After several rings, someone answered the communal ‘staff’ phone at the tennis club. I asked for Tapan Sir. The man asked me to call again in fifteen minutes.
Again, the phone rang several times. Finally, Tapan Sir himself answered.
In broken Bengali, I told him that I needed Shubho’s medals and certificates for a day. ‘I need them by tomorrow, sir. Please? If you can give them to me soon, I’ll try and see what I can do. I might even be able to help you and Shubho.’
Tapan Sir was confused by my strange request, but he eventually agreed to drop them off at my place. I gave him my address and hung up.
Half an hour later, I dumped the huuuge bag on our dining table. One by one, I took out the medals, prizes and certificates. I arranged them date-wise, all the while marvelling at Shubho’s incredible talent. The medals alone covered the four-seater dining table. It was overwhelming. My mother gasped at the sheer number of trophies and my sister just stared in disbelief. I smiled. If people like my mother, who had never seen Shubho play and cared nothing about tennis, could get so excited, surely a certain Mr Krishnaswami could not remain completely uninterested!
The next morning, I grunted under the weight of the bag as I hauled it up the final flight of stairs of Pradyuman’s Tollygunge residence. Broken-down lifts seemed to be another one of those recurring phenomena in my life. Gathering up courage that I hadn’t known I possessed until that moment, I rang the bell. A frenzy of barking sounded in response. I was absolutely terrified. Barging into someone’s house unannounced on a Sunday morning wasn’t really a done thing. And I was half afraid that Pradyuman would be less than happy to see me at his doorstep and would set the dog on me. But I steeled myself—this was not a simple visit. I was here on a mission.
The moment the door was opened, I realized how welcome a guest I was. A black ball of fur leapt through the air and attempted to bite my fingers off.
‘Pluto! Oi, Pluto! You know me, right?’ I whispered to the dachshund.
No response. Pluto went straight for my precious burden—the bag. He tried to gnaw at it and I lifted it high to protect it, teetering under the weight. Pluto then ran around my legs, sniffing at my feet. I tripped over him and landed on my knees with a thump. At that, the evil dog jumped into the air and nearly nipped my ear clean off! I decided to do the first thing that came to my mind—give him a thorough spanking. Just as I was about to make contact, I heard someone clearing his throat very loudly. I looked up from my crouching position and saw three figures looming over me. Pradyuman and his parents.
‘Let him go,’ said Uncle. I wasn’t sure whether he was addressing me or Pluto.
‘Oh, Aman. What are you doing here?’ asked Aunty in a typical I’m-your-friend’s-mum style.
By this time, Pradyuman had thankfully managed to tie Pluto up. With some fake coughing and head-nodding, I got up, dusted my clothes and retrieved the bag which had tumbled out of my hands.
‘Umm, may I come in?’ I asked, feeling like a door-to-door salesman, with the trademark bulky bag and all.
For five minutes flat, we all sat on a long divan, facing the same direction, not exchanging a single word. There was no conversation to be had. I was wondering how to put my request to them and they were probably wondering why the heck I was there. Although I had been a welcome guest about a year back, they had every right to wonder now. I suppose Pradyuman had probably guessed why. But from the blank expressions on his parents’ face, I figured that he hadn’t discussed our previous meeting with them.
Suddenly, Aunty got up and left the room saying she had to attend to something in the kitchen. Left alone with Uncle and Pradyuman and the dog, I figured that I might as well take my chance. I shuffled my feet, coughed and said, ‘Water…’ in a hoarse voice. Pradyuman left to fetch me a glass. Now I was alone with his dad.
‘Uncle,’ I finally said. ‘I’ve come here to meet you.’
He peered at me over his newspaper, his eyebrows arched. ‘Me?’
In answer, I began taking out the treasures hidden inside the shabby bag and quietly but confidently started telling him Shubho’s story.
I tried to put the last of the trophies on the dining table, but there wasn’t enough space. I held it in front of my chest like Rafael Nadal instead.
‘So this guy, Shubho Halder, has actually won all of these?’ Uncle asked.
‘Yep.’ I said, facing my audience.
By now, all of them, including Pluto, were staring at the sea of gold trophies, blue ribbons and white certificates.
‘His father used to coach him. But now, the club has banned him from playing in the courts, even if no members are waiting.’
‘Okay… You can take all of this home,’ he said, gesturing at the dining table. ‘I’ll—’
But before he could finish what he was saying, his cell phone started ringing loudly and he excused himself and walked into his bedroom.
Again, I just stood there for five minutes, hoping he would come back to that sentence he had left hanging in the air, but no such luck. It was probably a family trait. First Pradyuman had deserted me in the Chem lab, now his dad had done the same in the dining room.
Silently, I packed up Shubho’s treasure. Pradyuman pulled up a chair and sat next to me. I realized that he hadn’t spoken a word yet.
‘Er… you understand, right?’ I said, starting off on the long justification piece I had prepared. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you all. I only came because Shubho really…’
‘Forget that,’ Pradyuman said, cutting me short. ‘Are your phone number and email address still the same?’ I nodded.
‘Okay… I’ll keep in touch,’ he said rather curtly and walked towards the door.
I took the hint and exited.
‘Bye!’ I cried out as the door slammed shut in my face.
Three days later, I received a mail from Prads. It was another one of those shitty free ‘friends’ e-cards—a slideshow which depicted a cheery yellow smiley saying ‘Let’s be friends’ to
Seventeen
Learning the Hard Way
‘Why, man?’
‘I don’t wanna.’
‘You can miss it one day. It doesn’t matter.’
‘I enjoy it. I don’t wanna miss it.’
We wanted to go watch a movie the next day, but Ankit was refusing to miss his football session at the Victoria Memorial grounds.
‘Okay, here’s the plan,’ Rohan announced. ‘We’ll meet up at my place and pick you up after your stupid class. Then we’ll go to INOX. You can change at the theatre. We’ll watch the movie, hang out and then I’ll drop you all home. Happy?’
Rohan was always super resourceful.
‘Umm, okay. But be on time!’
Rohan’s black Honda City sped ahead, the car stereo blaring. His uniformed chauffeur frowned as he concentrated on manoeuvring the slippery, wet roads of post-rain Kolkata.
‘The 10:20 show, eh? You think we’ll make it?’ I asked.
‘Hope so. As long as Ankit is on time,’ Sameer replied.
‘He’s a real ass, y’know? He can’t miss one damn practice session! And now we’re gonna be late,’ I complained.
‘Chill, dude,’ said Rohan. ‘We’re here. Now who’s gonna call him?’
I stepped out. I was closest to the door, anyway.
‘Where exactly does he have his class?’
Sameer gestured to the far end of the field. ‘Somewhere there. They keep shifting.’
I set off in the direction he’d pointed out. The entire field looked like a swamp. There were huge puddles of mucky water everywhere, testimony to the early morning downpour. There were many groups of people playing cricket or football even though they were hardly able to run in the ankle-deep mud.
Hopefully, Ankit’s game had been called off and he wouldn’t smell like
a pig throughout the movie, I thought. If only!
When I neared the spot where Ankit’s game was supposedly being held, there was no one in sight except him. It looked like the game had been called off. Why the hell was he still loitering here then? Football-obsessed freak. Then I noticed two footballer type guys approaching him. I called out to Ankit, hoping to attract his attention. I didn’t want him to get into a conversation with those guys and waste more time. And I definitely didn’t want to wade through the damn mud to get him.
The footballer guys turned around when they heard me. I waved my arms and yelled, ‘Ankit, come!’
Ankit ignored me as the two guys turned back to him. I could hear their voices rising. Even though I couldn’t make out the words, it sounded like they were having an argument.
Suddenly, the bigger goon slapped Ankit really hard. Ankit fought back and landed a punch on his chest. Then the smaller goon grabbed him. He held Ankit’s arms and the big guy started to punch him in the stomach and face while I stood there, frozen in utter shock. Within seconds, Ankit stopped struggling and his head slumped forward on his chest. The two guys let him go. He fell face down into the mud, blood dripping down his face. And still I stood immobile, dumbfounded, watching in utter disbelief. The goons looked at him for a moment, then started walking off in the opposite direction. Reality came rushing in then, and I ran towards Ankit as fast as I could. He had managed to turn himself over and lay on his back now, writhing, blood streaming out of his mouth and nose.
I yelled for Rohan and Sameer, my voice hoarse with fear and grief. Thankfully, they were within earshot and came running—they had driven closer to us, wondering why we were late. With the driver and Rohan holding him up on one side and Sameer and me on the other, we somehow managed to get Ankit into the car and laid him down on the backseat. Then we all scrambled into the front of the car, scrunched together uncomfortably. Ankit wasn’t vomiting blood any more, but he was moaning and groaning in pain.
‘Where do you wanna take him? Home?’ said Rohan, panic in his voice.
‘Driverjee, is there a hospital nearby?’ I asked.
‘Yes, sahib. Rohan babu, take this cloth and wave it outside the window. The sergeant at the crossing will let us pass even if the signal is red.’
Rohan complied. ‘How far is this hospital?’
‘One minute. One minute only,’ the driver said reassuringly as he turned the ignition on.
A sense of déjà vu gripped me as the three of us raced into the hospital, demanding a stretcher, shouting, ‘Emergency! Emergency! Our friend needs help!’
We used Rohan’s mobile to call Ankit’s house. Anoushka Didi answered. Rohan explained the situation and told her the name of the hospital.
Ankit was taken to the ICU. A young looking doctor with a long list of degrees after his name attended to him.
‘So, Aman, how did he get hurt?’ Sameer asked.
‘Oh, didn’t I tell you? I went to the place where his game was supposed to be happening, to call him. Ankit was standing there with two guys. They saw me, beat him up and scrammed.’
Sameer and Rohan were both shocked.
‘Someone hit him that bad? I was thinking it was an accident or something!’ Sameer gasped.
‘Yeah! Who would hit Ankit?’
‘That’s what I am wondering as well,’ I said in answer to Rohan’s question.
We sat in the hospital, feeling really worried. About an hour after our call, Ankit’s parents and Anoushka Didi arrived. They were shit scared. I told them about the two goons and how they had run away after beating Ankit up. This proved too much for Aunty. She collapsed onto a nearby bench.
‘Class three haemorrhage. Massive blood loss. Immediate blood transfusion is necessary. He’s already on a saline drip,’ the doctor said to us ten minutes later.
We were shocked. Aunty was so upset that she had to be given a sedative. Ankit got home with scratches, bruises and sprains often enough, but nothing on this scale had ever happened before. He just wasn’t the kind of guy who got into serious fights. Why would anyone harm him anyway?
‘Uncle, I think you should investigate this,’ I said to Ankit’s remarkably calm father. ‘I saw the people who hit him. They looked like street goondas. It wasn’t a friendly fight gone wrong. They cornered him, held him down and beat him. Ankit did nothing to provoke them, unless he did so verbally.’
Although reluctant at first, Uncle complied. He could not ignore Ankit’s condition. A police complaint was lodged about the incident and I was named as an eyewitness.
‘If the attacker is brought before you, do you think you will be able to identify him?’ the smart looking sub-commissioner asked me.
‘I-I think so…’
He checked off a box on the form.
I visualized the assault. I saw the faces of the attackers. I saw Ankit standing helpless before them. I saw the goons hit him. I saw the bigger one punch him again and again, hitting a defenceless guy half his size.
Coward.
‘Yes, I can remember their faces all right. Vividly,’ I muttered.
After we had finished at the police station, Rohan dropped Anoushka Didi, Sameer and me to our respective houses. There was no conversation in the car. We were all lost in thought.
I had taken a great responsibility on my shoulders by signing up as an eyewitness. What if the police asked me to make sketches of the goons? What if they got a bunch of guys in front of me and asked me to choose? What if I identified the wrong one? The incident replayed itself in my mind over and over again. When I closed my eyes, I could see the evil face again, the orange T-shirt and the large, strong hands of the big goon. I had a strange feeling that I had seen the guy somewhere before. In the last one thousand re-enactments in my head, perhaps? I shrugged the feeling off.
There he was, the bigger goon, wielding a baseball bat. The smaller goon pitched the ball at him. It slowly metamorphosed into Ankit’s face. It hit the bat. Smack! The ball flew off the bat, a home run. The goon calmly took out a cloth and wiped all the blood off his bat. Again, the ball was pitched. It changed into Ankit. The bat swung. Home run. The goon wiped the blood off his bat.
I woke up—yelling in anger. ‘PICK ON SOMEONE YOUR OWN SIZE, BASTARD!’
I lay back on my bed and closed my eyes. The image scrolled past my eyes again. I opened them, suddenly struck by a flash of inspiration.
What if it had been Karan? He was the only person who had a valid reason to hate Ankit. LURVE had messed up his entire bandobast.
I sat down at my computer and signed into ‘Sonia’s’ account. The only mails were from Karan.
Where are you?
What’s happening?
Have you forgotten me?
Why have you lost contact?
Karan had sent emails at least twice a day. I read them all, looking for something, anything, that would give me a clue about his appearance. It would probably be all lies, but I didn’t have a better plan.
I found nothing. Karan never wrote about his appearance at all. I did, however, find a couple of suspicious things that I hadn’t noticed earlier. What would an IIT Delhi student be doing in Kolkata for so long? His emails discussed movies, plays, restaurants and discos. Would an IITian have time to hang out at all these places?
I would have to contact Anoushka Didi. Whether she liked it or not, she was going to have to reopen the Karan chapter of her life.
I called her and told her my suspicions. She was sceptical. However, I still managed to convince her to come over and discuss her email exchanges with Karan.
An hour later, I discovered that Karan’s exchanges with Anoushka Didi and Sonia did not match at all. With Didi, Karan was an IIT Delhi student. With Sonia, he hadn’t mentioned which IIT he was studying in at all. With Sonia, he lived in Southern Avenue, while with Didi, he lived in Rashbehari. With Didi, he had a Yamaha bike. With Sonia, he just couldn’t shut up about his Maruti 800. Even the phone numbers he had given to both were different.
This guy was a total bundle of lies.
Didi gave me Karan’s address in Rashbehari, though she had never actually been there. I immediately called the police and told them of my suspicions—being an eyewitness gave me quite a position of authority.
I followed a group of plain-clothes policemen to the address. We hammered at the door of a respectable looking flat.
‘Yes?’ an old lady answered.
‘Is this the residence of one Karan Chopra?’ The officer spoke like a man who had an arrest warrant. (He did!)
‘Yes,’ she said. Then she turned and called out to someone inside the house. ‘Suniye!’
This was unexpected.
An old, frail, wrinkled man showed up a minute later.
‘Yes? What is the matter?’ he asked.
‘Are you Karan Chopra, sir?’ the officer asked in his sternest voice.
‘Yes.’
‘Oh…’ the officer said, nonplussed. He had gone from tiger to kitten in a nanosecond.
‘Sir?’ A junior officer took over. ‘Did you pass out of IIT Delhi?’
‘Yes… how do you know that? Is something the matter?’
We told him everything. It turned out that the man worked at ITC, had passed out from IIT and even owned a red Maruti 800. It was a perfect case of identity theft.
We left, apologizing profusely for the intrusion.
The case against Karan was stacking up. Anoushka Didi and Sameer (since he was the only one among us who’d had a good look at Karan that day at Pizza Hut) were helping in the investigation. Using their descriptions, a police artist made a rough sketch of ‘Karan’. I confirmed his identity— the bigger goon. Mr Karan Chopra was shown the sketch as well. If our Karan knew so much about him, he might well be someone living in the locality. The police even conducted raids among all the regular Victoria gangs and goondas. But Karan was not to be found.
While Ankit lay in the ICU, broken, his attackers still roamed scot-free.
School was boring without Ankit. We missed him throughout the day. Especially during the lunch break, when we watched the footballers play. We visited him every day, but the progress was very disheartening. It was going to take him ages to recover from his injuries. Only then would the doctor be able to decide if he would be able to play football again in the near future. We kept our fingers crossed and prayed desperately.
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