Sands of Marwaar

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………………………….