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Saturday, December 3, 2011

Pulp Fiction Masala – Part 2


Story so far :  Two friends go missing while on a road trip. The road trip was a result of a wager between classmates. The challenge to race Kashi Vishvanath Express from Varanasi to Lucknow becomes a thrilling  adventure for the two friends Bunty and Sonu. (Please read the complete story at Pulp Fiction Masala )

Authors Note :  This story has been inspired by real incidences that happened several years ago …  before the age of cell phones.  You will be surprised if you knew which parts of the story are real!


‘Wow! That man was one cool character ‘, Sonu said gazing at the tractor that rattled and puffed down the highway , taking a sharp turn into a dusty road cutting through sugarcane fields.

‘There is a shorter route that cuts across the bend on the highway – It is very convenient, I will be taking that  route …’, The good Samaritan tractor driver, Ranjit Singh had said to Sonu during the tractor ride.’ ‘Racing  a train to Lucknow … Sir you can take a nap and still win the race’, he had joked.

It took about an hour to repair the flat tire.’ There are multiple punchers ‘, the mechanic had complained displaying the damaged tube which was cut in multiple places.  Bunty and Sonu had lost more than two hours due to the flat tire.

‘Let’s take the shortcut’, Sonu said pointing to the unpaved road bending sharply towards the west ‘It cuts across the bend in the highway’  

They rode through the dusty road along the sugarcane fields.  It was a pleasant ride as they passed quaint mud and brick houses that were sparsely scattered along the narrow road.

The slim hope of making it to Lucknow before the train was dashed to pieces when the bike wobbled.

“No … Not again !’ Exclaimed Bunty.  The dejected duo stared at the flat tire. They un mounted the bike and scanned the road which is surprisingly empty, but for a herd of cattle that was crossing about a hundred yard ahead of them.  Just beyond the dusty silhouette of the cows was a mud and brick structure. Wisps of smoke hung around the small hut like structure, occasionally blowing across the road  and over the sugarcane fields. It was a roadside chai shop.

The deserted Chai shop turned out to be bigger than they expected.  The only person there was an old man stirring a big pot sitting on a clay oven in an open kitchen. There was also a small bicycle repair shop down the road !

‘I can fix it – but it will cost you ten rupees’, the shabby teenager manning the shop said in a delightfully gloomy voice. But even the gloomy voice seemed like Christmas Carol to the weary riders.

‘We will catch something to eat and will be back in ten minutes – make it fast‘, Bunty said handing the teenager a ten rupee note. They left the bike on the shop and walked down to the Dhaba.

‘We lost the wager …’ , Bunty admitted  with a sheepish smile.

Koi baat nahi yaar, Lets relax and enjoy’ , Sonu smiled back.

The boys did not know that it was just the beginning of their adventure!

***
The Chai Shop  was totally deserted.

The old man stirring the big pot gave them an ominous glance and focused his attention back to pot sitting on a clay oven.  

As they  settled down on a wooden bench next  to the road , a tall and burly man approached them  from behind the mud and brick structure. He was at least six and half feet tall. He had a thick moustache, turned up at the ends.

Abe, he looks like a bandit straight out of the Hindi Movies ‘, Sonu whispered as the man stood towering beside them.

‘What can I get S-S-Sirji?’ He asked.  The boys were surprised by the choices offered and ordered for chai shop snacks – Maggi , bread pakoda and chai.

The man appeared again shortly. He said that the food was ready and he had made a special arrangement for dining table inside the mud and brick structure.

‘S-S-Sirji, It will be good in there, more comfortable’, he said ‘ It is dusty here’

 They followed the man to a room behind the open kitchen. The old man stirring the blackened pot glanced back with a blank expression.

There was a large room with several benches. One bench was covered with a white table cloth with Maggi , bread pakoda and chai laid out neatly on it. The food looked heavenly to the weary , famished travelers and they settled down with their plates , ignoring the burly man who was standing next to them, watching them eat.

A gust of wind blew a bellow of smoke from the open kitchen inside the room.

‘ I will close the d-d-door so that smoke does not come in’, he said , getting out of the room & closing the door.

‘Is it only me ? that guy gives me creeps’, Sonu murmured.

The food was good and famished travelers had polished off their plates.

‘I need  to wash my hands’, Bunty said getting up.

He tried to open the door but it did not open. At first he thought it was stuck. He gave it a shove but it did not budge.

‘The door is stuck’, He said to Sonu.

Sonu walked over and tried to open the door, pushing it with all his strength.

‘The door is locked from outside! ’

They rattled and knocked the door but there was no response. Both of them were sweating. They looked around the room. The large brick room had no windows. They continued rattling on the door for some time when suddenly the door opened.

The old man they had seen sitting on the open kitchen appeared on the door. He had a very serious expression on his face and a metallic object in his outstretched arm. It  was a homemade Katta  pistol !
‘Get back or I will blast your face with this’, he said with a loud croaking voice.

All of this seemed surreal – the words of Ranjit Singh flashed in Bunty’s head. “Sir, please be careful. There is a kidnapping gang active in this area  …. “

‘Give me your wallet’ , the old man croaked. Bunty handed his wallet.

‘I..I don’t have a wallet’, Sonu said turning his pockets out.

‘Bike keys …’ , he croaked again.

The old man with surprising agility, gathered all the items and disappeared behind the closed door.

Bunty  and Sonu stood there staring at each other.

I did not see this coming’, mumbled Bunty.

All their money , motorcycle and contact with civilization was gone.

***
Every passing second felt like an hour to the ill fated travelers.

‘Do you think these guys are part of the Kidnapping Gang?’ , Sonu  asked breaking the silence.

‘We have to get out of here’, Bunty declared standing up.

With a sudden burst of energy, he banged the door with his shoulders throwing his weight at it. Sonu joined in – the duo pounded the door in frenzy. The old man croaked loudly from the other side of the door – threatening to shoot but the boys did not stop.

Suddenly the door broke open from its hinges and fell on the old man, knocking him down on the floor, cold. They ran out of the room and down the road to the repair shop without daring to glance back.

The bicycle shop was closed! As they looked around in panic , Sonu noticed something unusual  in the pile of hay next to the repair shop.  Somebody had tried to hide the bike in the pile of hay . It would have been impossible to locate but for its florescent blue color!

They retrieved the bike from the pile. ‘They must have been unable to start the bike and left it here ..’ , Bunty said twisting the choke.

‘But we don’t have the Keys’, Sonu panted.

‘The bike starts without a key – its ignition system is broken’ , Bunty said hopping on the bike and starting it.

They zoomed out on the dusty road.

*****

Dusk was setting in and the duo were zooming past the countryside on the empty road.

‘We should go to the Police station’, Sonu suggested.

‘We should reach a safe place first, I am not sure about this area anymore’

Bunty had the bike going at full throttle, zooming at more than hundred kilometers an hour.

Suddenly they saw the headlights of an approaching vehicle. In the dim light of the dusk we could make out it was an open Jeep. When they were about hundred yards from the vehicle, to their horror, another jeep pulled over from behind the oncoming vehicle and both vehicles stopped blocking the deserted road.

It was the kidnapping mafia on their hunt !

The florescent blue Yamaha was approaching the two Jeeps, at hundred twenty kilometers an hour. Bunty watched open eyed, almost as if in slow motion, as their motorbike inched towards the two Jeeps. The motorbike was too fast to brake. A collision was imminent.  

Bunty had figured out a few seconds back that braking was not an option. All he could see now was a three feet gap between the two Jeeps parked in the road.

He did not see the two gun wielding men who had got out of the jeeps and standing infront of it on the road. He did not notice a very serious looking (former) good Samaritan Ranjit Singh sitting in the driving seat of one of the jeeps.  

The bike, zooming at one hundred kilometers an hour, threaded through the narrow gap between the two Jeeps. The mafia guys stood astonished as the bike went past them like a bullet.

It was after several seconds that Sonu opened his eyes and realized that he was still alive. He was shaking uncontrollably. So was Bunty.

But they kept on driving until they hit the highway.

***
The duo had managed to outrun their pursuers. They were about sixty kilometers from Lucknow when suddenly the bike spluttered and stopped again.

‘We are out of Gas!’, Bunty exclaimed, ‘And we don’t have any money ! ’ His dejected voice was partially drowned by the blaring horn of trucks plying on the highway.

Sonu reached under his belt and pulled out a neatly folded fifty rupee note. ‘ I told you I had fifty rupees when we started ..’ , he laughed out loud as Bunty joined him.

The night sky rang with the laugh of two friends as they took turn to push the bike on the busy road to the nearest gas station.

THE END

Author’s Note:  Shortcuts can indeed be dangerous!
The duo did make it to the destination. They were greeted by Aashu & Anita who showered them with choicest gaalis, ignoring the pleas of ‘hear us out’, from the weary but adrenaline laden travelers.
 
‘Shut up ! You guys will make up some weird story to save your skins’, Aashu had said.

The story is finally out!

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Pulp Fiction Masala !


Authors Note :  This pulp fiction masala story has been inspired by real incidences  that happened several years ago. I can assure you that you will be surprised if you knew which parts are real!  

The story is dedicated to all the *fictional* characters that inspired the story.



‘We have called all the police stations … ‘, the police officer wearing crisp Khaki uniform said with a straight face. 

'Each and every station that falls along National Highway 56 between Varanasi and Lucknow, but no one has heard anything about your two friends.'

The two teenagers he was addressing looked at him blankly. The big eyed girl sat down on steps of the police station and started sobbing. The chubby boy wearing a bright red shirt sat down next to the girl, visibly shaken.

'Don’t worry. They are alright ...', The boy  said unconvincingly, looking longingly at the lit up entrance of Lucknow’s Chaarbagh railway station .

It had been more than ten hours since their missing friends were supposed to meet them there.

*****

It had all started with a wager.

'The trains in India are so unpredictable ! ', Bunty had declared as they waited on the platform number one of Varanasi Junction. 

The college had just closed for Holi and he was in the railway station with his roommate Sonu to  see  off  their classmates Ashu and Anita who were going back to their hometown Lucknow for  the four day vacation. He and Sonu had decided to stay back in the hostel and experience the Banarasi Holi. The colors, the Bhaang and infamous Kavi Sammelan  that was held at the ghaats where “no bars held” lewd, humorous poems were recited to a cheering male audience  laughing ecstatically  at the expletives laden punch lines.

'So  damn unpredictable' , Sonu had chipped in rolling his eyes, feigning an English accent, as Ashu and Anita laughed. Kashi Vishwanath Express that covered the journey between Varanasi and Lucknow in six hours, was running three hours late.

'It is more predictable than your ...  bike', Anita had said casually. It was only last week when Bunty and Anita had skid on the road. Anita was riding pillion on the famous florescent blue bike , on their way to Sarnath for a college picnic.  'There was oil on the road', Bunty had tried to explain nursing his bruises as he had helped the disoriented girl get back on her feet.

The bait had been cast. Bunty took a drag at the wills navy cut cigarette that he casually held between his fingers. 'How about we race you to Lucknow?', he had said without blinking his eye. 'We will be there at the Charbaagh Railway station to receive you - much before your train reaches there'

“We?”, Sonu shifted uncomfortably on is feet, not too happy to be volunteered into the wager.

“Lucknow is 400 kilometers away – its not a joke, yaar”, Ashu  sounded a bit concerned as he tucked his bright red shirt into his denim  jeans.  

Ab Bol diya to dheek lenge!”, Bunty looked at Sonu and smiled. “, he then looked at Anita . “And if we reach there before you, we are going to stay at your place”

Anita had a reasonably liberal family, but having male college classmates stay with the family was a totally different ballgame. But she smiled and extended her hand.

The wager was on!

****

Bunty was driving the Florescent Blue Yamaha wearing his weathered black hemet. Sonu was sitting pillion, crouching behind, trying to keep the wind out of his eyes.

‘You have some cash?’, Bunty asked over the rush of the wind, opening the helmet visor slightly.

“Fifty rupees “ , Sonu replied – reassured by the fact that the amount would be enough to buy enough gas to cover at almost half of their journey, “You do have more, right?” Bunty nodded - he had a rich dad.

It was late March, but the weather had already warmed up and it felt like summer as they breezed past wheat and sugarcane fields. They passed Jaunpur, next town in about an hour.

‘Man, we are doing good’, Bunty  heaved, taking off his helmet.They had stopped at one of the roadside dhabas just outside the town. The dhaba served food and snacks, primarily to the truck drivers plowing on the highway.

‘We are quarter of the way there ‘, said Sonu stretching out on a jute cot. They ordered for tea and sat on  the jute cot sipping the milky, syrupy liquid out of a greasy glass.

Just across from the quadrangle was the highway.  An old man riding a bicycle, tried to cut across the road. He had almost made it, when a speeding motor bike, with an apparently distracted driver, grazed the real wheel of the bicycle throwing the elderly man off . The motor bike wobbled and fell down a few yards down the road.

Bunty and Sonu rushed to the accident site. They picked up the old man, who could walk with their support. The man had managed to survive the accident with a few minor scratches. His bicycle was not as lucky, it lay twisted and out of shape beside the road.  

A small crowd was bashing up the motorcycle driver. Even as they started walking up to help him, they saw a few more passerbies, stopping beside the crowd, joining in the bashing.

‘These rich bastards think the road is their father’s property!’

‘Hitting an old man, what does he think he is?’,There were slaps and kicks flying around.  

A skinny man passing by in his bicycle stopped, put his bicycle on it’s stand and got inside the crowd. He slapped the driver on his face twice before getting out of the crowd, back to his bicycle and rode off as if nothing had happened !

Sonu  ran towards the crowd and wrestled his way in.‘Stop it – He will die!’ he shouted. The crowd dispersed as quickly as it had converged - leaving a dazed and disoriented driver sitting beside the road.
Sonu and Bunty helped the man to the jute cot where the old man was sitting. 

The man, had also survived the accident with minor scratches. His face however, was bruised from the slaps and punches of several unknown passersby. He thanked the two friends and offered money to the old man – enough to buy a replacement bicycle.  

‘It is time to go !’, Sonu said getting up.

‘Lucknow, here we come ..’ , Bunty reflected upon his mental road map as the motor bike breezed through the road. They had hardly driven for half an hour when there was a loud hissing sound and the bike wobbled.

‘Looks like a flat tire’, Bunty exclaimed.

‘What will we do?,  Sonu  murmured, as they stood on the empty road that twisted and turned right into the horizon. 

***

Bunty and Sonu took turns to push the bike along the road for what seemed like eternity under the hot sun, when finally a fram tractor passed them. The Tractor which had a hay filled trailer attached to it, stopped a few meters ahead of them.

‘Can you help us fix the flat tire’, Bunty asked the driver expectantly.

The cheerful guy on the wheels smiled. ‘No Saab , but I can drop you to the repair shop.’

Their  eyes beamed with surprise as the driver and his helper, both six feet tall, effortlessly picked up the heavy bike and put it on the trailer – on top of the hay !

‘One of you sit in the back and make sure that the bike does not slip and fall on the road’, he suggested politely. Bunty volunteered. Sitting on the pile of hay, he anchored himself on the side of the trailer, holding the bike with the other hand.

The Tractor made its way, painfully slowly, to the next town. After about an hour, the tractor pulled into a road side repair shop. The driver and his helper unloaded the bike with equal ease.

‘Please take this’, Bunty pulled out ten rupees from his wallet which was stuffed with crisp hundred rupee notes. His dad was a rich man and he was never short of cash.

‘No Saab .. my pleasure’, the driver said in English.

Saab , please be careful in this area. There is a kidnapping gang active in this area  ….  don’t show that much cash in public’, he said pointing at the wallet.

‘If you have problem, please call me - myself Ranjit Singh’, he said smiling as he slipped a business card into Bunty's hand. 

To be continued ...

Saturday, October 15, 2011

The Amazing Case


Story So Far: Pheluda and Thopshe quite accidently (the writer insists!) stumble into Blah Blah Land, which holds a vital clue to the mystery they were investigating.  ‘Find me the person who has answers to all my questions’, the case briefing by their client Lord Henry Williams III had been literally, brief.  Lot of surprises lay hidden in Bhah Blah land– including an unexpected meeting with a legendary sleuth.  Read  The Amazing Mystery   for more details.

And now the remaining part of the story …



‘Welcome Mr. Mitter! I was waiting for you …’, Sherlock Holmes addressed Pheluda  in a deep baritone voice.

‘I am honored to meet you … Sir’, Pheluda responded in a surprisingly reassured voice. Topshe was still staring at the legendary sleuth, with his jaws dropped.

‘And you must be Pheluda’s Watson …’, Holmes’ thin lips curled into a smile ‘ Master Topshe’

‘Follow me!’, Holmes said, turning around and marching briskly down the long corridor. Pheluda gave the attractive receptionist a polite nod and followed the man wearing the ever so familiar chequered overcoat and a matching cap. Topshe followed, trying to keep up with the brisk pace of the two tall men.

The empty, brightly lit hallway extended unendingly in front of them. They walked silently amidst the rhythmic din of their footsteps on the white mosaic floor. The white walls of the corridor were occasionally interrupted by huge silver doors that had big golden signs with embossed letters.

Conversation in the Park Department” said the door they were currently walking past. It had a closed latch with a huge lock hanging from it.

‘What is that ‘, Pheluda asked Holmes pointing to the locked door.

‘Oh, they have closed that department ‘, he replied with a straight voice,’ There are no conversations in parks anymore’

They walked for what seemed to be at least half a mile, of mostly locked doors – “Chit Chat with Neighbors’ Department”, “Blah Blah with the Green Grocer Department”... closed doors with locks hanging from them – a reminder of a bygone era of blah blah.

‘They have been setting up new departments also’, Holmes said pointing to a row of flashy silver doors. There was a big sign on the door - “Digital Meta-Life Department”.

 ‘What is Meta Life ?’ , Thopshe asked Holmes with a curious look in his face.

‘Data about Life’, Holmes responded ‘Texting, Tweets, Facebook …’, Holmes said opening a door and walking briskly into it.


*****

They entered a small room that was illuminated by warm, yellow light. There was a lit fireplace on the left, a merrily flickering fire and soft smell of burning wood adding to the warm comfort of the room. There were four chairs arranged neatly around the fireplace.

 ‘Have a seat !’, he pointed to the chair next to fireplace as he straightened his overcoat and settled down,’ I know you have a lot of questions, but  why don’t I start telling you why I am here first ..’ , he said digging into his pocket and pulling out his pipe.  Pheluda walked over to Holmes and offered his lighter.

‘Nifty contraption – but does not go well with pipes’ , Holmes said producing a box of matchsticks. He lit up his pipe and blew a big cloud of smoke that spiraled across the room before getting sucked into the fireplace.

‘I was engaged by Lord Henry Williams, perhaps the great grandfather of the person who might have engaged your services’

‘Find me the person who has answers to all my questions’, he had said. He had also said that he will have all his future generations dedicated to this quest until the question was answered.' Sherlock Holmes face became grim as he looked distantly at the flickering fireplace.

‘For the first time in my life, I have not been able to find the answer to a puzzle ... and I have been here for so long …’, he said slowly ‘But time does not exist in this world in the conventional sense – as it does in the world that you come from. Years there are merely minutes here…’

’ So I patiently waited for the next generation of master sleuths who would be hired by the next generation of answer seekers … waited here … right in this world….

…But no one turned up. Apparently they were looking for answers in the wrong places. Several of the master sleuths who were hired for the task -  like Killmaster Nick Carter or James Bond, who I believe had an official license to kill , got so fixated in killing that they forgot about the question they has set to answer…’

‘BB But ... how do you know about all this … I mean what is going on in the world?’, Phedua asked , his eyes locked into the intense eyes of Sherlock Holmes.

‘Blah Blah land manages all the communication in the world’, I have access to all patterns of interactions across the world … across the ages. .. from the first phone call ever made, to the latest tweet by Lady Gaga’ , Holmes winked.

‘Talking about the first phone call, in the world ‘, Homes gave a quiet chuckle, ‘ It had confused me when the inventor of telephone had made the first ever phone call  - “ Mr Watson , I need you here”’

‘It was Graham Bell’s assistant Watson , not your friend Dr Watson’ Topshe chipped in beaming, apparently happy with his general knowledge. Pheluda's omnivore taste of facts and figures had rubbed off on his assistant apprentice.

‘Good Observation. Yes, Dr Watson must have lived a full life in the other world, happily married to his love … while I continue to pursue my quest in this land – trying to find out the person who has answers to Lord Henry Williams’ questions’

*****

‘ I have listened to millions of phone calls, conversations, books, gossips, news since then ..’, Homes  continued his narration as Peluda and Thopshe listened with apt attention.

‘I have scrutinized each and every person that Lord Henry Williams and his following generations could possibly get all their answers from. ALL of the possibilities. But none of options could qualify’

‘When I started this case, It looked like a Mystery  to me. But after all these years – I am convinced that it is not a Mystery. It is a Puzzle. A puzzle that I am unable to solve’, Holmes got up and stood near the fireplace.

‘What is the difference?  I mean between a Mystery and a Puzzle’ , Topshe asked with a puzzled expression.

‘A mystery has missing pieces of the big picture. These pieces need to be found out. A puzzle has all the pieces in front of you – the pieces just need to be arranged’, Holmes replied empting his pipe in a crystal glass ashtray sitting on the mantel.

Pheluda walked up to the fireplace and lit up a cigarette. He offered Holmes one and the legendary sleuth pulled a stick from Pheluda's packet of Charminar. Pheluda lit up Sherlock Holmes’cigarette with his lighter.

 The two detectives stood smoking in silence looking intently at the flickering flame in the fire place.
Mystery – Puzzle person who has answers to all questions … thoughts ran through Pheluda’s mind at an amazing pace as an imaginary sitar played with an increasing tempo.

‘I think I know the answer !’ , Pheluda  exclaimed suddenly, his face lit up with a wide smile.

*****

‘My first lead was the fact that there are no missing pieces of information. ALL the information is right here and now - as you had found out Mr Holmes’, Pheluda said with a twinkle in his eyes.

‘“Once you rule out the impossible, whatever is remaining, however improbable, is the truth”, these are your words Mr. Holmes. Words that have helped me solve so many cases – including this one!’

‘So, if there are no missing parts of this puzzle and if you have concluded that no one that Lord Henry Williams knew, knows or could possibly know would be able to provide the answer to his questions….
That leaves just one person … however improbable … that person is the answer to the puzzle…’ , Pheluda said beaming.

‘Amazing Case! ... Could not have solved this without your help, Mr. Holmes! ‘, Pheluda said excitedly as Holmes looked at him with a blank expression, the cigarette butt hanging from the corner of his lips.

‘Brilliant !! ‘ Sherlock Holmes exclaimed suddenly, as his face lit up.

The cigarette slipped from his mouth and dropped on the wooden floor creating a splinter of small sparks. He stamped out the butt hurriedly and grasped Phelu’s shoulders,’Brilliant!’, he exclaimed again.

‘But ... WW-Who has the answer of Lord Henry Williams’s questions?’, Thopshe asked with a sheepish grin, trying to keep up with the jubilant air in the room.

‘Lord Henry Williams himself! ’, Sherlock said with a smile as Pheluda beamed, Nobody else ... but he himself has all the answers ... however improbable it may sound, that is the answer to this amazing puzzle'

‘Elementary!’, Pleluda added with a wink as three smiling faces looked at each other in the warm light of  merrily flickering fire.


THE END


Authors Note:

I have been intrigued by mankind's quest to find out the answers of all our questions. People have generally followed several different approaches to get to the truth. 

“Know Thyself” features as one of the less popular and puzzling approaches right above "Find out what is this number 42 after all", approach. Killing people who did not agree to your approach, apparently is one of the most popular approaches. 

But I continued to wonder - am I really the person who has answers to all my questions? And then I met Pheluda in storyland !

Saturday, October 1, 2011

The Amazing Mystery


Authors Note: This story is a tribute to the great detectives that lit up my imagination when I was a kid, and to a great extent, still do. And also to Malcolm Gladwell for pointing out the difference between a mystery and a puzzle. And also to … well… why don’t we get to that after we have read the story…



‘How do you know my name?’, Pheluda’s calm voice could not hide that fact that he was surprised.  

The charming lady sitting across the counter smiled as the golden panel behind her slid open to show a guilded silver door. 

Thopshe’s  jaws dropped in amazement as he stared at Pheluda, the lady and the door in quick succession, over and over again.

An imaginary sitar played in the background, with percussions increasing in volume.


******

Pheluda and Thopshe were in England on their latest case.

The pair does not need an introduction in India – the finest private investigators the country had ever seen. The detective scene in India had seen a giant leap, quite a bit of progress from amateur teenage detective duo Rajan & Iqbal and sensationalist macho Colonel Ranjeet.

Thanks to their discovery by Mr. Satyajit Ray, the country could now claim detectives that could give Sherlock Homes and Dr. Watson a run for their money, only if the two duos were not separated in time by a whole generation that is.

But Sherlock Holmes remained an inspiration for Pheluda, who besides picking up Sherlock’s idiosyncratic analytical skills, also picked up his encyclyclopedic knowledge of diverse scientific & anthropological subjects, unarmed combat skills, and of course - affinity to smoking.

It was only last week when Phelu and Thopse got their first international mystery project.  A rich heir in England had hired Pheluda for a case.

The case briefing by Lord Henry Williams III was literally, brief.

 ‘Find me the the person who has answers to all my questions’ , the man with a nasal twang had said slowly, ‘ I am willing to spend as much money as you want to get the work done’ , came the voice after a brief pause.

‘As -much –money- as- you- want’, he had repeated pausing between the words for emphasis.


*******

The duo had headed over to the Dover Cliffs, which Pheluda wanted to visit in his pursuit of a vital clue.

It was a bit windy but they had dressed up appropriately in warm jackets. Pheluda guided Thopshe to one of the cliff trails. Spring had just started and they walked amidst the flora and fauna of the chalk grasslands, enjoying the view of the vast expanse of the channel and continental Europe far in the horizon.

 ‘How do you know that the clue for this case lies here?’, Thopshe asked Pheluda as they walk along the cliff trail.

‘I don’t, Pheluda said raising his chiseled nose in the air to smell the breeze laden with the salty scent of the sea, ‘ But I am sure the author of this story does…’, he concluded with a laugh as he lit up a Charminar cigarette and trotted briskly down the trail. Thopshe followed him with a puzzled expression on his face.

Just around the bend of the trail, there was a wooden sign pointing inland – “Phones”

‘See ! Didn’t I tell you …” , Pheluda said hopping onto the path leading to Phones , ‘That the author will figure out something !’ Thopse had a grin on his face.

The bumpy path led to a parking lot. There was a large four storied building in the middle of the vacant parking lot. It had a big blue neon sign with Phones written on it boldly. They walked into the building.

It was a bit dark inside. There were a row of phones arranged neatly on a table along the wall. None of them were connected– their chords lay folded neatly next to shiny golden phones .

'Hmm, the plot gets interesting' , Pheluda said with a smile.

He picked up a handset and suddenly out of nowhere, a door appeared in the wall!  The white door had a black doorknob. Right in the center of the back door knob was a telephone socket !

Pheluda tried to open the door but the doorknob did not budge.

‘How do we open this door?’ asked Thopshe.

‘Wait, I think I know’ said Pheluda.

Pheluda picked up the cord that was lying neatly folded next to the shiny golden phone . He plugged one end of the cord to the telephone. He took the other end and plugged it into the socket in the center of the black doorknob.

Nothing happened.

He picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’, he said softly into the mouthpiece.

The door on the wall opened !

********

Pheluda  and Thopshe walked into a huge windowless room filled with white florescent light. It was a bit chilly in the room.

There was a charming lady sitting behind a gilded counter at the other end of room. It was a very long walk to her table and they were a bit winded when they reached there.

‘Welcome to the Blah Blah land!’ she said with a pleasant tone.

 ‘Blah Blah land ?’, Topshe asked with a puzzled look on his face.

‘Oooh … I am sorry, I should have explained – please don’t go on the words – words can be misleading”, she said with a smile, ‘Just rely on your intuition and use the words as a stepping stone. Get off the words as soon as you get the concept!'

'We manage all types of Blah Blah that takes place all over the world’, she continued ,‘All conversations, phone calls, newspapers, magazines, texting, emails  ...all Blah Blah’s’

‘How about conversations with people who have answers to all our questions? ’ Pheluda asked after a pause.

‘Yes even that’, the lady replied without batting her eylids. ‘But that is a very small department, you know. And pretty unused.  Those folks don’t converse that much nowadays’

 ‘C-C-Can I make a call, Pheluda said, staring the lady. He could not believe his luck! A stroll along the Dover cliff had led him right to the answer of his amazing mystery! 

‘The author of this story is surely motivated to come the point pretty quickly!’ he thought as an amused grin spread on his face.

‘I-I need make a quick phone call - to a person who wants to talk to the folks who have answers to all questions – the small department you just mentioned …  can I make a call from here?’, Pheluda asked the lady.

‘Sure, here you go’, She produced a sparkling golden phone out of nowhere and put it on the counter.

Pheluda  picked up the handset and was relieved to hear the soothing dial tone. As he put his fingers on the dial pad, to his surprise, he realized that I did not remember the number to dial!

‘The phone number of Lord Henry Williams III was in the phone book which I left in the hotel”, he said as droplets of sweat formed on his forehead. ‘Topshe, do you remember his number?’ he asked Topshe with urgency in his voice. Topshe shook his head feebly.

The dial tone in the phone ended playing a message.

If you want to dial a number, please hang up and try again’, said a lady from the other end. The distant message coming from the receiver filled up that quiet cold room.

‘Oh, did you get the Hang up and dial again department Mr. Phelu?’ the receptionist asked with a smile, “The Poor folks are pretty overworked – for some reason, a lot of people are not dialing the correct number nowadays …” , she said with a sigh.  Pheluda nodded feebly, not knowing what to do.

“How do you know my name?”, Pheluda’s calm voice could not hide that fact that he was surprised.  

The charming lady sitting across the counter smiled as the golden panel behind her slid open to show a gilded silver door.“Follow me”, the lady said opening the gilded silver door. The door opened into a Inside there was a very long gallery with doors on either side. There was a very familiar figure standing in the corridor.

Mr. Holmes, Pheluda is here”, the lady chirped in a cheerful voice.

’He asked the same questions that you did when you came here – maybe he is looking for the same thing as you are and you two can work on it together”

Phelu and Topshe stared in amazement at the tall figure with sharp nose, black hair, intense eyes and unmistakable features who was smoking a pipe. Sherlock Holmes was standing in the corridor with a cynical smile on his face.

“Welcome Mr Mitter ! I was waiting for you …”, Holmes said in a deep baritone voice.

Thopshe’s  jaws dropped in amazement as he stared at Pheluda and Sherlock Holmes quick succession, over and over again.

An imaginary sitar played in the background, with percussions increasing in volume.


Continued  in The Amazing Case ….

Saturday, September 3, 2011

The Crossing


"Welcome sir", the man in crisp navy blue security uniform said cheerfully giving me a polite bow.

He then proceeded to give me a brisk but thorough body frisk with a portable metal detector that would put any American Airport  TSA personnel to shame. 

Before I realized what happened, the man had done his job. He gave me a polite bow again and opened the door of the hotel as I looked at him bleary eyed and disoriented after my transcontinental flight.

The multistoried hotel was located just across the largest technology park in Hyderabad. I looked out of my room window at the rows of huge buildings across an empty road. It was late in the night but most of the buildings across the road were lit up, their glass edifice shimmering brightly against the night sky.

"The hotel is just across the road from the office park , the HR manager had chirped cheerfully over the phone, " it is verry convenient" she had said rolling the r's in a fashionable south Indian accent.

"We also arranged for an office drop, it will take you right upto the office building. It is a big campus - too many buildings, the cab will be verrry convenient" , the r's rolled again to convey the emphatic message.

Looking across the road I wondered which of the buildings hosted our office."If it is just across the road , I can perhaps just walk to the office" , I thought before dozing off to sleep.

***

"The cab is ready sir !", the cheerful receptionist greeted me. The security guard, who had given me a body frisk last night, approached me with a polite bow and placed my rollon laptop bag in the cab.

“I will just walk”, I had changed my mind. The cab driver and security guard nodded their head in unison and stood still, waiting for me to make my next move. I want to leave my laptop bag in my room" , I said politely. The security guard retrieved the bag from the cab and handed it over to me before I could blink my eye.

I turned back to enter the hotel lobby and lo and behold, our speedy Gonzalvis security guard was standing at the entrance with his portable metal detector !  No one could enter the hotel lobby until his work was done. A polite bow, a blurry flash of the detector across my body, another polite bow and I was in the hotel lobby.

I left the bag in my room and returned back, clutching my iPad, scurried past my speedy frisker, into the walkway leading to the road that separated me from my destination. It had rained last night and I walked carefully avoiding the puddles and stood next to the zebra crossing, when a blast of horn drew my attention.

The road was swarming with vehicles that would speed up just before they approached the zebra crossing. 

It was a Serengeti stampede !  Endless rows of vehicles of all shapes and sizes ran across the road. The elephantine bus swaggered as it ran towards the crossing as the warthog autorickshaw wound it's way through the swarm of wilder beast cars. Motorcycles jumped through the stampeding vehicles like gazelles, only pausing to honk as they passed me.

"Look at that silly man !" the striped gazelle honked teasingly to the brown wilder beast, which honked in agreement as it swerved toward the elephant. "Ooooout of my wayyyy !" A long blast from  the huge elephant cautioned the swarm of gazelles that overtook it in an attempt to have a closer look at the silly man who stood clutching his iPad on the zebra crossing, with his eyes wide in amazement.

It was a wild !  I stood on the fringe of the road for fifteen whole minutes, hoping to catch a lull in the traffic and cross over to the other side, but the endless swarm of vehicles did not stop. Not even for a second as I looked longingly at the buildings across the road.  

Just then a woman strode  past me and hurled herself into the traffic - almost with a deliberate vengeance.  I gasped as she effortlessly floated through the stampeding vehicles which screeched and screamed as they ran around her.  I got occasional glimpse of her long braid between the speeding vehicles, as she floated across the road and reached the other end of the road and merged into the flow of office goers entering the office park.

***

A flurry of emotions ran through me and I surprised myself as I started to chuckle, much to the amusement of passerby’s. "I guess I have lost practice", I was still chuckling as I walked back into the hotel and was being frisked by my familiar security guard, third time  in the day.

“Can you help me cross the road?", I asked the security guard. The chuckle had helped to keep my ego at bay. The security guard smiled shyly.

“No I am serious", I said, still unable to wipe off my grin.

The guard handed over his post to a colleague and walked with me out of the hotel. I could see the traffic zipping past us slow motion as he dove right into the flow, grasping my hand in the last moment.

Like little Simba guided by the Lion king through stampeding animals, he strode across the road ignoring their  taunting  honks. He looked at the speeding gazelle square in the eyes, stared at the elephant, raising his arm and signaling the wilder beast to slow down. 

Look, step, stop, look again, trot,  signal, step .... We were at the median now. Turning his head to the other side, he followed the sequence again and before I knew, we were at the other side of the road.  Shiny buildings stood lined  up  in from of me.

"Thanks ! " I smiled at speedy .  "I guess I  am out of practice" I added smiling sheepishly.

****

" Your hotel drop  is ready", the HR manager said peeking into the  conference  room. " It is a short drive, but the evening  traffic can be verry bad. But the hotel is so close no ... It is verrry convenient ..."

" Look,step, stop, signal, trot, stop ..."  I thought picking up my iPad.

" I don't need the cab .....", I said getting up, " I need some practice !"

 I walked out of the room as the HR Manager looked at me with a puzzled look on her face.


Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Palma non sine pulvere


‘He is too young for fifth grade’, the bearded priest said somberly.

My parents shuffled uncomfortably in their seats. ‘He is a good
student . He will manage, Father ...’, my mother replied with a
hopeful voice.

‘Do you know what that means, boy?’ father D’Souza had asked me ,
running his fingers through his black beard, looking at the nine year
old boy sitting across the table. I shook my head looking at the
school emblem he was pointing to.  The colorful emblem had a shield
with two lions and a banner that said “Palma non sine pulvere”

‘It means - No reward without hard work’, he said in a firm but kind
voice. ‘Are you ready to work hard, boy?’

I gave a fleeting glance to my parents who were sitting in the
principal’s office with me. Then working really very hard not to look
at the three feet long cane lying on the table between myself and the
principal of the school that I was about to join, I nodded.

We walked out of the Principal’s office beaming. My parents much more than me. And it was not without reason - I had just secured admission in St Peters College. The school was one of the oldest convent schools in India.  Spread across a sprawling fifty acre campus, this all boy’s school, established in the middle of the nineteenth century, was one of the prominent schools in Agra. The school had hosted visits by known dignitaries, boasting visitors like Prince of Wales and Mother Teresa among several others.


***

My mother had started my schooling much earlier than other kids. As a result, I was much younger than my classmates and invariably the smallest kid in the class.

‘You should try to be like Golu uncle’, mother would say very often. Golu Ganguli was a genius relative, who started his first grade when he was three years old and became a licensed doctor before his twentieth birthday.  

I have no doubt that the genius would have been much happier if his parents had given him a lesser academic challenge - and a perhaps less funny name.

Apparently, I had not inherited the genes of my genius uncle and had to spend a large part of my early school years trying to figure out what was being taught in the class. An equal amount of time was then spent suffering the consequences of not being successful in my effort trying to figure out what was being taught in the class.

The only part of the school day that I looked forward to was the mid day recess.

The somber countenance of the campus would erupt into a joyous outburst during the school recess.  Sound of laughter, screams and shouts would ring across the school, overflowing from the large campus walls into the roads surrounding the school.

Several vendors lined up in these roads. Chuski Ice Cones, sweetened Suparis, tangy Churans and hot Samosas were in constant demand. While most of the vendors timed their arrival during the break, some had their business open all through the day, relying on the unauthorized trickle of students who dared to sneak out of their class to cater for a food emergency.

One of those enterprising vendors was the Chuski ice cone seller who stood with his hand driven cart lined with colorful syrups in glass bottles neatly arranged along the perimeter. Right in the center of the cart a big slab of Ice lay covered with jute cloth. The Chuski wala  would expertly shave a block of ice into a small earthen cups, dowsing the white ice with a colorful blend of syrups before slipping it into one of the several eagerly waving hands.

The hustle and bustle of the recess got vastly amplified during three 
weeks every year- just before the elections for the school parliament.

***

The members of the school parliament were elected by a secret ballot during the school Election Day. There were three political parties in the school and canvassing was allowed in the school recess time. The parties staged processions through the campus with large banners soliciting  for vote. 

Students distributed leaflets and shouted ‘ Vote for Labor Party’ , ‘Vote for Liberal Party’, ‘Vote for Democratic’, ending in a friendly faceoff slogan shouting match at the end of the recess.

I loved participating in those noisy gatherings. Rubbing shoulders with the big high school students who seemed larger than life, my loud voice made up for my small stature.

After elections, the leader of the party with majority seats was appointed as the Prime Minister - the face of the college, who made key note addresses and represented the college in all inter college gatherings. Inside the college however, it was the reign of the number two in command - The Law & Order Minister.

The Law & Order Minister, acted as the head of the student body helping in the enforcement of the school’s code of conduct and discipline, acting as the first line of governance before a disciplinary issue was escalated. Escalation usually meant sore bottoms for the offenders.

The Minister had the authority to make an offender run around the school grounds as a punishment for loitering during school hours, coming late for the morning school assembly or coming to school without proper uniform. Often seen taking inspection rounds around the school, walking through the hallways and playgrounds, he was the envy of lesser mortals like me, languishing in the confines of the classroom.

The smallest boy in my class, I always ended up standing in the front row of the morning school assembly, looking with awe at the symbol of authority among the students, standing next to the Principal’s podium.

I could not guess at that time that several years later, I will end up being one.

****

‘You are perhaps the smallest law and order minister we ever had’, Mr. Nath had joked after I was sworn in.

I still remember walking around the campus for my first inspection round. The freedom of walking outdoors during school hours. The fresh air and the distant sounds of the classroom chatters floating through the windows.

And the hot sun!

It was so hot that I was drenched with sweat even as I tried to walk under the shade of the trees that were scattered along the edge of the huge playgrounds. I walked along the perimeter of the school to the side door of the school. The iron door almost singed my palms as I opened it. I peeped out - there were no loiterers. Glad that my work was done, I was looking forward to the cool comfort of the classroom fan.

‘This job may not be as much fun as it appeared to be after all’ , I thought flicking droplets of sweat from my nose.

The chuski ice cone wala who was standing next to the door, smiled at me sheepishly. I smiled back and reaching into my pocket, pulled out a coin.

‘One large cup please’, I said wiping sweat from my brows.

****

 ‘How is it?’ I asked my ten year old son Rishi as he bit into his ice cone.

We were sitting on the warm sands of Redondo Beach in California. It was a hot day and the cool breeze blowing from the Pacific was refreshing. A pair of seagulls started to hover around expecting tidbits from the lone occupants of the beach.

' The bestest ice cone in California !'  Rishi joked and offered me a bite.

‘How about I tell you the story about the bestest ice cone in the world?’ I winked, ‘It was sold just outside the bestest school in the world’

As I gazed at the horizon, I could almost feel the sunny sky above my school in Agra, the fresh air and the distant sounds of the classroom chatters floating through the windows, the hot sun, the sweat, the smile of the chuski wala.

And the taste of the large cup of chuski ice cone.

****

Author’s Note:

As a concluding remark I do want to mention that eventually I started
to enjoy the entire school time in the bestest school in the world.
Not sure why, but classes stopped being boring, the games started
becoming more interesting, and it was no longer just the recess that I
looked forward to everyday at school.

It was perhaps because of Mr.Vashist’s enactment of simple harmonic
motion, where he played the role of the pendulum, running across the
classroom with an excited smile on his face.

Or maybe Dr Gagil’s unique approach of teaching Hindi using English.
‘Write a letter to your friend telling him about the environmental
changes in the neighborhood’, he would say somberly in fluent English.
The students were supposed to translate his instructions into Hindi
before executing them.

Or perchance Mr. Sharma’s jokes on scientific etymology, Mr. Sinha’s
discourse on differential equations punctuated with stories about his
motorcycle, Mr. Anthony’s leisurely approach to physical education,
making boys sweat while he kept an eye standing peacefully under the
shade of a tree twisting his mustache, Mrs. Bhatia’s encouragement
to a small boy to stand up for himself and against bullies or Mr
Edwards diligent coaching in gymnastics that helped me claim the
position of team captain.

Or because of the countless school friends who touched each other’s
life without any of us realizing that we did. Much before our thoughts
were conditioned by the toil of the world.

Several years after I graduated from St Peter’s, I was sitting with my
Thesis advisor in his cramped office at MIT. ‘Are you sure about your
research topic?’, he had asked me ‘ It will be a lot of work’

‘Palma non sine pulvere’ I said with a hint of mischief in my voice.
My advisor gave me an amused grin.

‘How true, isn’t it?’ he replied. I had not expected the middle aged
professor of German descent to interpret the Latin motto of my school
in Agra.

‘No reward without hard work’, he continued, ‘You know Prithvi, hard
work is the reward in itself - isn’t it?’ , he said looking out of the
window.

I followed his gaze. The frozen Charles river shone brightly under the
winter sun.  The naked maple trees lining the river stood shivering in
the wind. A branch pine tree ran across the window laden with fresh
snow – like heaps of fresh ice cones!

“Hard work is the reward in itself “

Had I finally understood the motto of the bestest school in the world?

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Don’t Tell Anyone !


‘Are you sure that we have the correct address?’, I could not hide the hint of nervousness in my voice.

“Turn Laafft on Kalapana Road” , the much familiar GPS  lady’s voice crackled across the car. On our left was a thin winding road that cut its way through what looked like huge a coal mine spread along the ocean. 

Shiny black rocks lined the road and small thorny bushes occasionally erupted from the cracks between the rocks, accentuating the eerie landscape. On our right, the Pacific Ocean was fiercely splashing against the shore adding a somber soundtrack to the surroundings. The setting was quite a deviation from the huge velvety green mountains and lush green vegetation Hawaii is known for.  

“Drive 3.5 miles to your destination. On your Laafft” , the computer generated voice cracked again as I took the left turn.  On our left was an expanse of ugly black volcanic rocks. On our right were uglier black volcanic rocks that were being incessantly pounded into jagged shapes by the ocean.

 Anita had booked the accommodations on the Big Island of Hawaii. “It’s a surprise”, she had said with a mischievous smile. I am sort of a person who does not enjoy surprises - especially on vacations. After great coaxing and cajoling, she had divulged that we will be staying close to one of the best black sand beaches in the world.

And it was indeed a surprise. The drive along the road was like witnessing the geological evolution of the earth unfold in front of our eyes - the big volcanic rocks got small and smaller; making way to black soil that was ferociously claimed by lush vegetation.  Mangrove trees materialized near the coast and a lush green evergreen forest sprang almost out of nowhere. The road winded cautiously through dense canopy, as colorful ferns stood guard on the either side of the road and creepers with huge green leaves hung down from the branches of the trees.

*****

“How did you find out about this place?”, the resort manager asked us as Anita elaborated on her goggling skills. “Kehana Beach is just across the road.  It is the best black sand beach in the world. ”, the manager said proudly, as Anita beamed a smile at me.

“The kids will love it !” , Anita said as we headed toward the famed Kehana. Rishi and Tanu follows us hopping through the ferns . The kids seemed much more interested in chasing the small frogs that sat camouflaged under the bushes.

‘Hurry up!’, Anita implored as the kids sat crouched next to a Ama’u fern trying to trap a small frog.
‘Why can’t  we just play with the frogs?’, Rishi complained as the small hopie frog jumped away , dodging the enthusiastic  admirers.

‘Don’t you want to see a beach that is black? Anita said widening her eyes and dropping her jaw wide to emphasize the wonderful new experience we had in store for our kids.

 ‘Where is the beach?’, Anita asked expectantly as we walked across the small parking area perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean. I had no idea. We were on a cliff that was at least a hundred feet over the ocean. Precariously balanced big boulders were scattered along the edge of the cliff, leading down to the ocean which was lashing itself incessantly on the volcanic rocks.

‘Let’s ask’ , Anita walked briskly to a woman who was walking towards her car with two toddlers in tow.
“They are so cute’, Anita pointed to the chubby two year olds, who looked like twins. Not identical though as one was a boy and other girl. We could tell.

‘Why are they not wearing their chaddis?’ , Tanu asked, tugging my arm for attention pointing at the kids walking in their birthday suits. ‘They must have wet them in the beach”, I tried to explain glancing at Anita who was having a conversation with the lady as she loaded the toddlers in her car. The car was covered with decals of all shapes and sizes.  After what seemed to be a very long conversation, Anita was back with directions. ‘That way’ , she said pointing to a narrow opening between the trees.

There was a narrow path that led to the beach, the path lead to a trail the made its way down the cliff. I offered to lead the expedition and we made our way down.  As we were climbing down the rocky path, the surroundings seemed familiar.  And then I made the connection as I recalled a beach Anita and I had visited when we were just out of college. 

It was a long time ago and that beach was in Goa.

*******

‘I have to pee’ , ten year old Rishi, declared as we were near the end of the decent.

‘You can go in the restroom on the beach’, I offered.

‘Why can’t I go right here?’, Rishi  insisted “ I need to go bad ‘

‘You cannot do that type of stuff in public … in America  ... ‘ , I tried to explain.

This was not the first time we were having this conversation. Rishi had this knack of springing this surprise at the most inconvenient locations like the top of a crowded trail end or in middle of the lake on a fishing boat.

’Why can’t I go right here”, he would say on these occasions. 

'No indecent exposure... you can get arrested' , I would joke , as we would hurry towards the closest  restroom.

My eyes were searching for the restroom as I was the first to step off from a big boulder into small makeshift steps made out of rocks, on to a beach that was jet black.The secluded beach was guarded on all sides by towering cliffs and the only access was the narrow winding trail that we had just descended from. Soft black sand stuck on my toes as I helped Rishi down the rocky stairs. 

Then I noticed something unexpected as I glanced along the expanse of black sand. We were on a nude beach.

********

There were several  stream of thoughts that ran through my mind as I realized that I was standing on a nude beach with my ten year old son who was desperately looking for a place to pee and my wife and five year old daughter would be joining me in the next few seconds. 

‘Look at the black sand!’, I said widening my eyes and dropping my jaw wide. The decoy did not work.

‘Dad there are naked people on the beach’, Rishi remarked almost as casually as he was commenting about a hopie frog.

Anita and Tanu had descended down the stairs. Anita’s expression changed from the feeling of awe (seeing the black sand) to surprise  (seeing the bare bottoms on the black sand) to worry (seeing her kids standing next to the bare bottoms on the black sand).

‘The best black sand beach in the world!’, I remarked, smiling sheepishly as Anita stood still, fumbling for words.

‘I cannot see a rest room ‘, Rishi’s voice was surprisingly contained as his sister Tanu pulled his arm and said something in his ears giggling incessantly.

‘Can you see that bush?’ , I asked pointing towards a grove towards the back of the beach – just where the cliff started. ‘Do it there’.  Rishi gave me a smile and walked confidently towards the grove to relieve himself. For once I was not worried about indecent exposure.

We took a few pictures of the black sand cinematographically editing out the occupants and headed back up the cliff.  

****

Anita and I had climbed down a similar cliff several years ago.  Along a winding path through rocky ledges to a secluded beach in Goa in India.  One of my friends had recommended this place.

’ Calangut and Bagha beaches are for tourists – if you want to see the real stuff, go to Ozran’, he had said.
‘Where are we going?’ , Anita had asked we drove along the winding roads on a rented Enfield  motorcycle.  ‘It’s a surprise’, I had said.

 We had parked the motorcycle on a parking lot at the edge of a cliff overlooking the Arabian Sea.  A narrow path had wound down from the parking lot, makings its way to pristine white sands. That morning, Anita and I had descended down that path to right in the middle of a nude beach.

‘I swear – I did not know about this’ I had tried to explain with a sheepish smile.

‘Who are you kidding!’, she had responded mischievously.

****

The kids were once more busy chasing the hopie frogs as we walked towards the resort from the beach. Anita and I sat down under a mangrove tree watching them. We had not spoken to each other since our recent adventure unfolded. 

Anita looked at me and started laughing. I joined her, our laughter echoed along the deserted Kalpana road, interrupted by excited squeals of children who had just caught a frog.

‘We are even now’, she remarked, catching up her breath,  ‘and about this Kehana Beach adventure … Kisi se nahi Kehana- OK! ‘  



‘Kisi se nahi kehana’: ‘Don’t tell anyone’ in hindi.  
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