Zero Defect
Aarohan Atwal
Copyright Aarohan Atwal 2014-15
Amazon Edition
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Dedicated to the possibilities…
Table of Content
Prologue
A feast in Pune
The first few days
I Begin
To Bangalore and back
Welcome to Mysore
Lunch with Ishika
That First Date
That First Date Part 2
How many balls can you juggle?
Cast Away
I was that Guy
Being homeless
Meet the queen
Bored to death
Meet Mr. All smiles
A new hideout
The year 2008
The thing with Bhargavi
The layman’s dead and other 1001 Arabian night stories
The righteous wrong
The Plan
Pink is the new Black
Ignorant Technologies
Strangers, strangeness
Beginning of the end
The last supper
The fall of the Giant
Rainbow’s End - Part 1
Spilled Beans
Rainbow’s End - Part 2
Exclusive Preview: The Lost One – Shiva the Destroyer Series
Prologue
I remember that day clearly, partly because it was New Year’s Eve, and partly because a man arrived at my doorsteps half-dead. It was quite shocking for me; you see I live in a place where you don’t see many visitors, let alone an unconscious one. You might ask is it on the moon I live? The answer is no, but this isn’t exactly a buzzing place either. I live in Rackcham, a quaint little village, and a simple search on the internet will tell you that it lies up in the Himalayas bordering Tibet. We don’t have whole lot of civilization thriving around here, but only a handful of people getting-by.
The winter that season was unusually cold and temperature went as low as -10 degrees. Nobody could survive that cold out in the open, and any sane man who values his life would prefer to stay inside tucked in the warm bed. So, it implied either this man was crazy or had a reason strong enough to risk his life.
Not so long back I was in a similar situation myself. I was on my way to Sangla, it was dark and cold and my car broke down. I would have stayed inside but there was a short circuit and hence no power. Inside, I would have frozen to death. I had no other option but to walk until I find a place where I could get help.
I was following the road, walking at a brisk pace. And all was fine until I decided to take a short cut, it was a long walk and I didn’t want to tire myself to death. But a few minutes on the new path and I began to panic. I had no idea where I was, and I had no idea which direction I was heading. I had zero knowledge about navigation. I was completely lost and soon I was tired too. But, I somehow kept dragging myself through the mounds of snow in the darkness of the night. As far as I could see it was a barren landscape, trees looked like tall, frozen elves; and there were no empty shacks to be found - no shelters to take, no place to save myself from the bitter cold. A voice in the dark corner of my head was whispering I wouldn’t be able to make it through the night.
I was walking for what it felt like hours, tired, but I didn’t give up. And then, I heard a voice, I heard someone shout. I was not sure if I was just tripping or if it was real. I dismissed it first, but then I heard it again. Someone was calling for me, and I thought - who might be that stupid to venture out in the dead of the night? I turned back, there was a shadow of a man. As he came toward me with brisk, confident steps, I felt relieved and collapsed there on the wide field of snow. An angel saved me that night.
And now when this man arrived half-dead, I ran for the village doctor immediately. I had to save him, fate had given me the opportunity to square my debt. But it’s an isolated village, you see. The nearest what we had for a doctor was an old man in his late sixties. He didn’t have a formal degree but knew his tricks of the trade fairly well. The old man had a daughter who was studying medicine. She was studying in a medical college in Shimla and was visiting his father for winter holidays. I quickly explained them the situation, even a medical illiterate like me could tell it was a case of hypothermia – but how serious, it was for the experts to find out.
As a basic precaution I had already changed his cloths and wrapped him with thick blankets. The young daughter announced that we had to take him to the city hospital. But considering that it was snowing heavily and we were practically cut-off from the rest of the world, we had no choice but to take care of him till the morning. We knew what we had to do, our job was simple – we had to keep him alive through the night. The old man took some herbs out of his shaggy shoulder bag, and started to mix them to make a potion. The girl was sitting by the man’s side, studying his face. Perhaps she was trying to determine how much life the man still had. After a moment she took his hands, clasped them and started rubbing them between her hands. Was it a standard medical procedure or was she just trying to warm him so that we could wake him up?
Meanwhile, I thought I could find something about him so that we could at least contact his family later. His backpack was unusually light for a man who was hiking in the Himalayas in the cold unforgiving night of December. The bag contained four objects, yes only four objects:
1) A 500 ml water bottle.
2) A detailed hiking map of himachal.
3) A dead torch
4) A thick sheet of paper bound together
There was no ID, no permits, absolutely no way to identify who he was. The only piece of paper he had were these loosely bound sheets, he didn’t even have money with him. It made me wonder what his real intention was, was he lost just as I got once? Or was it pre-determined, he pushed himself to the extreme so that he could meet death eye to eye. The thought disturbed me.
I ruffled the sheets, and there wasn’t anything in between as well. So, I kept it away on the wooden table just next to the David Copperfield and sat down on the chair watching the duo. It was interesting to see how the father, a non-traditional practitioner, was instructing his daughter, a student of western medicine. They were doing what they could with their limited resources. Then as if it suddenly flashed on me, I got up from my chair and picked up the bundle of sheets. I carefully observed it, it was a manuscript!
I am a writer myself or you can say I used to be one. I wrote a book anonymously and got nothing but anonymity. I quit my cushy day job to pursue full time writing but to speak the truth nothing much came out of it. I hit rock bottom and gave up everything and settled here in the remotest part of the country – trying to find inspiration. And now I had a script lying on my hands and I begin to wonder, “What if?”
I poured a drink for myself and sat down on the rocking chair by the fire. With great interest I opened it, the manuscript bore no title, and neither there was a name next to the author’s column. I refilled my glass and settled down. The night was long and a life hung in the balance. I took a deep sigh and I began to read.
A feast in Pune
We were somewhere towards the end of the m
onsoon and it was drizzling, the rain drop fell on the ground and a petrichor rose filling the air around us. Despite the Delhi traffic I had managed to reach Lodhi Road in time. And since I had enough time I allowed myself to engage in one last pleasure.
“A smoke please” I said to the man sitting tight in the small box shaped shop. He stared at me for a good half a minute, before handing me one. He didn’t ask me which one I preferred, neither did I instruct him. To tell you the truth I never had a favorite - I had never been a regular smoker. Any brand was okay with me as long it tasted like burnt ash in my mouth and filled my lungs with balloons of smoke. I smoked only to calm my nerves. The feeling of something worse inside me always took away my fears and put me at ease. With each drag of the cigarette I knew I was dying, what could be worse then, huh?
To say that I was feeling nervous would be an understatement – I felt terrible, perhaps worse. It was a big day for me. I had an interview in few hours with one of the most prestigious IT firms in the whole country. An organization where I only dreamt to work, it was an opportunity I had been waiting all along. But it was an anticipation of the unknown and a fear of success that worried me.
The drizzle had now turned into rain, the sweet smell of earth had disappeared. I ran to my left to take shelter under the tree near me. I was taking long drag and watching the world go by. The traffic didn’t seem to stop, everybody was going somewhere. It didn’t matter if that somewhere was or wasn’t worth going to.
“One Gold Flake” A voice appeared, breaking the chain of my thoughts. It was soft, and it was carefree. I got curious; it was a woman’s voice. “Sorry” the shopkeeper said, “I gave the last one to sir” He said shaking his head toward me.
“Oh! shit” She said irritated. I wondered, what bothered her? Was it just a smoke or was it something else?
With short strides she paced toward me, she wore a heel – not too high though. I was standing with my back against the tree. I jerked my torso slightly. Was she really coming for me or was she just looking for a shelter.
She felt no discomfort as the rain drenched her. The short walk felt like a long track. She appeared to me in slow motions, she leapt in the air, her hand rose to cover her head with the book she was carrying. One end of her yellow chunni fluttered in the monsoon wind, and her bare skin flashed looking out of the wet, plain white kameez.
I was so lost in my study that I failed to recognize that she was not standing just opposite to me. She had her straight black hair tied back neatly, with a few strands which revolted and decided to flow across her cheeks. Her eyes gazed sharply at me. She appeared very simple and yet there was an air about her; something that you could only feel, only if you were there.
“Do you mind sharing?” She asked. I looked up at her spellbound, and she asked again, “Hey, could I bum your cigarette?”
I couldn’t say no. I looked at her and smiled with all the sincerity in the world. I figured she had an emergency of some sort and this was her fix. We all have a quick fix that we need time to time to get over that moment of personal challenge.
I took a long puff and handed the cigarette over to her, my gaze followed her as she took the cigarette and pursed it between her lips. She took a quick first one and then when she went deep, she coughed slightly. She stole a glance at me, and a smirk floated on my face, perhaps she was just as accustomed as I was with the vice.
“So, what are you upto?” She asked me forcing down her cough.
I had a good look at her, and thought she was speaking to me. She had a thin body with just enough traces of fat at the right places, her face was small and round - kind of a perfect oval to be precise – and a glow emanated from her face each time she spoke. Her dark brown eyes were not too big and not too small, her nose was long and smooth, her mouth was small and her lips worn a light brown shade. Her cheeks were flat, there were no dimples. She was tall, I mean a really good height - 5’10’’ perhaps, heels not including.
I just kept on staring at her, at the risk of being creepy. What could have I done? She was maddeningly beautiful. She was the first thought you had when you hit pubescent. She was the first woman that came in mind when an artist held his brush. She was the first note you imagined when before you laid down your fingers on a piano. She was someone you wished you never met, and she was someone you’d never let go - neither in the flesh, nor in the spirit. She was someone you’d happily go through a lifetime of damnation for. But what I didn’t know then was that all my whishes and all my nightmares were going to be true. And now when I have seen it all, I’d happily bear the burden of the cross, that she brought, again and again and again…
“Hello?” She said snapping her fingers, “I am talking to you…”
#
A jolt shook me out of my slumber, the train stopped suddenly. I had slept for the most part of the journey and a strange dreamless sleep enveloped me. I felt I saw thoughts - some of my own, some of people I knew - floating over my resting body. It was as if I was under a spell - a window to a collective consciousness.
“What’s going on?” I heard somebody ask, but I felt too lazy to look down from my berth. I decided to continue shut-eye until I reached my destination. It was around ten thirty in the night when the train reached the station, people were hurrying to get down even though it was the last station, I sat there on my berth for a long-long time before I got out, I wanted to be sure that this is what I had wanted.
The reigning confusion at the station reminded me of Delhi. A spate of people sleeping on the bare, dirt ridden floor yet another set of people sitting on the metal benches tightly glued to their seat fearing someone will come and take their place if they get up, and hawkers - from paperboy to chaiwala - shouting their guts out trying to get by through one more day of the miserable existence. Still, this confusion outside was nothing compared to the confusion inside my head, here I was in a completely new and estrange city, to start afresh, to get onto a new journey with a want to do something, but without a clue what that something was.
Now that I had arrived in Pune I could not shake off the memories of Vizag, the time I had there – painful yet fun-filled with friends it gets easier, Sharma and I were quite a team – we didn’t try to be perfect, no pretension, we were just who we were. Then I remembered my manager and the sweetness turned into sourness. He was the biggest reason I took the decision to get away.
With only a sack and a handbag I stepped out of the coach and onto an unfamiliar territory, my eyes sought a familiar face, my old pal Sanju. I wondered how I would recognize him in this crowd when I haven't seen him for quite a while. My cell phone was dead, there was no way I could reach him, I had to rely on sketchy picture that I had in mind, I tried to remember how he looked back then and tried to extrapolate how he would look now after adding five years to it.
It was not long before I spotted someone, there he was or was it someone else, my eyes followed a guy in a black, collared tee shirt, and a loose jeans, he was coming towards me cutting through the crowd with a brisk walk, a broad smiled flashed across his face as he saw me, his arms opened in a warm embrace, a gesture to welcome me, it was definitely him, Pune here I come! Without saying a word, and without giving me a chance to speak, he took me in his bear grip, he hugged me tightly, he was Sanju indeed, the guy was thinly framed, but his arms were definitely strong. He wrapped me with those arms, like a snake coils its prey, I wondered if he would let me go.
“You look great”, he said to me. How did he recognize me among so many people? I complimented him the same, although I couldn't help but notice, the big difference in Sanju now and Sanju then, his hair was gone, his head had vegetation even sparser than the great desert of Thar. And perhaps it was the secret behind his new found coolness.
I was supposed to go the Recreation and Entertainment Center (REC), the bread and breakfast facility by the company, but when I told Sanju that I was coming to the city he insisted that I stay at his place instead. He wanted to make up for the goo
f up of last time, when in Mysore he couldn’t attend me, probably he felt little guilty about it.
Sanju had a big family, two sisters and two brothers, quite uncommon in an Indian atomic family of these days. Sanju called an auto, me with my two bags followed him. "Wanowrie" He said to the auto-walla, and after a bit of negotiation the deal was finalized in forty rupees, I imagined the place was close-by.
The road was hell bumpy, and the auto was shaking so bad that it felt as if I was put into a giant washing machine. “Stop it” I must have yelled at least thousand times in my mind. But as our journey continued and I got used to the hammering, the calm river of my thoughts began to meander again. I wondered how much they all would have changed by now, I wondered how much Sanju had changed in all these years. I felt little nervous at the prospect of meeting his family, would they or would they not accept me? Their father had a private job at pharma company, they moved quite early to the city and so had a house for them instead of living in an apartment. The house looked quite big actually, three bedrooms and a large kitchen, it was a dream of every middle class family. Her older sister was there, she was watching a movie on the computer with her headphones on. The other three - two brother and a sister - were playing cricket outside, the much younger brother complained how Sanju left soon after taking his batting. He was still the same guy, I couldn’t help conclude.
I was exhausted by my travel in the second class, it was the middle of summer very hot and humid. Despite the tiredness I still had some energy left, for Sanju, after the food we talked as we lied on the hard wooden bed with a thin mattress. We reminisced about old times, about old friends, about old places, and about old flames that formed our childhood memories. We talked about the standard who was doing what, some were there, and some were reaching there while some were completely lost. I wondered where I’d figure in all this?
Zero Defect: An autobiography of a software engineer Page 1