“I know Sir, I know. Even I could not believe it. But it was just gone. As they say, time heal all wounds, no matter how deep, all one needs to do then is not to give up. And I am thankful to my fortunes that saved me from giving up that dark night,” he declared, some enthusiasm creeping in his voice for the first time during the whole conversation.
“Life teaches us many lessons indeed,” Raghuvir could only offer the threadbare axiom as a paltry requital to the young man’s insights; he was still not sure about the veracity of his words.
“Many lessons indeed it does, Sir,” the young man agreed. “You want to know the most important one I learned?”
“Please do tell.”
“Well next time I am with a girl, I am not even touching her before I get her to sign an affidavit stating that I had not obtained her consent through any dubious means whatsoever.”
And the last comment made the two men exchange amidst themselves a bit of a chortle.
Raghuvir wondered if he should propose a similar thing to Anoothi during their date tomorrow. Will she accede to signing such a document, or will she smash his head in to a brick wall first? Very much sure that it was going to be the latter, it only took him close to a couple of seconds to drop the idea altogether.
*******
5
In front of the city’s clock tower, Ankit and Neha were hovering. It was late after midnight, in moon light blues the red bricked structure of the tower and its surroundings were dipped, the air around was heavy and was suffused with the eerie humming of the crickets, to whose haunting buzz danced innumerous tiny little motes in wave like patterns, and coalescing with it all were the dull grating sounds emanating from the movement of the black hands of the turret clock over its white dials.
The time on the dial facing the east was 15 minutes past 3.
“Are you going to tell me what exactly we are doing here, staring at some clock at such a late hour?” asked Ankit, his voice a hushed whisper. There were men asleep on the footpath near the base of that tower, but Ankit was not concerned about disturbing them, for he knew that only ghosts could hear ghost voices, it was rather the quiet of the night that he wished not to disrupt, and thus he kept his voice low and soft.
Neha did not reply to him at all, instead she seemed busy concentrating upon counting the passing moments by flicking her thumb across the tips of her fingers in a sequential manner. As those clock hands began to drift precariously closer to each other, she suddenly grabbed Ankit by the arm and tugged at it forcefully, pulling him along as she flew straight into the dial of the clock.
A sudden yelp, a sharp gasp, a whizzing journey through a whirling kaleidoscopic tunnel, and suddenly Ankit found himself thrown in to the confines of some poorly lit basement. He looked at Neha, who was still beside him, with perplexed and astonished eyes – Just what in the name of physics defying sorcery had happened here?
“Whenever the hands of that clock overlap, it creates a portal we ghosts can use to travel in to the nether world,” Neha revealed, as she sat herself down on one of the crates there in order to catch her breath.
“Wait, you mean we are in the nether world right now?” Ankit asked looking around, when he had first heard about it from Neha , he had imagined it to be some sort of a surreal fantastical place with all sort of enchanting and grotesque apparitions, but this old dusty basement with these stacks of crates, well it could only at best be described as bland in his opinion.
“Indeed we are. Come, there is someone I want you to meet,” Neha said, as she fleeted towards a flight of steps that led to the upper levels. Ankit readily followed her, and it was soon that he found himself standing in the premises of a smoke filled bar. The whole place was irradiated by a dim red light, the center aisle surrounded on either side by tables and comfortable chairs, upon which were seated specters and wraiths of variegated forms, blithesomely enjoying their hookahs and booze.
But then there came an abrupt cessation in their mirthful activities, as they noticed the presence of the two pristine white ghosts amidst themselves, who were a sharp contrast to their own colorful forms. Ankit saw that he and Neha had begun to attract many a sharp and spiteful glances from these other wraiths, which perturbed him and caused him to momentarily halt in his steps.
“Come along now, you don’t want to stand in this antagonistic crowd for long,” Neha whispered to him urgently, as she once again grabbed his arm in an attempt to usher him off. Gathering his bearings, Ankit duly responded, and soon they crossed the whole of that aisle, and found themselves coming across the main bar section at the end of it, where a young woman, with red flaring hair and a light freckled snub nose, was busy preparing drinks that were then percolated through the whole of the premises by the waiters present there.
It was this young woman, whom Neha went on to address, their conversation inaudible to Ankit under the din of the rock metal music blaring over the speakers of the bar. By and by, the young red haired woman, after listening to the white ghostess’ entreaty, stepped out of her bar area and led the two of them away towards a wooden cabin located upstairs.
“I will go and tell him of your coming, you just wait here,” the barmaid instructed the two of them, now that the commotion of the outside was drowned out by the wooden walls of the enclosure they were in, Ankit was able to hear her raspy voice quite clearly, which to his ears, felt as chafing as that distasteful music downstairs.
Fortunately he did not have to bear with it for long, as the red haired woman rapidly departed from there after that, leaving Ankit and Neha alone in the cabin. The cabin, made up of four wooden walls, was stacked on three sides by comfortable looking red velvet couches, while the fourth was reserved for the door through which they had entered it. The upper halves of these walls were embellished with a motif of sparkly purple and red flowers, while the ceiling above was painted in an allegory which bespoke of a popular lore of this world, wherein the hero Kirtirath, depicted in the form of a lofty powerful figure, was being handed over the greatly coveted Madira flower by the Gods, after he had won it for the nether world in a game of magical pebbles, defeating Vir Ras, that celebrated specter of the higher realms, who was portrayed in the fable as a dwarf kneeling in supplication at Kirtirath’s feet. As a result of Kirtirath’s triumph, the Madira flower, from which the inebriant Madrico was extracted, could only be grown in the lands of the nether world from that day onwards, thus making the other two realms, mortal and spiritual, forever dependent upon it for their alcoholic needs.
“The ghosts out there did not seem too fond of us,” Ankit commented, as he seated himself in one of the corners of the cabin.
“Many of them have always had an aversion for us outsiders, especially since the middle ages, when the Gods barred them from entering the mortal world because of the havoc they created back then. All those horror stories from the ages past that kids hear from their grandmothers and great Aunts, all true, and all bestowed upon humanity by these ghosts of the nether world, from the time when they were free to roam the earth. But then one day the Gods got sick of their stunts and just confined them to this underworld; the portal used to move between the two worlds was closed for beings of their spiritual energy, and to this day it only grants passage to us, the specters of the positive spirit, which only fuels their envy and enmity towards us,” Neha explained. “I am not saying all of them are punks, there are many who are perfectly wonderful creatures to mingle with and be friends with, but yeah, most of them are dangerous, as such I would advise you to be very careful while roaming around here.”
“Yeah kid, listen to her, it will save you a lot of trouble.” Suddenly fell upon their ears, the rough masculine voice of a figure which had sneaked in to the cabin during their little chat.
“Monty, the maverick,” Neha turned around and gave a smile of familiarity to the entrant before floating forth to hug him. Monty the maverick, a tall lanky specter, dressed in old denims, a fine pair of brown leather boots and a
black Nirvana t-shirt, his face carrying the glow of youth, black eyes carrying the gift of clairvoyance, his dapper look completed by his curly beard combed out and tied under his chin with a black rubber band along with a black turban tied around his head that tapered in to a sharp impeccable apex, all in all, the man looked a mannequin of some high end fashion store come to life.
“Neyah, Neyah, Neyah,” exulted Monty, reciprocating the ghostess’ embrace. “How come you are here today huh? Finally got time for this friend of yours?”
“You know how it is. The whole love business keeps me effing busy, or else I would have visited more often,” Neha explained with a shrug of her shoulders as she stepped back after breaking the warm hug.
“You and your love business, and when the hell are you yourself, is gonna fall in love huh?” Monty quipped.
“Come on now. Don’t turn so quickly from Monty the maverick, in to Monty the spastic,” She rejoined with a giggle.
“Shut up, Neyah the Neanderthal,” He riposted, and both of them fell in to some friendly laughter.
“Oh I forgot to introduce…” Neha said, shaking her head at her momentary forgetfulness. “This here is Ludhiana’s new ghost of wisdom, Ankit, and this here is one of my dear friends, Monty.”
“Glad to meet you kid,” Monty came forward and proffered his hand towards Ankit, who was looking a little lost in his thoughts at the moment.
The warm hugs, the affectionate repartees, him being introduced with that tepid official title while the other party was getting labeled as a dear friend, the whole string of events was all so disconcerting to him, engendering in him envy as well as a feeling of being left out.
“Hey kid, you alright?” Monty tried to draw his attention, his extended hand still lingering there.
“Oh..y..yes..” Ankit stuttered, and took the adversary’s hand while coming out of his reverie.
“Good, good, my company can be a bit overwhelming to some at first,” Monty chuckled some more. Ankit of course was least amused by his hackneyed jest, and just replied to it with a smile, out of mere courtesy.
Monty and Neha then went on to place their ethereal derrieres on the couches there, and with Ankit already seated, the three of them were finally ready to confer about the more important issues of the night.
“So what is it that brings you here tonight?” Monty began by asking. “Another shopping excursion in the Pret-Bazaar?”
“Not this time around, No. Actually I need a small favor from you, it is about one of my..ermmm..love cases,” Neha responded. “You know any of the Shimla’s seven?”
“A couple of them yes, fond of my booze they do visit the club once in a fortnight or so,” Monty answered.
“Well, next time you see one, just…” Neha paused, and silently enunciated one of the Sugams, which then made appear a folded piece of paper in the palm of her hand. “Deliver to them this message of mine.” And she thrust her hand forth and handed the paper over to Monty.
“A billet doux, is it?” Monty inquired cheekily.
“Yeah, heart shaped dots over my I’s, verses of romantic poetry, and an impression of my lipsticks kiss at the bottom, need any more information?” Neha answered back with a little shake of her head.
“Alright, alright, no need to get all cranky on my ass,” Monty sniggered, before tucking the letter safely away in to one of the front pocket of his jeans. “Is that it then?”
“That is it for now,” Neha replied with a nod. “We can peacefully spend the rest of the night getting drunk,” She went on to suggest, giving the cue to Monty that it was time to order those drinks.
“Sure, sure, but before we do that, I have something else I need to tell you,” Monty said, before hesitatingly pointing towards the newcomer in the room with his gleaming clairvoyant eyes.
“He is a friend, don’t worry, I trust him completely, you can say what you have to say in front of him,” Neha urged.
Good to know she still considers me a friend, thought Ankit, his only thought in the whole conversation, in which he had been sitting so far as a mock spectator.
“Well, that haggard looking ghost of your city, what is his name, yeah Arjun, well recently he has begun coming around here a lot, almost every other night,” Monty revealed. “But that is not what concerns me, no, countless ghosts come here to this place to drink away their sorrows, it is not at all some anomaly for me to be concerned about, what caught my attention though is the crowd he has been keeping with in these past few weeks.” And here, Monty scooted forth, before disclosing the rest of the information in the form of a surreptitious whisper. “It’s Vichitrasen and his boys he has been hanging around with.”
“Vichitrasen and his boys you say?” Neha repeated, as she sank in her seat a little. “What is he doing hanging out with those thugs?” she wondered out loud.
“That I have no idea of, I thought I best tell you before he ends up falling prey to one of their wicked tricks,” Monty went on. “Its best you advise him to stay away from those swindlers.”
“Yeah, as if he would ever listen to me,” Neha responded with a wistful sigh, mindful of Arjun’s acerbity towards her. “But I will see what I can do,” she added. “Is he here tonight?”
“No, he is not,” Monty answered. “Anyways, let us order those drinks then, for getting you drunk is my best chance of getting you in my bed,” Monty joked.
“Distasteful humor of an old maid,” Neha murmured, rolling her eyes.
“That is why I want you to add some spice to it,” rejoined Monty, with a mischievous wink.
“Just shut up and order those drinks, will ya?” Neha sighed in defeat, knowing there was no winning this verbal joust.
And so Monty got up from his seat, went to open the door of the cabin, and standing at its sill, yelled out instructions for the barmaid downstairs, who in due time came up with their drinks. For the next few hours, the three of them stayed there, enjoying the different tangs and varieties of that ethereal liquor Madrico. While Monty and Neha continued their banter and also reminisced over some incidents of their shared past, Ankit continued to feel left out and kept sulking in silence.
It was towards the wee hours of the morning that this binge finally came to an end, after which the two ghosts of the mortal world, with their white forms ripply due to all that booze in their systems, took their leave and stumbled out of the bar in to the dark foggy streets of the underworld.
“How do we get out of here then?” Ankit asked, yawning, specks of golden whiskey flying out of his mouth as he did so.
“Huh..??” Neha exclaimed, and burped. “Oh..yeah..getting out of here..” she muttered, some delayed understanding dawning upon her sloshed mind. Lacking much coordination in her movements, she somehow managed to grab Ankit’s hand and flew with him upwards, up above all that dense fog.
Higher and higher they went, until they were in the clearing, over them was the radiant night sky littered with streaks of green aurora lights and innumerous twinkling blue stars, underneath them was the shroud of dense fog that covered the whole of the underworld and presently hid it completely from their eyes, and a little in front of them, was an ominous looking gothic clock tower, its ginormous height making it the only structure in the visible range which jutted above all that fog.
“So, I guess, it is more of the same routine,” Ankit said, to which Neha just bobbed her head a couple of times, and so they headed for the dials of the tower. Upon reaching it, Ankit noticed that they were late, for the minute hand had already crept past the hour’s one by a few degrees. “Just a few minutes late we are,” he exclaimed with a tired sigh.
“the clocks..here..actually run backwards, so we are rather a few minutes early..” Neha answered, her half closed eyes wandering lazily over the dial, waiting for those clock hands to come together so they could make the journey back home.
“Oh..very well..” And as Ankit paid close attention, he indeed discovered that the minute hand was
approaching the hour’s one rather than going away from it.
“What was that letter about?” Ankit asked, staring at the clock and seeing that they still had a little time to spare.
“That man on the rooftop from the other night, remember him?” Neha replied.
“Yeah, the one smiling at the stars, I remember him,” Ankit said.
“Well, he has been searching for a woman he loved for the past many years, the letter was to arrange a meeting between them,” Neha disclosed. Her face then suddenly attained a sad and pensive look, as she murmured in a heavy drunk voice, the next three words. “one..last..meeting..”
“Wh.a..” Ankit was about to ask, but before he could finish with his query, he was getting pulled by Neha towards the dial of the clock, whose hands were now perfectly overlapping one another.
*******
Last evening she had fallen for the romantic innocence in the words of a nomadic poet, and this evening she had a date with the same fella, but before the evening, there was the morning and there was the afternoon, ones that in an ideal world she should have spent in the anticipation of the coming rendezvous, but as destiny would have it, Anoothi was being forced to expend that time on entertaining a trio of guests, who were there in her house towards the purpose of arranging a marriage for her.
Firstly there was the father of the boy, a shrunken old man dressed in a somber grey suit of some long past fashion, whose whole existence consisted of nodding his head to everything his wife said, that light grizzly moustache upon his blanched lips, perhaps the last little attempt to hold on to some former known manhood.
Then there was his wife, the mother of the boy, an imposing, presumptuous and judgmental lady of a portly figure, dressed in the finest of silk Saris, a doting mother who could not hear a word spoken against the glory of her perfect son, her most prominent feature being her thick plush lips, currently coated in dark maroon lipstick, these were the sort of lips that suckled the life out of husbands all around the world on a regular basis, the poor chaps thought that they were getting kissed, but in fact they were getting their spirits sapped and their dreams crushed.