He was known as G.Gecko…
He had always thought he will see stories from the other side. Then, looking at the brown yellow mass, it transpired that he had to go through the proper way too…
****
At station in the morning:
“Beauty, is in the nature of it, just like wet clay; always available for your ministrations. You don’t seek beauty, it comes to you on its own, gift wrapped and sealed with a kiss of love.”
Standing under the mildewed heat of the not so cool December morning, amongst a horde of unruly and despicable crowd, underneath shadows of unprotected and untrustworthy brittle metal ceiling, was not a place for romantic musings about beauty of life. Yet that is how Gulliver was. He had a tendency to see life in allusions. The picture in front of the eyes was far too inconsequential in front of the one going on behind.
Gulliver was as enigmatic you can be. His casual appearance and chilled out attitude never gave away the fact that he was a world renowned author. He often retreated to his recluse, seldom coming forth and giving interviews to the press who eagerly anticipated his interactions. In spite of being one of the most influential contemporary authors of his age, his face was still relatively unknown. A thing which he enjoyed and encouraged.
“Anonymity gives you a perspective fame seldom provides!”
This was his rationale. Yet over the years, people not recognising him lessened. So he started moving to places where they didn’t know him. After travelling through the various countries which charted publication of several bestsellers set in different time zones, Gulliver stationed himself in
In
Another reason which attracted him was the high spiritual leanings. He got fascinated by the kind of stuff these people could do with sheer hypnosis and mind power. Their philosophical currents and radical approach to life enthralled him. One of the reasons he prolonged his stay was to deeply invigorate the spiritual realms. In short he was in search of right master. And that is what brought him to the station that day.
Looking at his windswept blond, (Yellow! He would exclaim) hair, his unusual clothes, his white skin and luxurious possessions; taxi drivers started to hound him. One guy who knew little bit of English started pestering with an illusive hope of impressing him.
‘I show you everything.
“What’s your tariff?” he asked in a cheerful accent.
The guy did not understand. Gulliver searched for a meter in his car. He could not find one.
“What do you charge?” he asked again.
The guy spoke in his native dialect. Gulliver didn’t understand a word of it.
“Money? How much will you take to give me a tour of the country side?” he mimed at his wallet. The guy understood. Five fingers up.
“You mean five hundred, do you?”
He nodded, understanding for the first time.
“Done” he said sliding in the back seat of his car.
****
In the taxi, on the highway:
He noticed so many people walking in sweaters and having mufflers around their necks. He wondered how these people felt cold in that barely lukewarm atmosphere. He himself was feeling stifled in his open collared shirt and cotton pants. Or was that because he came from colder regions? He still found it funny that people fretted so much about body warmth at a place which was relatively warmer…
He noticed that the driver did not wear anything. He was curios fellow, that driver. Time and again he looked in the rear-view mirror and started furtively smiling about nothing. He didn’t even seem to be a driver. He looked around at the car and was surprised to find it quite luxurious. The other taxi’s appeared in a very bad condition.
“Ah, this country! I guess I will never understand it…” He sighed to himself.
“Don’t waste your time interpreting this country sir. As someone puts it;
Gulliver was shocked for a second. Their eyes met in the rear view mirror. He saw his eye brows raised at his confusion. As if he expected him to realise on his own much, much earlier.
“So you speak English and have read Kipling too.” He answered coolly. It was not a question. Just plain statement.
“Oh when you mention it, do you know you both come from the same place for a similar purpose?” he answered gaily, his voice showing no trace of sarcasm.
He was just left in amazement for few minutes. He looked outside the window and saw a heavy freight truck bounce off a big pothole. Then suddenly, it all started to make sense to him.
“Who are you?” he asked, his expression remaining unchanged.
“You can consider me as one of your avid readers and consistent follower. Luckily for me, I saw your most recent TV interview a few days ago. If I do not happen to be wrong, you had given it three years back. That was before coming to this indecipherable country? You mentioned you are coming just for ground work of your next novel. But your novel also released a year ago and still you are in this same place? Till my knowledge about you goes, I don’t suppose you like to be in limelight? Then why stay at one place for so long? Speculations are going rife at your mother country.”
“What kind of speculation?” he asked brusquely.
“Oh nothing that would please you. All I can say is that if you are not going to change your base soon, people will start thronging this country beyond your understanding, to catch a glimpse of elusive you.”
“Who are you?” he again repeated, his tone relaxing
“Told you. I am an Indian who likes to read your books. Just because from there he realises what not to do. You might not know, but in some cases you tend to counter influence your audience. I guess I am a unique case. Mundanely referring, I am a software engineer at Infosys. One of the upcoming global-Indian firms, which is charting its way up on the world scenario. If I am not mistaken, it goes completely against your philosophy?”
“And what do you conclude of it?”
“Well you have never mentioned it explicitly, but beneath the under-currents you have always implied that. Western denomination. Right to overwrite the weaker section, by which you mean the east. Survival of the excellence, the parameters of which are decided by the fittest, or the ones having a current upper-hand. Your plots, characters, themes all come to one conclusion. The world is for winners. But who sets the competition and who decides upon result is quite apparent. You may not like to hear it, but howsoever good author you might be, howsoever well you might narrate the stories, still your novels Suck! They stink of reeking arrogance which is going to end this so called supremacy of west. And it is WE, the generation of people who read YOU guys who are going to bring this change.”
“Stop!” he suddenly commanded. The Honda City screeched to a halt, squealing piteously while it crunched the gravel beneath its tyres. And then echoed the clicking of door gates being opened suddenly.
****
At the bridge overlooking the lake:
He had first seen it as one looks at the passing panorama, with an obvious indifference to the multitude of it. But then, he again twisted his head in its direction, as if attracted by some sudden recognition. As if finding a long lost friend amongst the horde of a crowd. And suddenly forgetting the conversation he was having with that unknown critic of his, he ordered him to stop.
He opened the door and stepped outside. Fresh air hit him and cool breeze whispered inside his ears. Out ahead in front of him lay the scene like an overtly sumptuous meal presented humbly on a simple platter.
The lakes water was not rippling, in spite of a small waterfall flowing into it at one end. Still, it seemed to have been held immobile by the sheer beauty of the environment. Green foliage surrounded, yet did not cover the place. Relief and ecstasy washed over his mind. He felt he was closer to his destiny than any other time.
Then, just like something small wriggling out of something bigger’s grasp, the hillside began to rumble. Then grumble. Then slither. And then not unlike the cascading waterfall few meters away, a part of mountain just came sliding down and blocked the latter part of road like a troublesome sentry. They were trapped.
He had always thought he will see stories from the other side. Then, looking at the brown yellow mass, it transpired that he had to go through the proper way too…
****
Stuck in the middle:
He looked at him, and got an inquisitive glance back. That reminded him of something else.
“If you knew me from the beginning, if you were aware of my purpose and destination, why all that pretence? Why did you not tell me right away at the station that you were not a taxi driver but a good for nothing loafer on my blood’s trail?” Sudden anger seethed inside him.
He uncrossed his legs and moved away from the car that he was leaning on to come nearer. Standing beside, and looking at the lake, he answered,
“I beg to differ on various counts. Firstly, I am not a good for nothing loafer. I am here on a personal vacation with my fiancée, and just wanted to get some kick, out of this monotonously boring place she has brought me to. That made me land at the station.”
“Secondly, I am not on, what did you put it as? Ah, your bloods trail… It was sheer happen-stance that you came to the same place at the same time. As you mentioned it in your work; in this country you just need to be at the right place at the right time. And I got lucky.”
“And thirdly, and this I would like you to answer. Tell me honestly, would you have taken my word if I had said anything different than what I did? You surely would not have hired me if I would have been behind your back. And judging by your arrogance, you certainly would not have accepted my denial to being a taxi man. As it is I was getting my life’s opportunity to convey to you what I feel, had reached epidemic urgency to be conveyed. Do you think I should have missed that opportunity?”
He looked in his direction. There was a malicious grin playing on his lips, though it didn’t seemed to reach his eyes. His eyes only had contempt. Contempt we usually show towards an incorrigible spot on a gleaming white surface. Suddenly he felt amused. Finally he got somebody who was ready to call a spade a fucking spade. There were a lot of things which could be learnt from this fellow.
“What place is this?” he asked dryly.
“It is a little nowhere called Bhandardara.”
“How far is it from Mombay?”
He snorted in disgust.
“Guess you’ll never give up on your western arrogance. For the record, it is called Mumbai. And it is quite faraway. More so with that.” He jerked his thumb towards the landslide. Gulliver paused and looked at the brown yellow mass. The road ahead was completed blocked. With the kind of infrastructure and municipal services in this part of the world, he could only expect things to be worse.
“I think you’ll have to spend time at least for another week in this place.”
“Is there any accommodation near by?” Gulliver asked.
He didn’t say anything. Just walked to his Honda city, and started the engine.
****
Back at the hotel:
He was about to push the black tinted swivel door when he got a jerk as if somebody had nudged him behind his navel. Balancing himself against the revolving door, he saw that it was already being pushed by a broad shouldered muscular man in blue uniform. He glanced at him, and for a second their eyes met. However, that second seemed to hold his attention like suddenly a flare was ignited in darkness. But the second passed. Then he walked ahead with the other guy behind him.
It was curious feeling he got, as he deposited his bag on the reception counter. A feeling you generally get when you feel you know something which cannot be expressed within knowledgeable terms of feeling.
He noticed a crib being constructed in the far end of the alley. Suddenly he realised it was Christmas next eve. He chuckled dryly. Holy time! Looking around he felt was a decent place. The archaic interiors and tasteful decorations went well with the petite size of the place.
Just for confirmation, he asked the guy on the counter.
“Are you the person in charge of reception?”
He looked in the guy’s direction. He was scornfully smiling.
“Yes I am. How may I assist you?”
Just then somebody screamed from the end of the alley that purportedly lead to the rooms.
“Arpit!”
The guy jerked in that direction. Suddenly the colour drained from his face, and from scorn, his expression changed to that which would have seemed appropriate on pups face.
“Where the hell were you since all this time! Do you know mister that I have been searching you like crazy since past half an hour?”
“I am sorry. I am sorry. Just was out was feeling bored and you were asleep, so took a short trip…” he said while pulling her away back to the rooms. Their voices started disappearing as they went ahead.
“I don’t care. Do you know how worried…”
Gulliver just smiled to himself. Paid the amount and took the keys which the guy was giving.
“Don’t you have any bell boys or escorts?” he asked cheerily.
“Of course we have sire. Wait a minute.”
He pressed the bell and again the broad shouldered body builder came in. He directed him to escort. Nodding, he took the luggage off Gulliver’s hand and started taking him to his room.
He followed him wondering whether the guy ever cared to know which room did he want to go.
It turned out that he already knew, without anyone telling him, without even once looking at the keys…
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