’ thought Onni.

  As the door opened, it let in a flood of light. The sight of the brightness on the other side of the door was a little too brilliant for his eyes that were now accustomed to the morbid blackness of the way up. But still, the sunrays really comforted Onni. The room was small with a window and a balcony. Almost one fourth of the room was occupied by a suitcase.

  ‘Ufff... Good to be out of that tunnel!’ Onni ran into the room. He let out a deep sigh of relief.

  The small flat was hardly done up. It was understandable as Mr. Kamath did not spend much time there. The curtains hung there looking sad – the windows and the balcony had remained locked for many months. There was no wind to make anything move. The paint was new – a pale pink. Onni knew that the walls had been done up for Pootoo-Mashi’s last visit.

  There, in front of him, was a big trunk. The flight tags and stickers on it were still there. ‘ORD – BOM’ said one. Those were the days when Bombay was still Bombay, and not Mumbai. On the trunk were huge, bright red alphabets that read, ‘MS. SHIPRA BISWAS’.

  Shipra Biswas was Pootoo-Mashi for Onni. He never tried to find out how the nickname ‘Pootoo’ stuck with her. Like most Bengali nicknames, it sounded ridiculous. ‘Thankfully my name is Onniruddh, so everyone can call me Onni...’ the boy used to think.

  ‘Do you want to see inside?’ Mr. Kamath asked.

  ‘Yes... But all the gifts Pootoo-Mashi brought are over. So there is nothing inside,’ Onni said honestly.

  ‘No! There are some still left.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Ha, ha... She left them for whoever searches and finds them.’

  Saying that, Mr. Kamath pulled out a key from one of his pockets. As he turned it into the keyhole on the trunk, it clicked open. Onni couldn’t believe it. All the things that were locked inside were now within reach so easily.

  Mr. Kamath sat down in front of the open trunk. And pulled Onni close, making him sit on his lap. The boy could not take his eyes away from the goodies inside.

  Inside, there were lots of cakes of soap and bottles of various cosmetics. But his eyes fell on the chocolates. A whole bag full of them lay there. Next to it was another box. Through the clear plastic cover, he could see that it was laden with some really nice pens, pencils and erasers.

  ‘Pootoo-Mashi must have forgotten these here,’ the boy mourned.

  ‘Yes, she’s forgotten them. And now they are all yours... What are you waiting for? Go ahead... Take one!’

  ‘Really?’ asked Onni. ‘Yes, yes... Don’t think, Onni!’

  Just as the boy reached in, Mr. Kamath stopped him. ‘But what do I get in return?’

  Onni was thinking of the answer when suddenly the shrill doorbell was heard all over the room.

  The boy’s hand just shrunk back, well aware that he was doing something wrong. He was taught at school never to take something that was not his. But the pens, chocolates, pencils and erasers were so nice. And there they were, being wasted in the closed trunk.

  Mr. Kamath, in one swift move, pulled out a toffee and handed it to the boy. Before Onni knew, the humongous trunk was shutting. Just like he had dreamt of Ali Baba’s cave closing. One quick twist and the key locked it again.

  ‘Don’t ever tell anybody... It’s our secret,’ the man whispered to him and they both straightened up in a frenzy.

  The bell rang again. Appearing composed and calm, Mr. Kamath opened the door.

  ‘Onni-baba chya school chya time jhale aahe...’ said Mangala. She used to hold Onni’s school bag and take him to school every day.

  Mr. Kamath gave the boy a sweet smile. ‘Bye, Onni. Don’t tell anybody our secret. And I hope to meet you soon...’

  Twenty

  ‘B ye, Onni. I hope to meet you again...’ that is what Arun said in parting.

  Arun and Onni were inseparable. They bunked the same lectures. They saw the same movies. They studied the same notes. They even dated the same women.

>   ‘You’re amazing... And I’ve had a great day. But I have to tell you something, Onni... I love Arun,’ Reshma had said to Onni when the two were returning after a whole day out at a beach shack.

  At the same time, Arun was dropping Mona home, after spending the whole day indoors with her. ‘You’re amazing... And I’ve had a great day. But I have to tell you something, Arun... I love Onni,’ is what Mona was confessing.

  Both the young men remained unshaken and smiled for the other.

  From Chemistry to Christina, from biospheres to Bina, from projects to Pratima, the two young men did everything together, including keeping well stocked and very well maintained aquariums at home.

  The two shared a passion for pet fish, but they were not the everyday hobbyists. They knew every detail about the fish they had, and did not have.

  ‘I’m feeding my Carassius Auratus some special Oranda pellets that will make the wen on their heads grow to great proportions,’ bragged Onni. Arun had his Red Pigeons to boast about. ‘That area on the round pebble there... It’s been cleaned up for the nest,’ Arun showed off. They were not birds he was talking about, but purebred Amazonian Discus.

  Every now and then Onni and Arun went fish hunting across the city. They combed through the various shops looking for the perfect specimens that they wanted to add to their collections.

  ‘This little Fighter is just perfect!’ Arun said as the little blue creature was being scooped up to be packed for him.

  The two young men silently admired the flowing fins and the perfect colouration of the air breathing anabantid.

  After a full day of going round the city, they had finally found a trophy that was really worth all the madness. Here was something that would one day grow up to be a real beauty. Holding the packet, the two stepped out of the fish store.

  ‘Let’s head home quick. This little fish won’t have oxygen for too long.’

  ‘It’s been raining and the roads are all jammed... But, we’ll find a way out.’

  ‘Watch out, Arun! The street’s completely submerged in water...’ Onni screamed as he saw the lane that they were about to cross. It was flooded and the water was all over. ‘God knows how this much water has collected here!’

  Onni took a very careful step into the deep, cold wetness that waited in front of them. The two had crossed this lane so many times before. And they knew every little turn, every cobblestone, every step, and every drain.

  As Onni waded into the water, it became deeper almost unnaturally. Suddenly he was standing in water that came up to his thighs. Slowly, he turned to see Arun. His friend was still waiting on the footpath that was higher. Arun was holding the little knotted-up packet that held the fish inside. All the details of the scene were crystal clear to Onni, almost like in a fabulously framed 70mm movie.

  Arun saw Onni standing in the middle of the flooded lane. He smiled. And with the packet of fish held in his hand, Arun jumped in.

  SPLOSH!

  The water made a loud splashing, gurgling noise and as it flew all over, Onni kept looking. Arun just landed in. And as if there was no road under the water, he just smoothly slid into the murkiness. The water was all over Onni, but he was still standing. The disturbed water had ripples all over it. And where Arun had disappeared, floated just one thing – the packet of fish that he had been holding a few moments back, with the trapped air and the fish swimming inside. Arun was gone.

  Onni woke up with a start.

  He was all wet from a cold sweat and not the water on the street. He was horizontal on his bed, looking straight up at the dark ceiling.

  He realised that it had been a dream. ‘Fucking awesome!’ he thought, feeling better that Arun was safe in his own bed. But Onni slowly remembered that he was not on his own. ‘This is someone else’s bed... This is Sheetal’s bed!’ Onni checked the time. It was the dead of the night. He was right next to Sheetal in her rented bed, in her rented apartment. Fragments of the earlier evening wafted back into his head as he lay there.

  ‘I was here to drop Sheetal and pick up some notes. Dinner followed and then one thing led to another...’ Onni had a smile on his face as he lay there in the darkness. Sheetal snuggled up to him, heavily drugged by sleep.

  This fantastic lady was actually a senior who had missed a year and was in Onni’s class. Except for Onni, she never really hung around with anybody from this batch of students, not even Arun. Sheetal was mostly with the senior gang. That they were sleeping with each other was not known to anybody. Onni never spoke about her.

  ‘Are you okay, my friend?’ Onni asked Arun over the telephone, in the early hours the next day.

  ‘Just woke up... What’s with you calling so early, Onni? All fine?’

  ‘Will tell you in college... See you in the canteen.’

  Arun heard all about the dream from Onni. They laughed over it. And it was soon forgotten.

  Mrs. Mahadevan always gave the class difficult projects to do. That was not all. She read out the question in her heavy South Indian accent. This was what the entire class would imitate for the whole day, one student at a time.

  ‘Salect a smalll ecosystim near yur hom and study its ecolochi. Type out all the findings. That should inclute types of plaaants, the types of aaanimals, and the types of iiinsects residing in it. Is the soil aaacidic? Or aaalkaline? Do an anaaalysis with soil saaamples. Present the results to me. Without fail! Yur marks will be incluted in the finals, for sure...’

  Mrs. Mahadevan always had her class full. Not because she made the subject interesting. But because she pronounced the subject matter interestingly. The students just loved it. Her ‘sculptured’ was pronounced as ‘scluptured’. And Onni, Arun, Reshma, Mona along with the entire class were always there to witness and make a note of these new ways of pronouncing old words. It made them remember the answers better during the regular tests.

  ‘The fulowers that she tents to are so beautiful!’

  ‘They will stay fragrant in our mamory forever...’

  ‘Just like those huge wet patches under her arms...’ laughed somebody.

  Every time Mrs. Mahadevan came to class, every time she left class, every time Mrs. Mahadevan was in the staffroom, in the corridors, stepping out of her car or just having coffee, she had enormous wet patches under her arms. They were so visible that no one could ignore them.

  ‘Maybe she has an entire ecosystem there, under her arms... An ecology that breathes and thrives!’ Onni said one day in the canteen. ‘With its own flora and fauna...’ added Arun. Nobody had an appetite after that.

  The laughter faded. Time flew. The project moved, but just because of Onni. He did all the ground work, the collections, the testing, and the tabulations. Arun said he was going to be busy. This was very unlike Arun as Onni was always in the know about him. This time he chose to remain busy with something that he didn’t tell Onni about. Respecting that, Onni too did not try to find out. ‘He will tell me when he’s ready.’

  Days became weeks. Weeks turned into months. It seemed like Arun was never going to be ready.

  ‘Arun, the days are passing, my friend... What about the project?’

  There was no answer.

  ‘My papers are almost done. Do you want to copy them with some changes and put your name on it?’

  Still there was no answer.

  The silence grew thicker.

  Strangely, Onni didn’t try to sort things out with his best friend. ‘He didn’t say anything. Why should I?’ Some news did float Onni’s way. He came to know from his new workout partners that Arun was trying his hand at modelling. ‘Good for him,’ was all that Onni could say.

  On the last day before the vacations, as everyone said their goodbyes, Onni was talking to a friend. He was feeling like the hamster he had freed years earlier. The whole world lay in front of him. Suddenly, h
e remembered the person who had helped him free that hamster – Arun.

  Just then he heard a voice he knew. It was a voice he had heard many times before. It was a voice he wanted to hear many more times. ‘Bye, Onni. I hope to meet you again...’ those were Arun’s words. What followed was a long, dead silence.

  The vacations started on a blank note.

  Onni kept himself busy with his books, his workouts and the swimming. Well, needless to add, the women too. And his aquarium.

  ‘Has Arun been coming?’ Onni asked Umesh, their gym instructor. ‘Of course... Different timings.’

  ‘What use are the muscles if you’re not making money with them? Arun has understood that...’ said Umesh as he helped Onni with his bench press.

  ‘Meaning?’ Onni asked. Umesh smiled ‘Ask your friend...’

  One day, Onni was at a bookstore with Sheetal. As he was looking through the vast collection, his eyes fell on a small book – The Little Book of Dreams. Almost instinctively he reached out for the book. He knew what he was going to search for in those pages.

  The chapter was titled ‘ Death ’.

  Under that, there were many subtopics. He kept searching till he found the interpretation he was looking for.

  ‘When you see someone die in your dreams, that person will not die physically. But he or she will just make an exit from your life...’

  Onni stopped reading. He was stunned. His thoughts went back to the flooded street, to the little packet with the fish, to Arun, and to that splash in the dream.

  The book was right, after all.

  Seven

  B

  ooks had always cushioned Onni.

  He started on them quite early, thanks to his Maa. Every birthday, every vacation, every impressive marksheet added a new book to his collection. Mrs. Ray had created a world around Onni with books.

  There were Tell-Me-Whys, encyclopaedias, comics, little novels, colouring books, storybooks... The little boy was exposed to all kinds of knowledge to be soaked up. And he did. The books took him away into a world that was far away from his own. A world where there was no Mr. Kamath, no Ankit and no Arpit, no Heena. Nobody. This was a world that was so different and so fantastic that Onni often escaped into it.