It is an amazing feeling to be a witness; pure, clean and
impartial witness. In fact the crux of oriental religions like Buddhism,
Jainism, Taoism and Hinduism lies in being a witness. Sage Ashtavakra in his
Mahageeta says that there is nothing worth doing on this planet except being a
sakshi, a detached observer who just relaxes in his own spiritual being just
like a tortoise coils up in its own shell and sees the world with a detached
mind. This is the reason why the enlightened masters in India like Mahaveera
and Gautama have been called seers and the true seers are above all i.e. good
and evil, god and the satan and, the truth and untruth. In the western world,
the highest status is awarded to fathers and nuns who are priests not seers.
The religiosity in the western world has not entered the domain of ‘sakshi
bhav’ i.e. being a witness. Being a witness is not just beneficial for the
spiritual enlightenment but it makes you enjoy, perceive and understand the
world with such a perfection and sharp insight, that you don’t feel the sorrows
and happiness of the world, even when you are the lead actor in the story. I have
always tried to develop this ‘sakshi bhav’ in my persona. Although I have not
been able to scale the heights of spiritual skies but, in my worldly existence,
it has certainly helped me to perceive the characters in my immediate environs
with a unique and novel insight reeking with the freshness of an unspoiled
childish heart. The characters which have existed for thousands of years in my
environs and which became super-mundane and boring for a lay local observer
appeared to me in a totally different light, like the characters of ‘Alice in
wonderland’ and ‘Panchtantra’. When I see them with spiritual detachment as if
I don’t belong to their world, they come out with myriad colors teaching deep
philosophical truths through their life stories.
Shanti Sheth of sewari in Marwar was one such mundane
character. In the first appearance he just looked like another Marwari merchant
in who is in his 50s and enjoying the fruits of his hard work and struggle.
Shashi was sitting in his bedroom in his house at Juhu (Mumbai) with his father
Dhurjati Narayan Mishra who was now Deputy Inspector General of Police in
Rajasthan. Shashi thought that he was getting bored. Actually, he had always
thought that he would be terribly bored with him, and before that day, he always
was bored except for the old music which Shanti Sheth always played. “Saab, thei
vali ni padhariya, Santinath Ji ra sangh me apo vees karor kharasiya. Jhamak Bhai pons karor
mate po deeda. Zordar function veeyo”. (Sir, you did not come to Jaina
religious function at Bali in Rajasthan. You should have come. It was a great
function. I donated 20 crores to Jaina saint Shantinath and my brother gave 5
crore on top of it.) Usually, whenever Shashi sat with them, he heard them
talking about muni Shantinath Ji, sarrafa market of Mumbai, politics of Rajasthan, bureaucrats of Rajasthan and their hobbies or
rather “shauk” which included many unmentionables, and their corruption also. Their
stories were abhorrent to Shashi as a writer. On top of it, when they were
discussed in scorching hot May afternoons of the deserts of Marwar, devastating
Shashi’s afternoon siestas, over endless cups of over-boiled tea, they looked like
an absolute hell to Shashi, who was in his mid-20s and engrossed in his own
world of yester years which revolved around the tales of second world war, sexual
adventures of Nehru and his days spent in the cool clime of Harrow and
Cambridge.
After a while, Nisha brought the juice of Alphonso mangoes
in a beautifully carved antique silver cutlery, with the toppings of figs,
cashews and nuts. Desert cooler was appropriately placed in the window giving a
perfect cool breeze to the room and that too without humidity which is a luxury
in Mumbai during rainy season. The room was reeking with the smell of mangoes
and khas. In the background beautiful melodies of Lata Mangeshkar like “Dil Ka
Khilona hai toot gaya, koi lootera aa ke loot gaya hai” were playing on Shanti
Sheth’s old sony tape recorder, which he was the first one to buy in his
community in 1970, and the old “goodman” speakers, making the voice quality
perfectly like one from the 50s, which he had brought from Rustam bhai
batliwala.
Nisha was a daughter of Shanti Sheth’s brother Jhamak bhai. Nisha
looked like perfect Marwari daughter-in-law in her red saree bedecked with gold
embroidery. After her marriage to Praful Bhai Shah, she had graduated from a
naughty village beauty into a perfect house wife, with a little more weight. Nisha
was a very important character in the entire drama but, she displayed a unique
pattern. For every significant event, to begin with she was in the forefront
but that was just a tip of the iceberg. The real act was always performed by
her in the background. In fact she was the primary reason for beginning of the
friendship between Shanti Sheth and Dhurjati Narayan Ji, which was now three
decades old. It goes back to late 1970s when Mishra Ji was a young Deputy
Superintendent of Police in Bali, a mofussil town in a semi-desert region of
Marwar. The town and the villages around it were mostly inhabited by rich
Marwari Jain merchants, who had migrated to far-off places like Bombay, Assam,
Chennai, Calcutta and Burma in the search of greener pastures. But they used to
visit their home town at least once or twice a year. Those merchants had a very
strong attachment to their native place and they had kept strong ties with it
through their regular visits and costly religious ceremonies. Mishra Ji had
already become very popular with the prominent Jaina monks like Vimalnath Ji
and Jin Sagar Ji as he had recovered the gold idols of Mahavira stolen by kanjars
from Jaina temples. He was able to control the theft of ancient idols from the
Jaina temples and that had made him very famous among the Jaina community. He
was invited for Jaina religious ceremonies, marriages and other events where
his main attraction was vegetarian delicacies cooked in pure ghee. With his
mild mannerism and humble nature he could build personal relations with some of
the influential and wealthy merchants. Shanti Sheth was one of those merchants
who had become a close friend of Mishra Ji.
Then, one day major crises had emerged in Shanti Sheth’s
family. His brother’s daughter Nisha had eloped with a young Muslim boy named
Farukh. Both were madly in love with each other but the girl’s family was
staunchly against the marriage as that would invite the wrath of society which
could come in any form like the expulsion of the family from the caste
panchayat, a major fine or severe humiliation. Shanti Sheth immediately rushed
to Mishra Ji’s house at 1:30 in the night with a bag full of notes. He offered
them to Mishra ji and begged him to bring Nisha back at any cost before the
sunrise as he would not be able to show his face if the society got to know
about it. Mishra Ji refused to accept
the bag of notes and without a second’s delay, left his house to look for the
girl.Shanti Sheth was thinking of committing a suicide or running
forever to a remote place where he would not find a single person from his
community. But, luckily, Mishra Ji could bring Nisha back by next day’s
afternoon. She was caught with Farukh at Falna junction, exactly five minutes
before they were to board a train headed to Calcutta. When Mishra Ji brought
her back, Shanti Sheth fell on his knees and cried with a deeply felt sense of
gratitude. He promised Mishra Ji that he
will stay a steadfast and a loyal friend until his last breath.
After that, it was not just a relation between a police
officer and an affluent merchant. It became a memorable friendship between the
two families, shaping things that would happen in the distant future,
transcending the physical and bodily existence of the actors involved in the
story. With the passage of years like the sands of Thar, the friendship became
stronger and gradually included the cousins, aunts and other relatives of the
two families. When Shashi’s younger sister was born, Nisha and Vimla Ji (Shanti
Sheth’s wife) stayed in the local hospital for ten days with Mrs. Mishra, as
Mishra Ji had almost disappeared in the trail of a dreaded dacoit Bhanwar Singh,
in the forests of Desuri.
Both the families used to watch old black and white Hindi
movies over delicious vegetarian delicacies. Such feasts, which ended late into
the night, were the only source of recreation for Mishra Ji and his family in a
remote mofussil town. Those were the days when television was a rare luxury,
beyond the reach of a government servant. When Mishra Ji visited Shanti Sheth’s
family in Sewari for such evenings, the entire compound of Shanti Bhai’s house
would be populated with prominent village elders which included Jhamak Bhai
Mehta, Valchand Ji Bhandari, Badami Lal Ji Daga and the crew assembled for
hours on end, discussing the arrival of Muni Shantinath Ji for his next
Chaumasa (Four months of the rainy season when Jaina saints stay at one place
and meditate).
During such visits, Shashi, who had no other friend in that small town, became pally with Nisha who in age was 10 years elder to him, but at heart was
still a naughty village girl jumping from one mango tree to other mango tree
with her catapult. It was sweet relationship of friendliness, love; which at
times unknowingly ventured into the domains of sensuality, and beautiful
fights. Shashi used to tease Nisha as an illiterate village girl as she did not
go to school after class five. But before this friendship could blossom into
anything else, Nisha was married to Praful bhai and after marriage she moved to
Mumbai where she stayed in Goregaon. The marriage foreclosed the most important
chapter of this friendship, but as Buddha says every seed leads to a result.
The ghosts of this friendship would be back again after 10 years in rather not
so innocent, but a little sensual, little lusty and a little romantic fashion.
Sometimes Mishra Ji would invite Shanti Sheth to Bali for a
musical house party. Shanti Sheth was a great connoisseur of arts especially
music. He owned the largest collection of old hindi records and private albums
of great Indian maestros like Bade Ghulam Ali and Omkar Nath Thakur. In such
evenings, the participants included the District Collector Mr. Srivastav,
Thakur Mahaveer Singh of kalore Superintendent Police Mr. Guman Singh Bhati,
diamond merchant Seth Nahar Chand and Munsif Magistrate Mr. Ghulam Hussain
Saheb, who used to regale initially, and then bore the audience with the shikar
stories of his nawab ancestors. Mian Mansoor Ali used to start his singing performance
at ten in the night and soon he used to be flooded with requests to sing
Ghazals of Mahendi Hasan. An entourage of orderlies with long mustaches
continued to serve Johny walkers until Guman Singh Bhati would start his feudal
Marwari and travel back into the British era when his ancestors ruled the
tracts of Jaisalmer and Cholistan (In present Pakistan). Those gentlemen lived
an era with a strong passion, conformity and conviction of ideas which could be
seen in their big, deep eyes and, thick and black snake-like mustaches. They
stood like guards of the tradition and an order which was older and bigger than
the modern India. They lived as friends of friends and foes of foes and often
their relations and promises transcended the confines of right and wrong, the
limitations of logic and the attraction of material gains. It is very rare to
find that kind of collected personality in today’s post-modern generation which
is obsessed with logic and suffering from mental vulnerabilities emanating out
of gadgets, ‘hire and fire jobs’ of MNCs, and the release of long-suppressed
sexual cravings of men and women. Later, when Shashi used to get agitated in
his undergraduate days with his comrade friends over the “post-modern grandiose
revolutions” like gay and transgender rights then after a while his writer’s
self or a wiser self would revolt, and wish to go back to his yesteryears where
he had seen the likes of Guman Singh and Ghulam Hussain who would get least
bothered emotionally even if a genocide had taken place.
In the September of 1989, Mishra Ji and his family visited
Bombay, where they stayed at Shanti Bhai’s place. It became a memorable visit,
especially in the rains of Mumbai. Mumbai rains are very special. It is said
that they make the love and bonding eternal. When great singer Muhammad Rafi
died in 1979, it was raining heavily, and even then the entire city
participated in the funeral procession of the man who ruled their hearts for
three decades. For Mishra Ji’s wife, this Mumbai visit was the most romantic
visit of her life. She came from a poor Brahmin family of a small village. Even
after marriage when Mishra ji joined the prestigious and powerful police
services, she was a daughter-in-law in a conservative joint family where her
first duty was to serve her in-laws. But in the Bombay visit, where she got a
chance to spend time with her husband on Juhu chaupati, see the bungalows of
Amitabh Bachchan and Rajesh Khanna, and visit Lonavala and khandala with Shanti
Bhai’s family, she felt as if she was in her happiest days and she did not want
to go back. Even Mishra Ji had become a little romantic in the Bombay rains.
After he returned from his Bombay trip, there was a major communal riot in
which Mishra Ji had to take stern action and about 15 protesters were killed in
police firing. As a result Mishra was sacrificed for political convenience and
he was transferred.
In the next few years, Mishra Ji visited Shanti Sheth a
couple of times in Sewari and Bombay whenever he went to these places for his
official tours. But the era of those feudal parties, ghazals, Johnny walkers and
thick mustaches came to an unexpected end. In fact 1990s marked the end of many
things in India. The good old and laid back socialist days of India, when even
the richest man of the country travelled in an ambassador car, came to an end. India
was witnessing the onset of new forces of globalization, privatization and
liberalization. Old ties and old set-up of villages started shattering. For the
government officials money became more attractive than the prestige. In
politics also India was witnessing the ugly form of caste and communal politics
in the form of Ram Mandir movement and Mandal movement. Mishra Ji had now
settled in the state capital of Jaipur. He was no more a muscular and
passionate police officer who used to chase dacoits for days on end and hunt
them down. He had now become a mild and a bit religious man who wanted to stick
around in Jaipur, earn little bit of money in the age of commercialization and
see his children settled nicely in the future.
Shashi and his sister were growing up. Shashi was in the final year of
his college. He had still not discovered a writer in himself and had grown up
as a typical introvert, obedient and studious son of a police officer who was
clear and firm in his mind that he had to pass the civil service exam and
succeed his father’s influence and position.
Nisha smiled at Shashi after giving him the tumbler
of mango juice. Shashi, without losing a second followed her into the kitchen.
“You have become a complete babu with your suit and tie. You never wore this
tight stuff before. I guess America has made you a robot. Did they leave you
with any feelings or not? You hardly had any feelings, even before. After three
years of stay in that snow land of yours, what do you keep saying all the time?
Oh yes Newyorkkkkkk and Buffaloooo, you must have become either a mule who
knows nothing except sitting in front of a computer or a robot who feels
nothing or a playboy with all those white chicks who you fucked in America.
Playboy, no not playboy, but you really loved sex even here”, said Nisha
sarcastically. Shashi had just returned
from US after three years and he was finding himself an alien among the people
who he grew up with but never tried to know them. But among all these aliens
and through all these years, Nisha had always been with him through his thick
and thin. He still confided in to Nisha. She was thinking that after a long
stay of 3 years in US Shashi might have completely forgotten him. But he did
not. In fact after his stay in US he could see those things in Nisha which he
never cared about when he was in India. He had suddenly found her an extremely
sexy woman who could give endless amounts of unconditional love with a
super-human audacity, transcending the confines of human frailties like marital
boundaries, religious customs and social order. And, he felt that she could
take a poet like him into the land of endless lust, unfathomable carnal
pleasures with her inviting koel-lined-half intoxicated eyes, dusky, shiny,
slippery and taut skin, and heavenly thighs. She looked completely changed;
energetic, young, fresh and rejuvenated now, to Shashi. She was no more the
wailing Nisha who was sobbing while saying good bye to Shashi when he was
leaving for US. Shashi could not just control himself and silently placed his lips
on Nisha’s.
“Mumma, where are
you? I need my tie”, shouted Rishabh, Nisha’s elder son who was an engineering
student and was going for his job interview. Nisha got scared and pushed Shashi
way with a force, power, arrogance and indifference which comes when a woman
fells complete and satisfied in the world of her husband and children. Shashi
got a shock and felt humiliated for the first time. He was stunned to see that
someone like Nisha who would give her life at a drop of his hat, would force
him away. The women who would make love to him for hours on end, who would chat
with him till four in the night, pushed him away with such contempt. He felt
almost uprooted. He was thinking of his sexual encounters in US and felt that
how could he be forced away by this village girl. She was not one of those
European diplomats who were exuding sensuality through their eyes and backless
tops reeking of the finest perfumes of France.
“What is wrong with you Nisha? I love you so much and you
insulted me”, yelled Shashi in annoyance. Nisha yelled back, “Shut-up Shashi,
where was your love when I was sobbing continuously for hours on end, in the
last two years. You had completely ignored me after you slept with those white
bitches. After a gap of two years you expect me to get turned on and give you a
cock-massage. You are a typical man, only interested in sex. I still have the
same emotional feelings for you but my physical attraction for you has completely
died. I am pretty happy in the world of my family”.
Shashi felt like completely shaken and uprooted. He said
with reminiscence, “We had such a beautiful and romantic relation when we were
just kissing each other all over, every second and every minute”. “And, then
you left me, ignored me and insulted my feelings. In fact you always left for
your own convenience. First time it was when I got married, almost two decades
back, and then it was in those summer vacations when I just wanted to run away
with you and never come back into this world. Then, it was when you left for
US”, said Nisha sobbingly but her eyes were brimming with revenge, love, hatred
and a pain which arises when something lies hidden in the deepest corner
of your heart and you have to guard that
pain for years with utmost sincerity and caution. Then Shashi was speechless
and lost into the rains of August 1993 in Sewari.
In August 1993, Shashi was visiting his parents in Jaipur.
He had finished his under-graduation with distinction. During his stay at home,
he was being pampered by his mother like a Mughal prince who has returned from
a battlefield. Along with that he was also getting his daily dose of a
motivation lecture from Mishra Ji to get ready for the last academic battle of
his life i.e. civil services exam which was approaching soon. One fine morning,
at 8 am Shanti Sheth arrived at Mishra Ji’s place without any previous
information. The whole family was so happy to see him. After a freshly brewed cup
of coffee, he started telling about a major scandal that had taken place in his
village. An year ago, he commenced a construction of a Jaina temple in his
village for which he had announced a donation of one crore. Gradually, funds
started coming from other quarters too. Seth Badami Lal had announced five
crores and Seth Nahar Chand, who had now become a diamond king in Sierra Leone,
announced a fund of 20 crores for the Dhwaja ceremony.
“But the management and supervising of the job was left to
me, saab. I did my job well, but mostly I was in Bombay. I made Sohan lal, my
cousin the main contact person in the village. That crook stole 7 crores of funds
and has now escaped to Africa. I can’t trace him anywhere. The other trustees
have blamed me for this embezzlement and they have also filed a suit against
me. It is a matter of great insult and humiliation for me in the society, where
I have earned respect and position with my sweat after years of hard work. They
are calling me kala naga (black snake) who has stolen God’s money. I can’t bear
this anymore. I need your help saheb. Or else I will end my life”, said Shanti
Sheth.
“I am organizing a social feast and discussion where I will
be inviting my opponent group also. Their leader is Seth Nahar Chand ji. I am
inviting all my relatives and my friends who can vouch for my honesty and
integrity. I want you to come for a day at least saheb and tell those devils
that it’s not me who should be blamed”, said Shanti bhai with an urgency which
showed that he was almost going lose all his earnings and social prestige, if
his only friend would not help him. Mishra assured him of his presence in the
event.
Initially, only Mishra ji was going but then the entire
family decided to go as the other relatives were also coming and they thought
of the event as an occasion for a good reunion after ages. Shashi had a strange
feeling going back to the place where he had spent his childhood. He was going
to meet Nisha after a gap of eight years. He was reminded of those eerie,
haunting and scorching hot desert afternoons where he spent hours playing with Nisha.
“Nisha must be the mother of several kids by now. Will I be able to touch her
and fly kites with her?”, thought Shashi and he fell asleep in his journey back
in time. Going back in time has always been a very curious phenomenon. It’s not
just an objective fact which is one for all. For a scientist, the journey back
in time can be a sci-fi adventure phenomenon, purely coming out of the concepts
of physics. For him it is the victory over nature, brute victory of a man’s
rational prowess and hard work. For a writer and a philosopher, it could be
something totally different. For him, it could either be an experience of
bliss, reliving the bygone times or visiting those corners of life where hearts
were broken and life became completely meaningless. For him, it may be a sense
of complete surrender to one’s emotions in a highly vulnerable state, purely
coming out of that domain of his being which transcends the quest of reason. In
that sense it could be a glimpse of his journey towards the ultimate, but only
a glimpse which would soon get lost in a few lines of a random poem.
Shanti Sheth was gasping and losing his control before the
arrival of Nahar Chand ji. He was thinking of the trial which he would face in
the next few hours. Meanwhile, an emaciated, middle aged Shramana (jaina monk)
wearing dirty and smelly robe visited his house asking for alms. Shanti Sheth
made him sit and started explaining each and every fact related to the scandal,
and his contributions towards the community. Shramana was nodding his head
after every sentence of Shanti Sheth and in return, getting one cashew each
time, he nodded. Whenever he would nod in yes, Shanti Sheth would give either
one almond or one grape or one cashew, keeping the Marwari traditions of
miserliness alive. While leaving, sramana yelled at him, “have a big heart, you
thief. You made me sit for two hours and in return gave me mere seven pieces of
grapes and cashews. These people are right about you. Where the hell will you
take all these cashews and grapes? You and your kids must be eating that horde
and must be farting and shitting next day in bathroom. Lord mahavira will not
spare you. You miser, cheat!!!!!!”. Shanti Sheth was terribly annoyed and in a fit of rage he
yelled back,” you bloody fraud and greedy glut masquerading as a sramana!!! Its
people like you who have made the religion worthless. Get the hell outta here
or else I will kick your dirty and stinking arse. You guys anyways never clean
your arse”.
“Calm down Shanti, relax. What’s wrong ? Don't worry, it
will be fine”, uttered Mishra Ji. “No, how could he call me a miser?”, shouted
Shanti bhai. “That, you are. You never gifted me the Kanchivaram saree. During
our last trip to Shirdi, you made me fast for three days”, a voice came from
the kitchen where Vimla Ji was mumbling under her breath. She was worried about
the insult of a sramana, thinking that it’s a bad omen which would bring bad
news. However, in the meeting Mishra Ji gave a long speech defending Shanti
bhai and urging the community members to look at his contributions to the
society. Nahar Chand was an old friend of Mishra Ji who relented when he got to
know that Mishra Ji could be immensely helpful in getting a Lok sabha ticket in
the next national elections. Meanwhile, Mishra Ji had also managed to trace the
whereabouts of Sohan Lal. He had lied about Africa. He was caught in Calcutta
with her mistress Priyanjali Sen, and was brought back to Sewari, where he was
first, appropriately lashed by Shanti Sheth to his heart’s satisfaction and
then made to apologize to the temple committee. Next day, Mishra Ji left with
his wife but left Shashi at Sewari to re-live his childhood for a couple of
days.
Next day in the evening, when Shashi was sitting with Shanti
Sheth in his drawing room, a familiar face came with a cup of tea. Shanti Sheth
was in good mood after a long time and was passionately telling about his LP
records and their history to Shashi. “Do you hear the golden voice of
Mukesh—Dil ki Nazar se, nazro ke dil se---- ye raaz kya hai? It’s so
mesmerizing. I bought this from Dinshaw bhai Petit of Mahabaleshwar. We had
driven for seven hours in ghats in heavy rains to see his antique and music
collection”, jovially, said Shanti bhai.
“ohhh Common baby.. get us the tea and please bring some
Khakra with it. Don’t forget to spread ghee and masala on the khakra. It tastes
so heavenly with the ginger tea in the rainy season. Common let’s sit outside
for a while. Peacocks are dancing and singing like Lata Bai”, said Shanti with
such zest and happiness as if he was letting the bliss seep into his each and
every breath after a year of excruciating pain, depression and humiliation.
Shashi’s heart was beating faster. He was eagerly waiting
for that ‘someone’ who brought tea. She appeared again. “Shashi, do you
recognize her. Let me see, how is your memory? Do you remember Nisha ? aahaa,
yes, how would you recognize the girl who was always running around with you in
her red shalwar kameez. Now she is a mother of two kids and see, she is panting
hard under this gold –embroidered saree”, said Shanti bhai with a bit of
sarcasm and nostalgia.
Shashi was stunned to encounter a lady who was loaded with
gold jewelry from her head to toe. The shine of gold rhymed perfectly with her
dark complexion and shiny skin. He was thinking of someone with whom he would
fly kites and chase rabbits, but he met someone who, in the first glimpse
looked a boring housewife and an over-burdened mother. He was looking for Nisha
whose blouse would just get stuck in a keekar(a local tree found in Marwar) and
her cleavage would come off letting her milky white boobs and raisin like tits come
out. Shashi was thinking of that Nisha who would then ask him help remove the
leaflets resting on top of her breasts, and button her blouse with his mouth.
He was lost in thoughts of that Nisha who secretly loved and took a deep
sensual breath when Shashi brought his lips close to the milky white domain and
from a hair-split distance, softly blew away the leaflets from her breasts,
tickling her all the way down her breasts. He was thinking of those eyes which
drooped with an endless desire for carnal ecstasy when his red lips came
closest to the milky white wonderland. He was trying to find the Nisha who
would get her blouse stuck in keekar again and again- with purpose or without
purpose, smiling always sometimes with lust, sometimes with a sisterly
innocence and sometime with a simple feeling of being together.
“Mumma, won't you introduce us to your friend. You told us
about him several times. Now I want to play with your friend”, said Rishabh,
who was ten years old now. Shashi left for a walk after meeting the mother and
son. He felt a little sad. He thought he had lost his friend and now Nisha was
not her naughty friend, with whom he flew kites. He was planning to leave next
morning for Jaipur, but still felt that there was a something which was not
complete and things can't be just meaningless and purposeless events. He was
trying to find his Nisha and was lost into a deep reverie.
After an era almost, Shashi was having a Marwari dinner. The
mouth-watering dishes of methi-kishmish saag, dahi bhindi (ocra with curd),
urad dal (lentil soup) cooked in asafoetida with smoky flavor and batis
dripping with ghee followed by sheera transported Shashi from his world of
Delhi University where the rat-race for career had made all other pleasures
like writing poetry, watching a bird, kissing a girl one meets randomly in a train
journey and chatting with an elderly villager over a bone-fire a cause of
guilt. Shashi had already started feeling suffocated with his Delhi University
friends for whom life stopped at becoming civil servant, or getting a
prestigious management degree or making out in a fresher’s party with a pseudo,
shallow and half-naked Punjabi bimbette from Welham girls or indulging in some
pseudo-secular JNU styled-jhola chap communist non-sense. His last few days in
Sewari were like a nostalgic rendezvous with the memories of his first rain
shower with Nisha, where everything looked fresh, wet, soft, damp, green and
intoxicated in every way i.e. physical, romantic and spiritual.
After the dinner, he thought of spending time in Shanti
Sheth’s antique room which was again a travel back in time. He was exploring
the old LP records, sometimes playing a piece from 1930s and then changing it
to play an older gem of Surendra-Suraiya. Old ‘goodman speakers’ made one feel
as if Gurudutt was about to come alive, and when “ayega ayega aanewala” echoed
in that room; lit with dim red light which was coming like an old French red
wine being poured into an ancient Roman glass, from an Austrian chandelier, it
felt as if some old enchantress would come, and look into your eyes, in that
haunted haveli. Shashi was getting drowned in the mesmerizing golden voice of
Lata bai. It was 1:30 in the night and there was mild intrusion in the music,
which sounded like anklets moving around. First, it sounded like the crickets
screeching in the rains but then it became louder and was coming nearer to
Shashi. His first reaction was to go back to the story of badi bahu’s ghost,
which he had heard several times from Nisha. He had always accused her of
cooking stories to scare him but then he thought that Nisha was probably right
and no one could save him today. He had become stand still with fear and was
sitting with his eyes closed. He felt the anklets coming closer and in a few
seconds, there was a pat on his head which felt very familiar. The moment he
opened his eyes, he found Nisha in silver colored night gown with her hair open
and lose. At first he was startled, but then he felt a sense of completion.
Something which he had long waited for and had vaguely dreamt of, for years was
actually happening. He felt that there was a third force who brought him to
Sewari for a purpose and that purpose was Nisha.
Nisha looked into Shashi’s eyes and smiled. “It’s been 12
long years Shashi. Did you ever miss you? You have mustache and a beard now.
You have become a man now. I did not know that you were also coming. It’s such
a pleasant surprise. Did you meet my kids? They are now ten and eight years
old, age at which you flew kites with me, Shashi. But I missed you a lot
Shashi. I spend my nights staring at the moon thinking that someday the eclipse
will be over”.
“But I can’t run after rabbits with you now. Neither can I
fly kites with you now. I can’t even collect peacock feathers from the woods
with you now. You are a mother and a woman heavy with gold now. I feel weird”,
complained Shashi, as if lost with those rabbits and peacocks. “But, you can
come and lie down in my lap just the way you used to. I will feel nice”, said
Nisha, and Shashi placed his head gently on her thighs. Gramophone started
playing, “ye raten ye mausam , ye hansna hasana, mujhe bhool jana, inhe na
bhulana, inhe na bhulana”, and the wet hair locks of Nisha were brushing
against Shashi’s cheeks, giving him a strange sensation, sending a shiver down
his chest, stomach and pants. “You still wanna bring your lips in the milky
white heaven”, asked Nisha and Shashi was gasping, with warm breath blowing
against the earlobes of Nisha. Nisha, unbuttoned her gown and brought Shashi’s
lips straight on the milky, white heaven. She took a deep breath and locked her
lips with Shashi for a few minutes. It seemed as if time stopped and space
became non-existent. Gramophone started playing, “Tadap ye din raat ki, Bhala ye
rog kaisa hai”, and Chanda was slithering her palm below the soft hair carpet
of Shashi’s bony chest, who felt like a snake meandering its way on his
stomach.
Shashi, for the first time in his life was feeling as if a
heavenly freedom was descending on him. He felt soft fingers crawling like serpents
in his groin and then felt soft palm making a firm grip on his pubic national
park. He cried, “aahhhhh”. A sensation
of losing himself into the faith, bliss and security of the unknown was dawning
upon him like a divine light descends on a yogi, showering him all over with
ancient wisdom. Next moment, Nisha was pressing his penis between her breasts and
rubbing her vagina against Shashi’s chest with a force of a tigress and a lust
of a celestial dancer. It seemed a passionate tantric union was taking place
with Shiva and Kali themselves being there. Shashi grabbed Nisha’s butts in his
fist and bit them hard, then travelled down between the lower lips to get
immersed into the wonderland of wetness and dark slippery madness. He was
drowned in incense of otherworldly ecstasy. It was a sensation of freedom, a sensation
that brings down the mental prejudices built over the years as a result of
bondage of fictitious notions, assumptions and expectations. He felt his myriad
identities like one of the obedient and conservative son, fake intellectual and
an over-idealistic communist shattering like a house of cards. Finally, when the dusky, slippery and fleshy
Nisha was in the most passionate embrace with Shashi, Nisha cried, “get inside me”. And,
Shashi, who was now as erect as a ramrod, licked her thighs with the utmost
intimacy of his tongue, letting Nisha crave with a streak of madness. He
finally entered the wet, dark, golden and slippery tunnel with his love, lust
and philosophy. And, the union had finally taken place, union of the moon and
the eternity of night, the union of two souls where the feeling of “I” had
vanished, and in the end of that journey, Shashi, found himself i.e. writer,
poet and a sensual lover, that he was.
Next one month was spent in reaching the peak of sexual
ecstasy in every possible way i.e. in a wild and brutish physical way, in a
romantic and sensual way and fulfilling spiritual way. It was also a month of
Shashi emerging as a poet and a writer. He wrote endless lines on the curves of
Nisha and wetness of her dark and slippery wonderland. Now, he wanted to go
back and tell his father that he was not meant for civil services and he had
bigger aims. He wanted to explore the world and the ‘myriad dark tunnels across
the world that could be conquered with love and expressed in poetry’.
Having discovered his real self, he never looked back. He
plunged headlong into his intellectual pursuits, philosophical cravings,
sensual conquests and academic brilliance. Nisha was left far behind. Before,
leaving for US, Shashi stayed at Nisha’s place where she secretly entered
Shashi’s room at 2 in the night, leaving Praful Bhai sleeping with his share
market dossiers. Once again, she was all Shashi’s and didn’t want him go away
even for a second. For a moment she thought of asking Shashi to take her along
to US, but she knew that he would not as he never actually fell in love with
her. For him, she was only a trouble shooter, an emotional support, route to
his self-realization and an extramarital sexual adventure. She came to see him
off at the metro station, and he was watching her, from the train, sobbing and
wiping her tears off, with her saree. Next three years passed as if Nisha and Shashi
would never see each other again. Shashi thought of Nisha as a childhood memory
which needed to go to make way for the future. But for Nisha, those two years
were the years of depression, death and betrayal.
“I am out of it now Shashi. It was very painful when you did
not even send a one-liner reply to my topless picture. My kids helped me come
out. Still, I have something stuck in the past memories and it can’t go.
Emotionally, I am always with you. And, you now, I have opened an NGO. We go
and feed malnourished children in deserts of Rajasthan. I feel my bliss with
them. I realize how shallow I was, neck deep in lust and carnal pleasures, and
foolishly I was trying to find love in those lustful nights. But, I have no
regrets. I am a women and I have every right to let my soul evolve and feel
happy. I had every right to have sexual ecstasy and it was the first time when
I listened to my heart and took my decision. With that, my soul came out of
years of bondage and in its journey of evolution; it has come far away from
lust to finding bliss with the kids of desert. Even though, the latter is a bit
painful. I don’t say that I have got rid of carnal bliss. I am still a passionate
lover in the bed but I don’t feel it for you anymore”, said Nisha, with a
streak of indifference, and a feeling of having superior sexual fantasies and
abilities.
Shashi was not just speechless, but also felt a vacuum
inside where there wasn’t even a desire to complain and find Nisha. He knew
that he was not talking the girl whose blouse was stuck in the keekar. The girl
now hardly wore a blouse. Now she was the one who could swim openly with her
bare body. Something had vanished and the innocence had found its way down her
navel, long back. But, he felt as if he was still stuck in the keekar and was
waiting in vain for the peacocks. Unfortunately, in Mumbai, it rained heavily
but peacocks never came.
He stepped out of the kitchen, feeling less and detached.
“After all, relations are alive as long as the actors involved are alive.
Rituals are defunct, dysfunctional and secondary. They keep a façade, which
might not be a state of happiness, but it certainly could be socially useful.
The façade of Nisha and Praful’s marriage had lasted and would last for its
material utility and under the burden of social conveniences. Had it been love,
it would have shattered and died under the compulsion of its own madness,
deceit, expectations, lust and the desire for power. My lips are still in the
milky white heaven but heavens left the keekar, woods and the sands of Thar far
behind”, thought Shashi. His parting ways with Nisha marked the onset of a
different phase in his life. The journey of soul had moved ahead in its march
towards detachment. It was leaving the wet and juicy tunnels of pleasure behind
and lust was giving way to the quest for spiritual gratification which seemed
even more confusing, disturbing and distant.
At this stage, frankly speaking the flow of the story comes
to a kind of standstill. So far the narration seems to have gone truthful,
objective to the best of my capacity, honest and in some sense meaningful.
Though, off late, I have kind of transcended the desire to find and impose
meanings in my life as well as my writings. The desire to find and impose
meanings comes out of ego and ignorance, I guess. Sometimes, making a casual
peace with the beauty of life and its flow could be meaningful or rather not,
but yes, this strain of detachment at the least makes us a little wiser and
happier, and I guess that is certainly a spiritually beautiful ending leaving
you smiling. Hence, the remaining part is not much of a writer’s world but more
of a real-life roller-coaster ride with its factual adventures leaving behind
the trail of emotional, philosophical and spiritual possibilities.
Shashi came out and rejoined his father and Shanti Sheth.
This time, he had come back but not with his baggage of philosophy, lust and
love. He had come as someone who Mishra Ji always wanted to see in him, the one
who did exist in him until the day he licked the dark, wet and slippery tunnels
of carnal bliss. He was feeling a kind of resurrection, resurrection of Shashi,
the professional man, focused, career oriented and ambitious worldly man. For
the first time, he found the conversation of Mishra Ji and Shanti Sheth, bit
interesting. Shashi found it rather amusing and interesting that for last three
decades their topics of conversation had more or less been the same. He was wondering
whether it was a heart, poised and calm, which had attained the most sought
after quietude inside and the stability of thoughts, or it was rigidity,
arrogance and ignorance of their minds which had calcified them in the realm of
thoughts, without the slightest inkling of their comatose minds, reaching their
neurons.
He saw Shanti Sheth showing his berretta .32 revolver to Mishra Ji, which was quite unusual for Shashi. He had never seen this man doing anything except fasting, reading Jaina scriptures and shutting his mouth with the white cloth in the evening for the fear of insects getting inside and dying. He could never even imagine this having any remote relation with a weapon. He was also telling something about dividing his property among his sons as all of them were old enough to handle it.
Shashi could not stop himself and asked Shanti sheth,
“Uncle, I could never imagine you with a weapon. Please explain”, at which,
Mishra Ji grinned sarcastically and said, “my son, how oblivious you are of the
ways of the world. That’s why I told you not to get into girls and poetry.
There is much to earn and explore. You know, your uncle has done his internship
with Haji Mastan”. “Saab, please pull the skeletons out of my old cupboards.
Shashi will think badly of his uncle”, said Shanti bhai with a smile that hid a
lot of unmentionables.
“No, uncle, please tell me. After all, you are not all that
boring”, uttered Shashi.
“My son, our adventures or rather misadventures were our
mistakes, our audacity or our ignorance, I can’t say for sure. But, yes, I
learned a lot and lost a lot. I could also have lost my life but tis fine. My
father was never happy with me as I was always glued to my radio-set when Lata
bai and Rafi saheb sang on vividh bharti. Sahir Saheb was my favorite shayar
(poet) and I was mad for joining the films of Bombay. I wanted to be like Dilip
Kumar. Like him, I fell in love Ahana bano. I knew nothing when I was with her
and was going to become a Muslim for her. I wrote endless couplets for her.
Then, one day in 1971, when we were on the verge of war, she migrated to
Pakistan with her family. I was left alone, shattered, disheartened with no
desire to live. My father, in haste got me married for the fear of social
disgrace. But, after Ahana, I felt my days in the village with poetry were
over. One night, I left without informing anyone, and I think, my father wanted
it that way. But my leaving the house was not a journey of self-enlightenment
like that of Mahavira and Buddha, who left their houses like me. Mine was an
escape from the haunting memories of Ahana, who I knew that I could never ever
find her again.
In Mumbai, one night I was sitting on sea side when I saw
few boxes being unloaded. They asked to help them and I did. They paid me and
gave me food. From then, I was made the in-chagre of that coastal track. I used
to unload every day and then, one day Haji bhai, who had come with Sukar
Narayan Bakiya Bhai, asked me,” You know, what’s inside the boxes?” I opened it
and they asked me to sell those gold biscuits in the market. I agreed to do
that and one day, when Inspector Shyam Bahadur chased me and fired at me, I
realized what I was doing. But Haji bhai was nice and he immediately sent me to
Chennai, from where I was asked to help Gyana Ji and Punja Ji, the two brothers
from Jalore. They were the real players of that underworld scene from the
behind. They were the ones who provides money and brains to Haji bhai. When I
met them, I found two emaciated, dark baniyas from Jalore, in a worn out dhoti .
They were not even the remote cousins of Sicilian mafia. Then, after their
dinner which usually consisted ghee and khitchri, gave me a beretta .32 and
advised me to use it to frighten only, as a true Jaina believes in
non-violence, but when someone spoils your profit, then use it to shoot him
down.
I was helping them in hawala for years. Then, I was sick of
that life where you got up with the fear of death every day. I said good bye to
Haji bhai and started dealing in antiques, which was a milder form of sin. I
was searching old and sick Rustam ji and Dinshaw Ji and Jaehangir bhoy to get
their priceless antiques at a throw away price. I was calling them papa and
mummy and fooling them all the time. I made a lot of money and then one day I
disappeared in the jungles of Burma, where I earned huge profits in teak. I
returned to Bombay, when anti-India feelings became violent in Rangoon. When I met your father, I had left my past
far behind except for one thing……………………………..let it be a secret.
Shashi felt like talking to Bombay while listening to Shanti
bhai. Bombay appeared like hot belle dancer to him, who was always ready for
the show. Only, the audiences and admirers changed with time. But none of them
left with grudges. Bombay was a passionate lover. Even if she said bye, it was
full of love and stories. He was now looking for Chanda, but Vimla Ji told him
that she had already left as she had to catch a flight to Delhi for a meeting
of NGOs.
After few days……………………..While getting into his old Contessa,
Shanti sheth was shot dead at 9 in the morning. He died at the spot. A trail of
blood went straight in the west…….the blood was hot, thick and a little dark……………….In
the end, it’s very different and pretty much same for all. From his pocket an
old post card was found which had a Karanchi address on it. It read…………… “Teri
gustaakh najar ke, ab bhi hai kayal hum……………..tumhari…….Ahaana bano”.
After a month, Shashi left for Washington D.C. for his World
Bank assignment. In his journey, he was again going back in time. Everything
flashed for a second before getting lost into the oblivion………Keekar came first,
then milky white heaven, Guman Singh Ji’s thick mustaches, then the wet,
slippery and lusty tunnels of carnal bliss…………………..Haji bhai, Ahanna, Gyana and
Punja ji………………………………..Teri Gustakh najar ke, ab bhi hai kayal hum and then
Shanti Bhai’s smiling face………..But he was leaving everything far behind.
Had it not been for the imaginary pleasure of the past and
future…………………..I would not come back as I already transcend………………………….
