Dedicated to Ma & Papa, who made me believe in unconditional love.

BOOKED TILL DECEMBER

Nasrun min Allahi wa fathun qareeb

(With the grace of Allah, victory will be near.)

                                                                                                          The Holy Quoran

Part 3

WB-1734, left Sealdah 10 mins ago.

He looked out through the moving bus immediately after he sent the message. He tried to recall how long he had followed this routine. 3 months. Every working day, he would get into the bus, take a seat and message her the bus number. She would get on the bus two stops later. She would offer her best smile to him, tuck the forehead hair that would be flowing around her ears. He would just look at her, stand up and give her the seat. And then the journey would commence. All along he would just listen to her talk, pelting him with questions, stories about his childhood, about his boss, the targets. At times Prakarsh stole a glance at her, taking care that she never noticed. He would often wonder at the radiance of her smile, the tattoo on her palm, her white skin, the precision with which her hairs were interlocked before tying a knot out of them. He felt uneasy when she looked at him. He felt weak. Nervous. It made him feel good and wretched at the same time.

One day , around 3 weeks ago, Aasman had just learned that Prakarsh didn’t bring his breakfast as he had to leave home very early to catch the train.

“So you eat at that dilapidated street dhaba? Every day?” she exclaimed, shocked at the revelation.

He stretched his arms and looked at himself.

“What is the big deal? I am alive and kicking”

He thud his right leg to support the latter assertion.

“It is dirty, filthy, totally non vegetarian, and absolutely unhygienic”

“Why don’t you cook some breakfast for me? Vegetarian and hygienic.”

He smiled at her in sarcasm. She didn’t.

Two things changed after that day. Aasmaan enrolled for classes on ethnic vegetarian cooking and Prakarsh Tiwari never ate at the dhaba ever again.

His chain of thoughts broke only when she tapped his shoulder.

“Thinking something?” she smiled.

He has got used to her smile. The day felt impossible without a bit of it.

“No” he said, got up and gave her the seat.

When they got down, like the daily practice, Prakarsh was handed a Tupperware lunch box (it carried his breakfast however). He was about to leave when Aasman stopped him.

“Prakarsh, I almost forgot. I made this for you.”

She took out a neat small box and handed it to him.

Prakarsh opened it. Sewaiyaan, sweetened vermicelli.

Prakarsh never said no to anything that she offered. He did not know what to say.

“What about you?”

She smiled.

“It is Ramjaan. I have my fast.”

Prakarsh put the tiny box in his bag.

He was about to take to the pavement of his office, when he realized something. The fast. It would break in the evening.

He rushed to catch her.

“Aasman...”

She stopped.

After some initial struggle, he took the box out from his bag.

“Here, you keep this for me. We will have it together in the evening on our way back.”

Aasman smiled and took the box back into her bag.

Neither of them noticed a guy clicking a picture of the two of them from his latest Iphone.

...........

He was with his brand team when he first saw the lights go off.  About a minute later the lights were running again.

“They have put on the generator. But the damn air conditioners won’t work.” Ashraf growled.

For reasons he never understood, he wanted to message Aasman and ask what she was up to. During the last few weeks that had been the most perceptible change. In seclusion, he would open the inbox of his cell phone and read her messages. He would then recall what his replies had been.

 About an hour passed and nothing strange happened. It was around that time Ashraf ran to him.

“Sirjee, save your excel databases, we are about to be blacked out.”

Prakarsh merely glowered. Being the brightest new sales manager, Ashraf always had the propensity for the theatrical.

Ashraf raised both of his hands in the air seeing that his words had not elicited the desired response.

“The Eastern electricity Grid. It has tripped. The entire state is out of electricity.”

Prakarsh thought for a moment. The air conditioners were off for a long time now. He had himself loosened his tie to combat the searing temperature.

But the computers. They aren’t working on generators. The supply to the computers is still there.

He looked beneath to confirm. The C.P.U was blinking.

“Sirjee we are lucky. The Nightingale Hospital next to our Unilever Building. It is being provided electricity because there are three emergency operations going on. So we are also getting the supply. But it will close any moment.”

Prakarsh saved the file he was working on. He came out of his workplace and went to the reception. It was dark. He knew the blackout would last for a while.

He rang up Aasman.

He was about to hang up when he heard a response from the other side.

“Prakarsh?” she responded. He had never called during office hours.

“The electric supply to your office ...is it there?”

“No, the generators were running till now. But it has given up now.”

Prakarsh felt strange asking the next question.

“You are fasting. Right? You are ok?”

On the other side, Aasman smiled. In the last three months, she knew she had someone who cared more about her than she herself did. Only thing was Prakarsh never made this explicit. Aasman knew it would have taken a great effort on his part to ask her this question.

“Yes Prakarsh, I am fine. You have got loads of work?”

“I will complete it in my home. You let me know when you will leave. I will meet you at the bus stop.”

“If I finish early, I will come to the Unilever building.” she said.

“Okay. The one who finishes work early will reach the other’s office. We will take a cab if need be.”

“Ahem, ahem,” she coughed.

 There was a moment of silence.

Prakarsh remembered.

“And the vermicelli... We will have it on our way back.”

It was about 5 pm, when the security staff of the Unilever Building called all the employees for something important. They all gathered in the cafeteria. Ashraf was the one most excited. No more branding plans, no more storyboards. Every adversity had a flip side, and Ashraf thrived on it. Prakarsh could not feel the same wave of enthusiasm. His mind hovered around a girl, who had not had lunch.

After some time, Mr. Devang Mehra, the man responsible for the logistics of the Unilever building, entered. He was carrying a rock in his hand.

The entire room went quiet. Mr. Mehra was pleased at the effect his entry had produced.

“You know what this is?” Mr. Mehra interrogated as he threw up the rock from his hand and caught it.

“The ingredient of our new fairness cream.”

 Everybody turned back. Ashraf looked at them with an innocence that is the badge of a salesman. The entire staff laughed. A senior manager stared at Ashraf gesturing him to shut up.

Mr. Mehra was livid. The momentum. The idiot had broken the momentum he had managed to pick.

“No Mr. Ashraf. Novel as your thought process is, that is not the case.”

He looked at the others dourly. Pin drop silence. This was the fifteen seconds of fame moment he had dreamed of all his life.

“We are under attack.”

Some ladies gasped. Other men just looked bewildered. Prakarsh was unimpressed.

“A girl was molested near Nagaland house about an hour ago. We don’t know about her identification yet. People started pelting stones at the traffic policeman nearby. As he was trying to save himself a car crushed him.”

He paused for a moment for the story to sink in.

“Gentleman and dear ladies, we have a mini riot going on outside.”

This time the gasps were louder. The exclamations more pronounced.

Devang barked, “The police have secured the area. You are out of bounds. All of you. We don’t know when the electricity will be back. We are trying to make arrangements for dinner. Stay put fellas. We have a long night ahead of us.” he looked at the staff for a few seconds knowing very well his moment of limelight won’t come again.

Prakarsh felt uneasy.

 If I finish early, I will come to the Unilever building.

 He shuddered.

 Prakarsh went to the corner of the cafeteria, and looked out through the frosted glass. 

He could see a swarm of people gathered around the hospital gate, very close to the crossing. A motley group of armed men were trying to control them.

Boom....at first he thought only he was the one to hear the blast. But when Ashraf clutched his hand, he knew.....this was no Hindi movie scene which would get over as soon as the director blurted CUT.

He felt a weakness in his chest he had seldom felt. He quickly moved to his place and dialed her number. The line could not be connected. He tried again. But it still could not connect to his cell.

He had a vague sensation that a part of him was quivering.At times like these the mind can recollect all the horror stories one reads in the newspaper. Prakarsh shook his head.

 It was only a matter of time before he made the decision.

His work place was on the 7th floor. He would take the stairs. He wondered how long before he encountered opposition. He got his answer earlier than he expected. Ashraf caught hold of him as he was about to descend down the stairs.

“Sirjee, where are you going?”

“Ashraf, I need to leave. It is a matter of life and death.”

Ashraf had known Prakarsh for the last six months. He had been the happiest when Prakarsh had been transferred to the Theatre road office. He often wondered how easily Prakarsh achieved his sales targets. Twice he had given Ashraf leads so that he could achieve more than the assigned sales volume.

Ashraf idolized Prakarsh, but was only too scared to say it. He had never seen him smile. He wondered how someone like him could be so serious.

A matter of life and death. He knew Prakarsh was not exaggerating.

“Sir, someone from security or the police will stop you midway. The police just fired a tear gas to disperse the mob.”

Prakarsh did not say anything. He looked at Ashraf with resignation.

Ashraf gave the situation a thought. He looked at Prakarsh and gestured him to follow.

Prakarsh switched on the torch of his cell. It was very dark. He had a faint idea he was going through the emergency exit.As he kept descending into a never ending hollow pit, Ashraf remarked, “I come here to smoke sometimes.”

It was a while after which they both saw the faint outline of the moon. They had evaded the security guards.

“This road leads to the American Centre. Please be careful. If they get hold of you today, they will think they have a jackpot.”

Prakarsh looked at the boundary wall he would have to cross. His wrist watch beeped. It was 6. He thought about Aasman.

“Ashraf, I owe you one.”

“That you do Sir.” Ashraf replied as he saw the lanky outline of Prakarsh disappear in the dusk.

The road was surprisingly empty. Prakarsh tried to understand his location. He knew he could not take the direct road to the alley that lead to Aasman’s workplace. He would surely be caught. He tried to recall the name of the building. Amherst Towers. He did not know where she worked. Come to think about it, he did not know anything about her at all. A pang of guilt bit him. In these three months, she had asked everything about him, his favorite color, the sneakers he wore on Fridays, what his brother’s favorite song was, how his three year old nephew pestered him when he returned from office - she had grilled him better than a cop. He did not even know where she worked. He trembled that he may be too late.
The indirect route which Prakarsh took to reach the building helped him avoid cops all right. But it took him an hour to reach there. As he approached the building he could see a large crowd in front of the portico. He wondered if the effect of the riot had reached so far. He did not want to think about it. He struggled through the crowd. When he reached the entrance, two heavily built men stopped him. One of them lighted a torch and pointed the pen of light right on to his face.

“Where to, Sahib?” one of the men asked.

“I am looking for a friend, Aasman Pervez.” He hoped they would not ask where she worked. He did not have the answer.

Prakarsh waited for an answer from either of them.

The older one looked gravely. He twirled his moustache and remarked, “I am afraid Sir we had to evacuate the entire building once we heard about the riot.”

Prakarsh turned back. For most of the past three months, Aasman returned with him. He had adjusted his work schedule deftly. He attended most of the client calls early morning, his presentations in the afternoons and the inhouse team meetings early in the evening. He waited for her at the bus stop. The entire day, he waited for the 20 minutes of the return journey on the bus. Every minute of it.  With her. Just with her.

 In ways he could never imagine, Aasman Pervez had turned his life upside down. And she had managed the feat with just a smile and a Tupperware lunch box.

He walked back to the entrance portico of Ahmerst towers. He looked around the swarm of people meandering near the pavement. No sign of her. As he was brooding over his next course of action, he heard someone.

“And that is the whole summary of my life, when I need the cell phone network, the connectivity is zero. No network. Great.” He looked at the direction from where the voice came. A young man was looking at his phone in disgust. Some of his friends were giggling at the young man’s plight.

It was then that it dawned on him. Some of the cell phone towers run on electricity too, others use a generator. He prayed that the former was the reason why Aasman’s phone was not getting connected.

He looked at his watch. 7 pm. He raised his head and looked at the darkness all around. He would wait. Nothing can happen to her.

 She is fine. Absolutely fine.

 He sat down on the stairs of one of the electronic shops that had closed for the day.  His cell phone had lost its network. This time he did not think too much about the newly generated travesty.

She is fine. He kept muttering.

...........

She looked at the watch. 7 pm. She realized she was only 10 minutes from his office.

She had left office almost immediately after she got the news of the riot.

The one who finishes work early will reach the other’s office. She trembled at the consequences of those words. She had tried to call but there was no connectivity .She kept walking close to the pavement. Far away she could hear the vociferous bleating of a large crowd. She looked around. She only saw two more people walking behind her. The street was deserted.

It was then that she heard the explosion.

Almost on reflex, she rushed to take shelter in a boutique nearby. The two other men behind her also entered the shop. The shopkeeper did not want to invite any more guests. This was a boutique not the American Embassy. He lit a candle. Then he rushed forward and closed the front door of the shop.

“I will open this door only when I am sure this place is out of trouble. If you want to leave, now is the time.”

He looked at the faces of the three people. Only the girl looked like revolting to the proposition.

 A minority.

 He locked the door from inside.

..........

 He looked at his watch. 10 pm. Then he looked at his cell phone. No network. He kept gazing at the far end of the street hoping to see her.

Almost at that instant he saw the lights coming on. Some people gathered and pointed to the traffic lights that had just sprung to life. Then his cell phone rang.

He did not even need to see the number. It had to be her.

“Where are you Aasman? I am at your office.” he corrected himself  instantly,” I am at the entrance of Ahmerst Towers. Are you all right? Have you reached home yet?” he was panting as the words came out.

There was an eerie sense of silence.

“Aasman where are you?” he repeated.

“Prakarsh…” Aasman called from the other end. “I am in front of your Unilever building.”

Prakarsh looked at his watch. Everyone at the office must be out. She must have waited for him like he did.

“Aasman you should have returned home. Your parents must be worried. You should have returned. Why did you need to wait?”

Aasman did not reply. She just clutched a tiny circular box containing sweetened vermicelli.

………………………………..

As he puffed out the smoke of his bidi, Bishnuram nudged the elbow of his fellow security staff. He pointed the fellow’s attention to the couple sitting on a bench just close to the entrance of Ahmerst Towers. During nights he often saw young couples sitting on the bench. The ritual that would follow next was almost routine. The girl would sit on the boy’s thighs and start biting his ear, while the boy would caress the breasts of the girl with one hand and try to undress some part of her clothing with the other.  Bishnuram had come to take a voyeuristic pleasure in that. He only intervened when the moaning of the girl exceeded the mandated decibel level of the posh society. Today as he was taking the mandatory nocturnal rounds of the Ahmerst Towers, he saw a boy and a girl sitting on that notorious bench. None of them talked. A small round box was placed on the bench between them and they took turns to eat something from it using a lone spoon.

Yes, that was the strange part. No one talked.

“And I thought I had seen it all.” he remarked knocking down the charred ashes of his bidi.

………………………

She looked at his message immediately after she closed the door of her room and shut the lights.

“I got the train. You go to sleep.”  Aasman had now memorized the travelling pattern of Prakarsh. After the bus journey, he would take a train from Sealdah. The whole train journey took him an hour. You go to sleep. She smiled as she read the message again.

She typed the reply.

“I will be awake. Let me know when you reach home.”

She looked across the road from her window. Her father had been livid with her being late. However he did not tell anything. He never did after what had happened in the past. His brother on the other hand was loud in his remonstrations. He had called all her friends at the office. They had reached their homes long back. What was she doing so late?

Aasman told him about getting locked down in the boutique. She told him about the blast.

“And where the hell is your bag?” he barked. Aasman’s father did not react.

“I kept it in my office. I was afraid it would be snatched in the mob frenzy.” she answered quickly.

“But you remembered to take this vermicelli box with you?”

This time, Aasman did not reply.

Half an hour passed.

Her cell phone beeped. He must have reached. She quickly rolled over the bed and grabbed the cell.

An unknown number. She opened the message. It had an attachment. She raised her eyebrow. While the attachment downloaded, she read the message.

 She wished she had not.

“Saw you with this guy today. I knew there was a slut in you the first time I saw you. Then why all the drama that day? All I wanted was to give it to you just once. But if you think I will let you go, you are wrong. I will make your life such a hell you would wish it was over that day itself. My fucking whore.”

She trembled as she opened the attachment. It was a picture of her handing Prakarsh a tiny box. She shuddered.

Her cell phone beeped again. She fumbled with her phone. Reluctantly she looked at the message. She wiped the tears off her eyes to clear her vision. She was shaking.

“I have reached. Now get a good night’s sleep. And thanks for the vermicelli. It was worth the wait.”

Now get a good night’s sleep.

Had the message not been from Prakarsh she would have found the lines almost cruel. There would be no sleep tonight. Not anymore.

She put her head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling above. The past. She had forced herself to forget everything. The memories. They swarmed back.

A speck of glistening tear rolled from the corner of her eye. As she was fighting to force back those memories into depths of void, she kept mumbling the only words she could remember.

Nasrun min Allahi wa fathun qareeb

6 months ago she had heard her father say the exact words as he had looked over the corpse of his wife, vacillating from a ceiling fan.

The next day Aasman had slashed her right wrist with a knife.

Part 4 Next Week.

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