westland ltd
Second Lives
Anish Sarkar is a part-time author and full-time corporate slave. He works for a multinational consulting firm and lives in Mumbai. His interests include travelling, cricket and wildlife. Second Lives is his second book.
Second Lives
Anish Sarkar
westland ltd
61, II Floor, Silverline Building, Alapakkam Main Road, Maduravoyal, Chennai 600095
93, I Floor, Sham Lal Road, Daryaganj, New Delhi 110002
First published by westland ltd 2016
First ebook edition: 2016
Copyright © Anish Sarkar 2016
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-93-86036-31-5
Typeset in Adobe Garamond Pro by SÜRYA, New Delhi
The author asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, circulated, and no reproduction in any form, in whole or in part (except for brief quotations in critical articles or reviews) may be made without written permission of the publishers.
For Riyana,
My Second Life
part one
1
Neel
I hate flying. My years in the Army have made me partial to open spaces. Being locked up in a metal tube for hours is definitely not my idea of fun.
Thankfully, there’s a nice bar at the new terminal. God knows Mumbai needed it. The renovated airport, I mean. They’ve done a decent job, I must admit. The concourse is bright and clean. The queues aren’t a mile long. And I actually spotted one or two of the CISF guys break long-standing protocol by cracking smiles.
I ordered a whisky and soda. Some would argue that nine o’clock in the morning is not the right time for it. I disagree. There’s no such thing as the wrong time for whisky. Besides, there was still an hour left for my flight to depart. I needed to kill time. I’m not much of a reader, you see. And I couldn’t bear to keep staring at the countless people milling around. Looking every bit like they lead normal and happy lives.
I had received the email from Sara three days ago. It was impossible to ignore. And so here I was, dragged out of my self-imposed exile from humanity.
My right hand began to shake suddenly. It always happened at the worst possible time. The bartender stopped polishing the glass in his hand and gaped. I somehow managed to set my tumbler down on the bar-top without spilling the whisky.
There was a tap on my shoulder. I jerked around. It was Omar, that familiar smile plastered on his face. I should have guessed that he would be on the same flight to Goa.
‘I thought I might find you here. How are you, Neel?’
I managed to get up, and hugged him stiffly. ‘Nice to see you, Omar.’
He looked good, as always. Not a strand was out of place in the thick mop of brushed-back hair. He was wearing a beautifully cut jacket over a polo shirt and blue jeans. Fashionable and obviously expensive moccasins. Self-consciously, I ran a hand over my two-day stubble and looked down at my frayed sneakers.
Omar had always been a dandy. Even in school, his shirts would be whiter and the crease of his trousers sharper than anybody else’s. It seemed so silly to the rest of us. We would be happily grimy and crumpled by the time the closing bell rang. But then, it was Omar who attracted the girls like moths to a flame. As much for his appearance as for his effortless charm. He had this way of looking deep into their eyes. And belting out a clever one-liner or an amusing anecdote. Usually at the expense of one of us.
He claimed to have lost his virginity at the age of fourteen to a classmate’s mother. I have no doubt it was true. Lucky bastard.
‘Have a beer?’ I asked. Omar never drank anything else.
‘No thanks.’ A shadow passed over his face. ‘Are you all right, Neel? I tried calling several times but I guess you weren’t ready to talk.’
‘Yeah, I’ve kind of become a hermit,’ I replied. ‘Nothing really equips you to deal with such things.’
He didn’t say anything. There really was nothing to say.
I quickly changed the topic. ‘What’s up with you? I heard you’re acting in a film!’
Omar was one of those people who could never settle down into any occupation. He had tried his hand at being a lawyer, a photographer, a restaurateur, a musician, a luxury car dealer and an Internet entrepreneur. And God knows what else. He had probably lost count himself. Every couple of years, he would get bored with whatever he was doing. And move on to something that caught his fancy next.
One thing was for certain. Omar knew how to make money. Every time I met him, he seemed to be more prosperous than ever. He had nailed down to a fine art the systematic milking of each profession he dabbled in. Or maybe it was something else entirely.
Omar laughed. ‘Yes, that’s true. It’s a small but important role. We start shooting next month. I can’t tell you how excited I am!’
I shook my head. ‘Only you could manage something like that.’
‘It’s all about networking with the right people, my friend.’
I had no doubt it was. Omar hobnobbed with Mumbai’s swish set. And often featured in page three columns with his arm around some impossibly glamorous woman. He never failed to post the clippings on his Facebook page. Captioned with faux self-deprecation.
He was a divorcee. Twice over. His first wife was his college sweetheart. Or one of them anyway. A sweet, trusting girl who never recognised Omar for the serial philanderer that he was. Until she caught him being serviced in their car by her best friend, a crime journalist. Who incidentally did not go on to become his second wife.
‘Omar, I know there’s not much you’re incapable of but…acting?’
‘It’s not really rocket science, Neel. And just so you know, I had done a short course at the FTII right after graduation. Never really got a break back then but it’s going to come in useful now.’
I wondered how he had convinced a producer to sign on a rank newcomer.
He must have read my mind. ‘The producer’s a friend, a very close friend.’
I was shocked. ‘My God, you’ve turned gay!’
‘It’s a woman, you idiot. She’s the head honcho at one of the corporate production houses.’
We both smiled at my sexist assumption. But it made sense now. Omar’s dick had always taken him places.
His face suddenly clouded over. ‘Neel, did you speak to Sara?’
The pleasantries were over. The reason we were here hardly qualified it to be a social reunion.
‘I did call her but we spoke very briefly. She said she would tell us everything only when we meet.’
‘I just hope she’s not playing a prank. You remember how often she used to do that in school?’
‘I don’t think so, Omar. After all, it is a fact that Rachel is dead.’
2
Omar
I still find it difficult to believe that Rachel is gone.
She was the nicest girl I have ever known—warm and loving, compassionate to a fault, never a harsh word to anyone. Rachel was the quintessential do-gooder. If you had a problem, she wanted to solve it for you. If you felt low or depressed, she could unfailingly cheer you up. If you had any ailment from migraine to dyspepsia, she had just the right pill in her bag for you.
Impossibly perfect, you might say, but Rachel truly was a treasure—a ray of sunshi
ne that could light up the darkest corner.
Back in school, Rachel had decided to take me under her wing and make me a better human being. Specifically, she wanted me to get out of what she called my vicious circle of girlfriends, and focus on figuring out what I wanted to do in life. While I must credit her diagnostic skills for identifying my twin problems so early, I have unfortunately lived my entire life so far without finding a solution for either one.
It was not because she wanted me for herself, for there was none of that until much later. It was probably more maternal than anything else, and I think Rachel saw in me an overgrown juvenile, in serious need of discipline.
I could make out that Neel was saying something. ‘What was that again, Neel?’
‘I said—are you thinking about Rachel?’
‘Yeah,’ I paused. ‘I should have married her.’
‘She wasn’t your type, Omar.’
‘That’s exactly why she would have been perfect for me.’
Rachel became my closest friend, which was strange because I had never had such a wonderfully platonic relationship with a girl before; and yet, it also seemed perfectly natural. We shared all our secrets with each other, though I did hold back one or two things which I feared would scandalise her into breaking off all ties with me.
She was the most diligent student amongst us; and Rachel being Rachel, she would make neatly bound photocopies of her voluminous class-notes and distribute them a week before the exams. Not just that, she would happily conduct crash tutorials for all those ignoramuses who wanted just enough last-minute knowledge to enable them to pass the next day. It certainly worked for me, for Rachel helped me get through the Boards with a borderline first division percentage, my best academic performance ever.
Neel asked, ‘When did you last speak to her?’
‘I think it was a month before she died. We ended up chatting for almost half an hour.’
‘Did she say anything which indicated…’ He let it hang there.
‘She definitely didn’t sound like her usual self. I got the feeling that she wanted to tell me something but finally decided not to.’
Neel was silent. We were both thinking the same thing.
Why would Rachel commit suicide?
Just then, our flight was announced and as we joined the queue to board, I had a sudden feeling of dread. Call it a premonition, for it should have warned me off the vortex of events I was about to get sucked into.
Unfortunately, I paid no heed.
3
Sara
I had the nightmare again last night.
The two of us walk along the cobbled, winding path. It’s a bitterly cold evening, just before the Christmas break. The sky is already dark, though it isn’t yet five-thirty. Our school is built on a hill, spread over a hundred and twenty acres of undulating sub-Himalayan landscape. All of us are used to being outdoors but that doesn’t stop me from shivering.
We trudge in silence, hands deep inside our blazer pockets, longing to get back into the warmth of the dormitories. Abruptly, he says, ‘Come, I want to show you something. Let’s go towards the chapel.’
I stare at him. ‘Now? Aren’t you freezing?’
‘You’ll like it, I promise. Just a short detour.’
He takes my hand and pulls me away from the path, towards the trees a few feet away. On an impulse, I decide to go along. All of us know our way through the dense greenery that covers large parts of the campus but we had only ever explored it during the day. It would be a thrill to walk through the woods on this chilly, forbidding night.
I keep stumbling over rocks and fallen branches, and walk into low-hanging leaves more than once. I have no idea where we are going but I am excited.
His arm brushes against me several times. That’s unusual because he’s never been the touchy-feely type, even though we are good friends. I put it down to the near-darkness and the terrain. But suddenly something doesn’t feel right. A girl can intuitively sense a man’s intention from the way he touches her.
We’re halfway to the chapel when he gently and deliberately cups my ass.
I’m so shocked that for a moment, I can’t react. Then I pull away and shriek, ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’
His voice is hoarse. ‘C’mon Sara, isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?’
‘You asshole! You’re out of your fucking mind.’ What just happened is hard to comprehend but my survival instinct has taken over. I can see a faint glow of lights in the distance and turn to make a run for it.
There’s a terrific blow to the back of my head, and I fall to my knees. My vision becomes hazy. His strong hands grab me under the shoulders and begin to drag me away. I try to struggle but my body doesn’t obey my frantic instructions.
I don’t know where he’s trying to take me. He can do what he wants right then and there. I scream but only a muted wail escapes me. There’s no one around to hear anyway. The inevitability of what’s about to happen hits me like a speeding train.
Mustering a desperate surge of energy, I momentarily wriggle out of his grasp, only to fall back on the rough ground. Before I can get up, he’s on top of me again. He hits me on the face, harder this time, and I pass out.
My eyes opened, and I could feel a warm wetness on my face. Whether it was tears or sweat, I couldn’t tell. My head throbbed so hard I thought I would die!
They say time is the best healer but I don’t believe it. Things have only become worse for me with each passing day. Instead of subsiding, the trauma has festered over the years and grown into a raving monster living inside my mind, threatening to drive me crazy.
Maybe I already am crazy. There is this constant buzzing in my head, as if a little man inside is hammering away at my skull. I’ve tried everything from medication to meditation but nothing has ever worked.
4
Neel
Sara was at Dabholim to receive us. She put her arms tightly around Omar and me. In that old affectionate manner. The three of us stood in an awkward clinch for a few seconds.
‘Look at you guys! As handsome as ever. Lucky me.’
I said, ‘Come on Sara, who are you kidding? Omar yes but me…Handsome?’
She squeezed my arm. ‘You know how sexy I’ve always found you, right?’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Yeah, right. And Omar here is a virgin.’
Sara had put on a whole lot of weight. I almost didn’t recognise her. She had always been slim as a reed. Despite having a voracious appetite. A natural size zero. I suppose her metabolism had finally given up the struggle. It actually made her look even more attractive, in a different way. Her body was fuller but still beautiful.
Sara turned to Omar and said, ‘So, what’s this about you acting in a film? I hope you won’t forget us when you become famous.’
‘Oh, it’s no big deal, Sara. I was just telling Neel…’
I cut in. ‘…That he’s bonking the producer.’
Sara looked astounded. ‘I would never have thought that you…’ Her voice trailed away as she saw both of us grinning.
We soon got into Sara’s Innova and drove off. I couldn’t wait any longer to ask the question. ‘So why are we really here, Sara?’
She didn’t answer immediately.
‘Neither of you guys could make it to Rachel’s funeral but I was there,’ she said finally, without taking her eyes off the road. ‘It was a beautiful ceremony, by the way. You can’t imagine the number of people who attended. A truly fitting send-off for someone like Rachel. But I felt even worse later because it highlighted just how much of a loss her death is.’
Omar said defensively, ‘You know how dear Rachel was to me. I felt terrible not being there. But…there were unavoidable circumstances.’ The cryptic statement wasn’t lost on me. Omar always had secrets he kept very close to himself.
S
ara nodded and continued. ‘Anyway, I went over to the house again the following day to meet Mrs Fernandes, Rachel’s mother. Poor thing: she’s aged ten years during that one awful week. She took me up to Rachel’s room, which had always been kept for her unchanged, even though she moved out years ago. We sat there, hugging each other; and cried for what seemed liked hours.
‘As gently as possible, I asked Mrs Fernandes about Rachel’s last days. It must have been a double shock for her that this happened at her house itself. Rachel’s arrival in Goa just a week before her death was a surprise. She hadn’t informed her mother about the visit, which was unusual.
‘Rachel spent most of her time outside the house. That was uncharacteristic as well, because she normally loved to spend time at her childhood home whenever she came down to Goa. According to Mrs Fernandes, she appeared withdrawn and pensive but would keep insisting that everything was fine.’
She stopped. Her eyes welled up with tears.
The two girls were as different as chalk and cheese. For a long time, they hated each other. Well, to put it more accurately, Sara hated Rachel. She had nicknamed her “Saint Rachel”. And would never miss an opportunity to needle her. Rachel, in turn, ignored her as far as possible.
It was only much later that their relationship thawed. I can’t remember if there was any specific trigger. Perhaps it was as simple as a mutual realisation that there was really no major reason to dislike each other. Such as jealousy or sexual competition. It was Sara who offered the olive branch. And Rachel lost no time in accepting it. After that, they became close friends and were quite inseparable at times. It made my hormonal imagination run wild with possibilities.
I asked, ‘Sara, how did she look…in death?’
‘I didn’t see her. It was a closed casket. I was told she was not a pretty sight.’
Omar grimaced. ‘The police confirmed suicide, didn’t they?’
‘Yes, pretty much.’
Second Lives Page 1