An Evening Drink with My Liberal Friend

 

Family

 

Tathagata Mukhopadhyay

(1)

My fever had increased.

Just a few days ago I was caught in a jam with my scooter. And then, came the rain with its full fury, giving me little scope to take shelter under a nearby shop or a flyover. The traffic was immovable and the rain merrily bathed me from tip to toe. I could feel rivulets of rainwater flow through my chest, my back and even inside my trousers. The next morning I woke up with a temperature and a wicked body ache. The old injury of my hip joint was making it worse. I had gotten this way back while trying to teach Ronnie – then a little boy – the tricks rappelling in Lonavla. The injury has not healed. Some injuries never heal…

Mumbai, this year was having more rains than the weathermen had predicted. It had started, as usual, in June and continues even though it's almost the end of August now…

I tip-toed to the bathroom to douse my face with a splash of water. I looked at myself in the washbasin mirror. That unshaven haggard person can't be me. Four-five days' stubble – mostly grey with tinges of black here and there, long unkempt hair demanding a visit to the barber, accentuated by the dark shades of gloom under my puffy eyes…a nice moribund package of a person, I must say.

I ran my fingers through my hair - my makeshift comb - to groom it. Even at sixty-eight, the growth of my hair was more than copious.

Sujata had been particularly fond of my hair. At the slightest opportunity, like when I was reading newspapers on the sofa or lazing on the bed with a book, she ran her fingers through my hair in vain attempts to make it orderly. She balled them in her fists and pulled them – often not so tenderly – and squeezed them just as a child would play with a fluffy ball. She was also responsible for its upkeep. While playing with my hair she would say, "Isssh, it's so gummy and sticky. How long before do you think you had shampooed it? Wait, tomorrow I'm going to scrub you."

Not just me – even Ronnie had no escape from the ordeals of Sujata's scrubbings. Scrubbing us was her favourite sport. Ronnie hated soap and shampoo. Given a chance he would even give a miss to his daily bath. But his Mom used to always be after him. "Come, Ronnie, let me scrub you today" –  her favourite dialogue.

 Ronnie and I were Sujata's toys. We were her precious items that were to be tendered, groomed and maintained regularly…

But that was so long ago…

The person now I saw in the mirror was way too different to the one I was just referring to. I tried to comb my hair again – using my fingers and palms. Seventy per cent of that sticky mass had turned grey. The shrivelled skin under my chin and the wrinkles around the tired eyes were testimony to the accumulated gloom over the years. Yet, I noticed an unusual glint of happiness in my tired eyes. For that day, Ronnie, my boy along with his American wife and his two-year-old boy, Bonnie, was scheduled to return to his motherland after many, many years. Ronnie did not tell me. He had stopped sharing anything with me a long time ago. I came to know through his feeds on Facebook and tweeter…

Eight years! It had been eight long years when my only son Ronojoy, Ronnie, had deserted me forever. He'd left me alone in this apartment, where, not so long ago I had a family. He had not kept any contact with me since. I, however, had always kept myself abreast of his whereabouts by following him on social media which, he had kept public. Of course, I did that with a pseudonym for I knew he would have blocked me if I followed him using my own identity. My identity? Do I still have one ever since Ronnie had left? Let him disregard me as much as he liked, let him show utmost indifference for his Papa as if he never had existed – but I, his father, couldn't allow that, could I?

We were a family, after all…We are a family, after all

!

'Family' – was another of Sujata's very fond terms.

Ronnie, then, was in the third, or perhaps the fourth, standard. Sujata had taken upon her all responsibilities of his home tuitions. Often, Sujata was more enthusiastic than her subject with his studies and homework. Most of the time she was the one to show interest, while Ronnie, bored and uninterested – stared blankly at his Mom. However, he had this firm conviction that his Mom knew everything. But there were exceptions - not all sessions were dull. Some tuition sessions between the Mom and son got real interesting.

On one occasion Sujata was teaching idioms to Ronnie, where similes were used to describe someone or something. For example – As sly as a fox - this idiom was used to describe a crafty and cunning person. Similarly, something honest and squeaky-clean would be 'as clean as a whistle'. As ugly as a toad…as safe as a house…as dry as a bone… Ronnie got very hooked on these usages. With every idiomatic use, he was trying to visualize the simile by asking all kinds of curious questions. Sujata, as usual, was trying her best to satisfy her son's curiosity. I was lying on my bed with a book but was all ears to the study session. At one point Ronnie asked – "What's as strong as, Ma?" Sujata could not immediately remember the idiom describing strongness – so I quipped in -  "As strong as an ox, son."

"Why ox and not a tiger? A tiger, any day, is stronger than an ox. So why not as strong as a tiger?"

"Ture, very true. I guess tigers are found only in the woods and are rarely visible. So the English had looked for a strong creature that was domesticated yet strong". My reasoning sounded silly even to my ears when I heard Sujata say,

"As strong as a family, Beta"

"Family? Why a family?" Ronnie was bewildered. I, too, was puzzled.

"Because a family bond is the strongest bond ever. As long as we stay united – as in a family – no strength on earth can breach us. And that, son, is where lies the real strength."

Later, in bed, I asked Sujata, "How come the simile of a parivaar came to your mind, Dear?"

"No, not a parivaar – a family. There is a difference. There is an unwritten bonding in this word. An invisible strength. Family reminds me of the pride of lions. Strongly bonded. Fierce. Ready to tear apart anything that casts an evil eye on them."

I was a little confused – which I suppose was evident from my vacant gaze. Sujata paused and fetched a paperback from her bookshelf. "Read this" – she said – "You shall understand what the bonding of a family is". I saw the title. Mario Puzo's famous title - "The Godfather". For a while, she stared at me with those bewitching black eyes and said – "Yes, we are a family. And if ever anyone dares to cast an evil eye on us, I shall dig his eyes out of its sockets" – she gesticulated by curling her claws. She had had a strange feral look, something I had hitherto not seen…

And then, on more than one occasion I recognized that Sujata meant every word of what she had said that night.

Ronnie's class teacher once sent out for his parents with a bag full of complaints: Ronnie was very talkative. He had this tendency to answer all questions, regardless of whether he was asked or not or even caring if he was right or wrong. This denied any other child the chance to even attempt. Then there were other complaints - that he was a bully. That he thought he was a know-all also made him impertinent. That he sometimes even argues with his teachers if he felt he was right. The whole list of complaints was bombarded on Sujata's face by the class teacher at the school Principal's office. She went on to say that Sujata should discipline her smart-alec son. She's said she knew from her experience that such dissident kids often have a bleak academic future. "Please remember," she had cautioned,  "education starts at home. Kids learn what they see from their parents. Over-smart chatterboxes never succeed in lives! "

Sujata digested all humiliations and came back seething. She had not uttered a word. But she had not forgotten!

Ronnie had blossomed into a truly brilliant student, not just in academics but also in other extracurricular activities like debates, quizzes and sports. And as he grew he gradually became a thoughtful and taciturn teenager. A few years later Ronnie got the Best Student's trophy in a contest that was held every year for the school-leaving batch. That very evening Sujata had accosted his first-standard class teacher and reminded her of her student who was to have a bleak academic future. She had challenged her teacher that day; she would see her again after her Ronojoy gets into the IIT. And when indeed Ronnie cracked his IIT entrance and got admission in the Mumbai IIT, Sujata sent a big box of sweets to the home of his ex class-teacher with a note: "This is to celebrate the IIT admission of your smart-alec student-with-no-future – from his uneducated Mommy. Stay Blessed"

Normally, Sujata was very sweet and soft-spoken. But she was fiercely possessive about her family. Much like a lioness in her pride.

Once, on a short vacation, we had been to Mahabaleshwar. We chose to trek through a rather dangerous trail. A narrow man-made rocky serpentine trail, with a steep hill on one side and a deep gorge on the other. Loose round pebbles could cause one to skid if one was a little careless and effect a fatal fall; enough to take one plummeting down deep into the nothingness of bottomless gorges. Ronnie was scared. I, too, was tentative. Only Sujata was fearless. She had said – "Let's go. We shall hold each other's hands tightly – nothing untoward shall befall us. We are a family! Let's do it…

Sujata firmly believed that when the three of us were together – we would be free of all harm's way. Nothing in the world could touch us…

Ironically, just a two-day fever snatched Sujata away from us. Encephalitis. I was abroad – on an official tour. By the time I got the message of her illness and managed to rush back home, it was all over. Sujata, who often talked about, and fiercely believed in the power of family bonds, broke our solid family bonding and fled to the land of eternity!

Ronnie was sobbing uncontrollably. Until then his Momma was his world. He was dependent on his Mom for every little thing. Soon as I arrived, he fell on my arms and mumbled through his sobs – "Why did you have to leave us Papa – why? This would never have had happened if you were present… didn't Mom always say that nothing could ever touch us as long as we are together?"

After graduating from the IIT, Mumbai – Ronnie cracked the difficult entrance of IIM and took admission in Business Management at the IIM, Ahmedabad. He was following the exact script of success that all good students in India aspire for. Based on the solid, unwavering academic foundation that his Mom had laid for him, my Ronnie was accomplishing all his qualifications with ludicrous ease. Why even before he completed his MBA, Ronnie got a job in a multinational Investment Banking with a hefty package of more than one crore rupees an annum. My pride knew no bounds. I threw a huge party in my small Mumbai flat to celebrate the occasion. It would take my Ronnie just one year to make what his Dad did in twenty-five years!  Pay package apart, he also got a huge 4-BHK flat in a posh locality in Gurgaon. And a luxury sedan for commuting. Ronnie's employers did everything to spoil him with their pay and perks. In return, Ronnie had to put in long, long hours to increase his bank's business and profits. Which, he did, again, with ridiculous ease.

Ronnie had asked me to move out of Mumbai and live with him in Gurgaon. I did not agree. I could not agree! Sujata and I had to take a lot of hardship to purchase this tiny 2-BHK abode of ours. This was our Paradise. I knew I couldn't have slept as peacefully elsewhere, as I could do in our abode. So, Ronnie finally gave up his pursuit to convince me to move to Gurgaon. He, however, visited me every weekend. Every Friday evening, he flew in from Delhi, spent the weekend and take the early morning flight back on Mondays. I found this was very stressful and expensive. Or so I thought. Accordingly, I had asked Ronnie to stop this. Ronnie just ignored me saying – "Don't worry Papa. I can afford it."

Time! The single most powerful factor since the world's existence. Time – the killer and the healer. Time - that flows like an untamed river never to be bound by any force. Time - that spares none.

With time – Ronnie's workload and responsibilities increased. It became increasingly difficult for him to travel down to Mumbai every week. His travel reduced to once a month, and then to once every six months and then finally to once a year…

Also, with time, my memories of Sujata, impossible as they may sound, started to fade. There was a time when just thought of Sujata kept me entranced for hours. Slowly the intensity of the bedazzlement reduced. I was on the verge of retirement from my job. With Ronnie no longer visiting, the solitude during the weekends used to weigh me down. I had a household help – I still have – my woman-Friday, who did everything to manage my home. My only responsibility was to pay for her salary and for the little shopping that I needed to keep my kitchen running. On weekends, apart from my books, I had nothing to do. When my eyes got tired and brain clogged, I had to stop. I was never one of those socialising types. I seldom went to any parties, even at the office parties… Then, one day my solitude forced me to spend a few evenings during the weekends with my nearby neighbours and ex office-colleagues. I also started attending a few dinner parties thrown by retired people belonging to my age group. A few drinks, some chats on healthcare, contemporary sports, religion and politics, few nibbles at mostly outsourced packed food and then dispersing… typical of any urbane elderly social gathering.

I met Sucheta at one such party. She was the sister of one of my Maharashtrian colleagues and a widow. She still worked for a private firm and lived alone in her one BHK apartment in Malad, a suburb of Mumbai, not very far from where I lived. Five years ago, she had lost her husband in an accident.

It did not take me long to notice that I invoked some interest in Sucheta. Why? Maybe because our lives were afflicted with similar tragedies. Maybe, we felt each other's pangs of loneliness.  At the dinner gatherings, I found her particularly interested in my wellbeing and comforts. She kept a sharp eye on my glass lest it was empty or on my food if it was finished and spent no time replenishing them. She also took the liberty to mildly admonish me when I smoked, making me aware of its ill effects. She was also careful about limiting the drinks for I had to drive back home.

Even if I had developed some soft spot for Sucheta, my feelings for her, my reciprocation, wasn't evident. Sujata often had complained that I never showed my emotions. So far as the display of emotions were concerned, she compared my expressionless face to that of the stiff-jawed Clint Eastwood.

Sucheta's presence in the next four or five gatherings only confirmed my hunch; that of her admiration for me. Or should I call it infatuation? Then, one evening, when I organised a gathering at my place and invited her along with my other friends, she agreed, readily. Her designs to bump into me were ludicrously plain. And they were increasing by the day. In such situations, whatever must happen as per the script had happened. Sucheta chose to throw a party at her place on a Saturday evening. Needless to say, I was an invitee to her party. And needful to say that I was the only invitee to her 1-BHK in Malad!

That evening, Sucheta took good care of me. She wasn't a teetotaller but she never had stocked liquors at her home before. Yet, for that evening, she had gotten an expensive brand of Single Malt just for me. That evening I had a drink too many. Even Sucheta had a peg or two – which was out of her character. She always had restricted herself to a glass of wine. And then, after dinner, as I was about to leave, Sucheta requested me to stay back! Now, this wasn't unexpected. I had this apprehension ever since I discovered that Sucheta had organised an exclusive party only for me. However, I was confused. The alcohol was having its effect, I suppose. I was unsure of the next step. Sujata's face kept flashing in my muddled mind. Strangely, Sucheta was much in control. Much more, should I say, crafty?

"Come on" – Sucheta clasped my palm and tugged.

I wasn't prepared for this move. I tried to free myself but she held on until I gave in…my physical urge incapacitated all my mental compunctions and inhibitions. I found myself on her soft, perfumed, saari-clad body, now reclined on the sofa. Then, hungrily, she went for my lips…biting them with full fury, breathing heavily and whispering … "I haven't had a man for five long years…take me…please." The inevitable happened. We made love then and there – on the sofa. Then, naked, she led me to her bedroom…

The first of anything in life is always the most difficult, like jotting down the first line of a story. Once that is done, the story unfolds, in an unhindered and unabated flow. The same happens with a relationship – or should I say a physical relationship - like what had happened between Sucheta and me. To satiate our sexual needs we became complementary to one another. Sex became a regular weekend activity. Either at my place or her.

However, I was sixty and Sucheta fifty-five. At our ages, once the initial thrill of discovery was fulfilled, the bodily urge also ebbs out in quick time. So, our physical activities slowed down to a trickle more rapidly than we thought. The weekend visits, however, continued. However, our alliance was strictly limited to casual companionship. Never did we discuss any serious relationship or marriage.

And then, came that outrageous – shocking really – evening on a weekend, eight years ago…

Sucheta had come to my flat. We had just finished our dinner when the doorbell rang. Ronnie! A meeting in Mumbai at a short notice forced him to take a late evening flight from Delhi. A stranger woman in her nightdress with his Papa at their place left Ronnie stunned! The initial gaze of bewilderment slowly contorted into a look of mistrust and then to deep hatred…

I could feel the uncontrollable anger simmering within my boy. I too was at a loss for words. "Come on in, Ronnie… I can explain…"

"Shut up, just shut up will you?" – hissed Ronnie.

I had never seen him so angry, so upset before. He was shaking in rage, his young face flushed and contorted with a deep loathing for his father…

"How … just how could you … you fucking cheat" – shouted Ronnie, as he picked up his overnighter and prepared to leave. I caught him by his shoulder, trying to prevent him. Sucheta also came forward, mumbling something. Ronnie pushed me aside, savagely, and said,

"Enough. This is not the family which Mom was so proud of…this is not my family. I am leaving. Now." He took a few steps towards the lift before turning back again and said, "From this moment I disown you as my father. You cease to exist for me. Never ever try to get in touch with me again…"

Nonplussed, I did not know how long I remained immobile after Ronnie left. All the while trying to justify my actions to Ronnie in my mind…" Ronnie, son, this is not our family…this never could be…I know that…you, your Mom are still the only two persons that I care for, I love…how just how could I make you understand this? You never gave me a scope to explain … I feel so helpless, so abandoned…"

I was sitting on the chair, hunched forward, covering my face with my palms when I felt Sucheta's hand on my back.

"Everything will be alright, please do not worry…you shall see, with time, everything will be okay"

I knew this wasn't going to settle so easily even with time. I knew Ronnie. I knew how scrupulous, how fastidious, how stickler to his principles he was. After all, he's my blood. I ignored Suchetaband continued to sulk. I heard her say, "I am the root of all troubles. I am responsible for this feud with your child..."  She went on saying something, trying to cajole me, only I wasn't listening anymore.

 

******

 

The grim evening had had a clear impact on the friendship between Sucheta and me I. Sucheta chastised herself for Ronnie walking out on me…which to an extent, I too, believed. Loneliness had made us indiscreet, something that people of my age should ill afford. I was paying a heavy price for my indiscretion. One day, while sulking, I had mentioned this to Sucheta, which she took to heart. Thereafter, her visits became few and far between, and then, trickled to a stop… Sucheta removed herself from my life, forever, leaving me all alone in this big world…By then, I had also retired from my job.

True to his words, Ronnie never kept any contact – no letters, no messages, no telephone calls – nothing whatsoever. But he was my boy, my blood, my family. I still had the same fondness for my boy as I had ever since I saw him on the first day at the hospital suckling on his Mom's breasts. Luckily, Ronnie was quite active on his social media. So, under a pseudonym, I followed him on his Facebook and Twitter. Through them, I got to know that within a year, Ronnie got a posting in the bank's main branch in New Jersey. And within six months after landing in the US, he started dating a sweet blonde girl, which blossomed into a relationship and culminated in a marriage. Through his posts, I came to know my Bouma. my daughter-in-law Jennifer, her likes and dislikes. And two years ago, my Ronnie became a father of a beautiful bonny baby – whom they named Bonnie. I'd hit cloud nine with this news of me becoming a Grandpa – so what even if the news was only through the virtual world! Ronnie, Jenny, Bonnie – Ronnie's family. My family! I started keeping a tab of every little detail that Ronnie posted. Pictures of Bonnie, his growing up, his crawling on the beaches, sleeping with a stuffed teddy bigger than him, he on his Papa's shoulders, he pawing his Mom's face, kicking a plastic ball to his Papa…

In my retired life, Ronnie's virtual world also became my world. In the real world, I had a few feathered friends. I had installed a bird feeder on my bedroom window grill, which lured birds of many species and varieties. Parakeets, sunbirds, sparrows, mynahs, pigeons… I also picked up this hobby of feeding the stray dogs with rusk biscuits. Other than my birds and my dogs, I had no other friends. Sucheta had moved on with her life. I stopped socializing altogether. I visited none, just as no one visited me. There were hardly any calls or messages on my cell phone. I got adjusted to the tranquil solitude…

In my younger days, I had been a fitness freak – hitting gyms regularly. I was quite strong with a reasonably good built. Now, at sixty-eight, I could feel my physical strength slowly deserting me. My tight muscles sagging steadily, the skin of my face getting craggy and shrivelled by the day…and that old hip joint of mine – more often than not it reminded me of its existence, forced me to limp with a walking stick. I had read somewhere that a human being was the only animal that used four limbs to move in its early life, two in its middle life and three in its end. My third limb - the walking stick - was a rude reminder of my age...

Today, along with the various aches, I had this fever. I had been popping paracetamols since morning, just to keep myself moving and alert. Today, my Ronnie with his family would be landing in Mumbai. I shall see them in flesh and blood. I couldn't afford to be bed-ridden today, could I?

Ronnie had a conference to attend in Pune. After they visit Pune, they have a whirlwind sightseeing on their agenda – Goa, The Lal Qila, The Taj Mahal, Jaipur…whatever, wherever…were included in the list of their places…Showcasing a glimpse of his motherland to his family was one of Ronnie's agenda during this visit. They shall never know the state of unrest of my mind! I was dying to see Ronnie's family – my family – in flesh and blood…I was well aware of the time when their plane would land in Mumbai. He had taken a direct American Airlines flight from New Ark, which was expected to land at one-thirty in the morning. Passport control and baggage claim should take another, at least, one hour. So the earliest they could exit airport terminal 2 would be around two-thirty AM. I had planned and prepared for my visit to the airport for a long time. I had run and re-run my activities mentally many a time in the past few days. I shall be present at the arrival lounge of terminal 2 tonight well before two-thirty. These flights often landed before time – one never knew. What I did not know was whether they would take a halt in some nearby hotel and proceed for Pune on daybreak, or straightaway rent a taxi for Pune. They might even take a domestic flight to Pune; in which case they must change terminals. I only hope they do not venture out directly for Pune…it could well turn out to be a foolhardy and unsafe decision…

I, however, knew my agenda exactly…

 

******

(2)

I started my diminutive Maruti Alto after quite a while; these days I hardly ever used it. For commuting to nearby places, I generally used my rickety scooter. I parked my Alto at the airport paid parking and reached the arrival lounge of terminal-2 before two AM after. The drizzle gave me bouts of shiver; probably, because of the slight temperature that I was still carrying. The mackintosh that I was wearing, more to hide my identity than for rain protection, was giving me the warmth I needed in my present state. I kept the cap on. Because of the incessant rain – so typical of my city, Mumbai – my attire did not appear to be out of place. I also slipped in the shades from the glove compartment into my coat pocket – should it be required to conceal my eyes.

I was fidgety, looking unnecessarily at my watch and then towards the exit gate as if that would hurry Ronnie's arrival. The only way to slow down time is to keep monitoring it closely. Keep staring at your watch – and you shall notice how immobile it becomes! Chiding myself, I chose not to look at my watch. Instead, I looked around at the people who were in small groups, waiting for their loved ones to emerge from that glass sliding door that opened and closed automatically…

I saw a corpulent elderly couple. An equally thin – almost emaciated young Parsi girl in her twenties. A Gujarati family of husband, wife and three kids. A big bearded bloke – most probably a native of Bihar or UP and accompanying him a young sleazy chap in denim and a gaudy tee. A middle-aged Maharashtrian couple… Watching people at the airport or a busy railway station had always been one of my favourite pastimes.

The electronic display outside just flashed, announcing the landing of the American Airlines flight from New Ark. My heart skipped a beat. In the belly of that aircraft right now is lodged, my son, daughter-in-law and my grandson! My family! How long would it take them to come out of that damned sliding door? I was feeling restless…the urge to see my family was snowballing uncontrollably with every passing second…

The guest of the Parsi young lady just arrived. A middle-aged man – probably the girl's Papa. She ran towards him, hugged him and pecked on his cheeks. The guest of the Gujarati family also emerged – a young man in his thirties. No sooner he came out than he was surrounded by his family. But who's that? Do I spot a tall person at some distance – the humidity has made the glass door frosty…wasn't that my Ronnie? I can see the person's back, and I also see his fair-complexioned wife carrying a kid – that's it. That must be Ronnie and his family. And then the man turned towards me – when I realized that I was mistaken. He's not my Ronnie. But he's about the same age, has an expatriate spouse. Pushing the heavily laden luggage trolley. The Maharashtrian couple ran towards them. Also, I noticed the thickset bearded guy and his sidekick accost the couple. Were they together, then? Thus far, it did not appear so! I had no business, but oddly, this made me curious. The young visitor immediately recognized the Maharashtrian couple and embraced them. The lady snatched the kid from the ex-pat wife's arms to cuddle him. All this while, the bearded man was watching them from a very close distance, fewer than three yards. Was this another case of mistaken identity? Like I first thought the guy was Ronnie, did the bearded fellow also mistook the guy to be someone else? Queer, very queer...

Soon the visiting family along with the expatriate Maharashtrian couple boarded the lift with the luggage trolley. Probably they were ascending one storey to the floor from where the radio taxis departed. As the lift door was closing, I saw the companion of the bearded chap - the skinny guy with a gaudy tee - squeeze in. Probably they were private car operators providing cheap and illegal commuting services. Anyway, why should I be troubled? Almost every visitor had someone or the other waiting to receive him or her. Just like I,  Ronnie's Papa – someone from his very own family, regardless of whether he would ever be aware of it or not. But unlike others, Ronnie's Papa wouldn't rush towards them, hug them and squeeze his grandson to his bosom, feel his puffy cheeks, smell his hair…Ronnie and his family would never know that amongst the waiting crowd, his Papa was also waiting eagerly in this rain-soaked night just to have a glimpse of them …

My restlessness was on the up…what on earth was causing so much delay for Ronnie and his family to emerge through those sliding doors? Had they any problems with their registered baggage? Or at the passport control?

Within fifteen minutes, I saw that skinny sidekick in his yellow gaudy tee arrive again and took his place beside the thickset bearded bloke, munching gutkha with his betel-stained teeth. They must be agents of some hotel or from some private taxi service…

Ronnie and his family finally emerged at around quarter past three. This time there was no mistaking. That tall bloke wearing a rimless pair of spectacles and a ponytail is my Ronnie alright. As usual, he was dapper even in his travel casuals. My chest puffed in pride as I pulled out my shades from the pocket and wore them. I would take no risk of revealing my identity, for sure. Jennifer was a petite young blonde, much shorter than Ronnie. My daughter-in-law, Bouma... Her Goldie Hawn-like hair glittering in the bright mercury vapours. With one hand she was clasping Ronnie's left arm. And then I spotted my grandson – my two-year-old bundle of joy – strapped to his Mom's back. Fast asleep, oblivious of all the hustle-bustle around. And even in his sleep, he was busy suckling on a sucking nipple, evident from the expansion and construction of his pink, puffy cheeks. A mop of unkempt auburn hair almost touching his shoulders…

My vision got blurred…I wasn't sure whether it was the moistness in my eyes or the condensation on my sunglasses… Sujata often had lamented that she had married a person devoid of any emotions. Love, joy, sorrow, bitterness, anger, disgust seldom had any effect on me. To her, I was an emotionless robot. But strangely, after seeing the cuddly roly-poly baby with puffy cheeks and a head full of tousled auburn mop – my bloodline, my Dadubhai – my battered emotions started betraying me. I felt an uneasy lump in my throat. My gaze was getting crazy and hazy. I used my sleeves to wipe the involuntary rivulets that were streaming down. After I saw my Dadubhai, by some instant magic, Ronnie and Jennifer became secondary. All my attention got focussed on the little boy secured on his young Mommy's back. However, all my efforts of trying to focus on that American kid was going in vain with my vision blurring now and then. I moved closer – as close as possible – without being unnecessarily conspicuous. Ronnie was pushing the trolley towards the huge elevators. I noticed that the bearded guy and his wiry partner closely following them, The bearded guy talking on his cell phone…

Inexplicably, I had an uneasy feeling. Something was wrong. Recently there were quite a few news of thefts and snatching during the early morning hours of the visitors arriving from overseas. The unsuspecting tourists were being cornered on lonely roads – particularly on the highways – and stolen all their valuables.

The heavy stainless-steel door closed silently with Ronnie and his family, along with a few other passengers and also the bearded character and his skinny sidekick. I waited for a minute, trying to decide what to do next. I only hoped that the bearded chap wasn't targeting Ronnie, and it was just my crazy imagination. Only if Ronnie checked into any nearby hotel and started for Pune in the morning, there wouldn't be problems. But what if they had decided to drive up to Pune at this hour? That would be foolhardy. The thought sent jitters through my body. My Alto was parked at this very level. I ran for it, paid the tariff and exited the airport. The shortest route to the Mumbai-Pune expressway would be through the Jogeshwari-Vikhroli link road via Saki-Naka. This would take them to the Eastern Express Highway, from where they can hit the Expressway through New Mumbai via the Airoli toll booth. At this hour and weather, traffic would be light…

Just out of the airport, the road bifurcated – one towards Saki Naka and the other to the Western Express Highway. I pulled off in a dark corner near the bifurcation and waited to keep a sharp eye on all the radio taxis that were crossing in either of the roads; my car engine running. In less than ten minutes I spotted Ronnie – sitting beside the driver – in an Ola cab, a Nissan SUV. Jennifer was occupying the rear seat. I couldn't spot my Dadubhai, who was probably sleeping on the rear seat beside his Mom.

The cab took the right-hand road towards Leela Kempinski. I followed. I needed to know where they were heading for. There were a lot of star hotels on this road – I only hoped that they pull off in any one of them and take shelter. But – no. I saw their Nissan take a right turn on the Andheri Kurla road to Saki Naka. They were heading straight for Pune…

Without thinking twice I tailed their cab. There was enough gas in my car to take me to Pune. The road got almost deserted once we crossed Airoli, save for occasional trucks and intercity buses. The Nissan hit the Mumbai-Pune expressway within the next fifteen minutes with me in pursuit as the rain intensified. Despite that, the cab picked up speed soon as it touched the expressway. Compared to my tiny 1200 cc Alto, the cab - a new Nissan SUV – was huge. I had to press hard on the gas pedal to match its speed, which was gunning way above the 80 KM speed limit. My old rickety under-maintained Alto was having a hard time, her tiny body swaying with the whipping crosswind. I was having difficulty seeing through the windscreen, for the wiper blades had their rubber eroded, and wasn't doing much in terms of cleaning the windscreen. My speedometer told me we were cruising at around 100 kilometres to an hour… even so, they were a good five hundred meters ahead now…Come on, buck up – I whispered to my old Alto and pressed the gas pedal all the way down...

And then, all of a sudden, I spotted another big SUV – a massive black GMC - through my rear-view mirror. Its powerful headlights piercing the sheet of rain and getting brighter by the minute, an indication that it was catching up with us. In the next three minutes, it overtook my Alto, and by the next two, it crossed the Ola cab.

It was dark and vision murky with rain, but I had no difficulty in spotting that the new SUV had dangerously cornered the cab to one side of the road, within the yellow shoulder line and the crash-railing, leaving the hapless Ola driver with no alternative other than bringing his vehicle to a halt. A little ahead, the GMC veered left and blocked the Nissan against the crash-railing to prevent its escape. To take off, the Nissan now must back off, veer right and drive ahead. Something was wrong, seriously wrong! I suddenly remembered the number, one zero, zero…

I fished out my cell phone from inside my shirt pocket and dialled one, zero, zero, the Mumbai Police Control Room and simultaneously shot my car towards the scene now about one hundred meters away…I heard my cell phone ringing…pick up, pick up, - I murmured…

As I drew closer, my vision was getting clearer. I spotted the bearded thickset man – the chap at the airport – getting out of the GMC, followed by his skinny partner. And then I saw another short and stout man…

I pulled up just behind where the GMC was. My mobile was ringing still, with no response from the cops…Let it ring, I have no time to waste…I saw the bearded guy trying to yank open the rear door of the cab, where Jennifer was sitting. Oh my God, my Dadubhai, Bonnie was also there…

I pulled out the headrest of the driver's seat of my Maruti. The headrest was mounted on two long steel rods having pointed ends. These were designed so that they could be used breaking the windowpanes of the car should an occasion arise.

I saw the short and stout chap break the glass of the driver's with four-five sharp blows. Shards of broken glass were flying everywhere. Immediately, the bearded guy slipped his hand through the broken window and unlocked the rear passenger door. He bent inside and snapped up my grandchild in his arms. Bonnie had now woken up and was crying at the top of his voice. I saw Jennifer step out of the car and trying to snatch Bonnie away from the bearded ruffian. I also noticed Ronnie struggling to push his way out of the front left door which was now being thwarted by the short guy. Ronnie had jammed his foot through the opening of the door, trying to push it open. The motherfuckers were manhandling the family…My Family…!

In a blind rage, I ran towards them, brandishing the twin rods of the headrest. In my peripheral vision, I saw the skinny character running towards me. A foolhardy move for he didn't know that in my current mental state I would not think twice to kill him flat… I waited, for a second, perhaps two. The moment the skinny chap came within my striking distance, I drove the twin rods straight into the fellow's stomach. The rods got buried inside his soft interiors with a swoosh. He clutched his stomach as he fell backwards…He did not even find the strength to scream. I savagely yanked the bloodied rods out of his guts and went for the bearded goon, who dared to touch my Dadubhai. He was holding Bonnie by one arm, while warding off Jennifer's blows by the other, quite oblivious of what was happening just behind. Blind with fury, I aimed for his skull and swung the twin rod with all my strength. The goon let out a scream like a wounded animal and came down in slow motion, leaving Jennifer's arms. Jenny, meanwhile, managed to free Bonnie and took her back into her bosom… I lifted my makeshift weapon a second time and brought it down again, aiming for the centre of the man's skull. Despite the darkness, I could see thick, black streams of blood cover the bearded guy's face, mingling and fading in the flowing rainwater…

"Hello, hello" …someone was responding to my mobile, still ringing in the breast pocket of my shirt. I could hear the faint hellos…but I was in no position to respond. That bastard had laid his dirty hands on my family. I wanted him dead. Now! I lifted the rods for the third time, again aiming for the skull with a single-minded objective of mashing it into pulp, when I noticed the short guy – who had by then left Ronnie and came to his pal's rescue – swing a rod, aiming for my skull…the next moment, I felt a white-hot heat engulf my head and spread down my body to take me into the land of oblivion…

 

******

(3)

A thick haze engulfed me from all sides. The lamps were dull, the light pale. Was that my left side – yes, it must be the left side – and did I see a few instruments there, blinking red and green colours…were they LEDs? Oh my God, was I tied up there with all those plastic tubes jutting out of my body? I tried to move … but it was impossible. Did I notice someone sitting beside me on my right? Was I hallucinating? I tried hard to focus … yes, indeed someone was sitting beside me…was that Ronnie? Yes, indeed he was Ronnie…Hey boy, what are you doing here, don't you have your conference in Pune? Was he hearing me? Could he comprehend what I just said? I saw him lean closer to where my face was, trying to listen…and then suddenly get up and walk out somewhere, only to return in a few minutes with a guy who had his medical apron on him, and a girl dressed like a nurse. The doctor used his flashlight on my eyes to see something…I was able to hear their soft mumbles…yes, now, I was remembering…I was on the Mumbai-Pune Expressway, it was raining, that deadly night, those goons accosting Ronnie's family…that short guy with a steel rod…Oh my God, my grandson, my daughter-in-law…where are they? Were they safe? I started feeling restless once again…I tried to ask for my Dadubhai, my Bouma's welfare…but they weren’t understanding me… Hey Ronnie, tell me where's your baby, your wife…? Were they safe?

I noticed the nurse poke a syringe into the skin of my arm…

 

******

(4)

That day the room was not so covered with haze. The lamps appeared brighter. I could even move my head a little. However, I could feel its heaviness and the thick bandages wrapped around my skull. The tube from my throat, however, had been removed. Few tubes connected to my arms remained. I was able to tilt my head a little to notice Ronnie still sitting by my bedside. Had he not left my side for even a moment? Had he not even taken a break to eat something? Or even a biological break?

Seeing my open eyes, Ronnie tenderly placed his palm on my forehead and asked,

"How do you feel now, Papa?"

Ohhhh … so long, after so long I was listening to his voice … a sense of overwhelming emotion gripped me…I heard Ronnie say,

"Don't worry, Papa. You will be alright."

"I… I am okay. They…those goons ... what happened…"  - I whispered. Did Ronnie understand what was I was trying to say?

"You were outstanding Papa. You took care of two of them, I managed the third, and then the cops came..." Ronne grinned.

"...and they? Where are they ... my Dadubhai...Bouma..."

"They all are here, Papa. Wait, let me call them"

Ronnie came back in a while with my Bouma carrying my Dadubhai in her arms…

I signalled them to sit on my cot as I tried to shuffle a little to make room. Jennifer sat by my side, my Dadubhai on her lap. Thirstily, I watched my small bundle of joy, my bloodline. Oh my God, he was seriously, seriously handsome. Was he really so, or am I making it up just because he was my pedigree? He had a pinkish streak on his puffy cheeks – which I was sure would get chiselled, like his father, when he grew up. His hair was not golden blonde like his Mom, but slightly auburn. But his beady eyes were jet black – just like his father's. I heard Jennifer enquire,

"How do you feel now?"

I nodded assent. I was fine. I was never so well … Most definitely not in the last eight years…

I gesticulated at my Dadubhai. Right then I was feeling a much stronger pull for this little guy; even more than my son, Ronnie. Life is strange!

When I was young, my Mom, while playing with the infant Ronnie, used to say – "The interest is always sweeter than the principal." That day, on the hospital bed, I could fully comprehend what she had meant. The interest component was indeed tastier. Bonnie – my grandson – my blood – my interest component!

Jennifer drew Bonnie's tiny palm and placed it on mine. Immediately I felt a shock wave down my spine…Oh Lord, I shall remain ever grateful to You for keeping me alive to savour this moment … I mumbled involuntarily…

My Dadubhai was looking at me with his black beady eyes as I clasped his soft palms …My vision was blurring again…Dadubhai, my Dadubhai, always remember we are a family – as your grandma used to often say this … A family … Nothing can breach us … Nothing can destroy us … Together we are invincible… Do you understand, you little imp?

I had no idea what my Dadubhai understood…I only noticed him break into a grin which rapidly turned into an audible giggle, as two tiny drops of saliva from his mouth, dropped on my forearm…

 

Mumbai

27 Aug 2020