Reddish

Ridwan works in a multinational corporation. He has a very hectic job which seldom allows him to follow the agreed work hours of 9 hours a day and 5 days a week. On a typical Thursday, Ridwan enters office with a pleasurable mind—the week is finally ending.

The all too familiar jazzy sound of his cell phone started ringing. Boss is also on a call, so I might as well take the call.

“Hi Ridd, how’s life?”

“Life’s good on Thursdays...you know that very well. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing much; I am also glad that a tough week is ending.”

“Talk about toughness! I had two tough presentations as well as many other ad-hoc tasks that I absolutely had to finish this week.”

“Oh yeah, all the businesses are going through the mid year craziness, and the bosses have become suit wearing lunatics!”

“Anyways, wanna catch up with the updates after work?”

“Heh, as if there’s much to update! But hell yeah, I’d love to get together. What about the rest?”

“I’ll be calling them as well. Just give me a call when you’re outta office”.

“Cool, see you in 9 hours!”

Ridwan, Rizwan, Ronny and Rakesh—the four R’s, as they call themselves, have been friends since primary school. It’s kind of amazing that even after so many years, they still stick together. They all began their life journey at the same point of time and they grew up through the 80s and 90s to see cassettes and VHS tapes getting replaced by CDs, DVDs and Mp3s.

Ridwan noticed that the sole female colleague in his department is cutting a red apple in two halves. She wakes up late, and used to come late at work a lot. After several warnings and an eventual HR threat, she started arriving early. But that also means that she started bringing in breakfast from home; which she never shared. No matter what the core breakfast is, she would almost always finish it off with an apple, some grapes, an orange, or some bananas.

“What is redder than a red apple?”, wondered Ridd, as friends affectionately called him. Ridd, Ron, Riz and Rack they became. None of them are working in the same fields now. After school, half of them studied in the same college, but after college, there remained nothing common in their career choices. But still four souls are tuned as the first four strings of a bass guitar. Okay, there are only four strings in a typical bass guitar!

“Ridwan, are you day dreaming?”

The thousand-times-heard-damn it’s so boringly familiar voice of the boss brought Ridwan back to reality. “Sigh, there goes the happiness and calm”

“Blood! Yeah, blood is redder than an apple”, thought Ridwan whilst jumping from cell A1 to AE99 in the obscure business case neatly arranged by the analyst in the excel file.

“Red roses are very good to look at, and red cars aren’t half bad”. The other day, he was stuck in a severe traffic jam within Gulshan 1 and 2, and he saw a good looking lady driving a red RX 8. He was looking at the car body. Ridwan is a long time fan of NFS, and he loved driving the Mazda RX 8. “Sigh, I will never be able to buy an Rx 8. CNG and public buses are the only options for me”

When work was finally over, he un-silenced his cell phone to find 4 messages and 8 missed calls, and it was 20:20. He was supposed to get out of office by 7 and call Rizwan. He hurriedly called him and found out that everyone was waiting for him.

While ascending from the ten storied building, he saw a “Lady in red”. What’s going on? What’s this obsession about red, wondered Ridwan.

After rendezvous, they all went to a bar. It’s an open secret that despite of strict rules and regulations, almost anyone and everyone can get a sip or two. None of them are addicted to alcohol, but sporadic in take helps the pack unwind after a hard day’s night. When hard days become plural number and turns to hard weeks, it becomes essential to chill out in style.

At around 12:30 AM, they finally decided to head off home. Though not all of them were too happy and confident about facing the folks after spending so much time outside home. Luckily they found a CNG driven vehicle. Ridwan lived the farthest, while Rack just lived nearby. So watching Rack speed away in a Lamborghini rickshaw, the others boarded the CNG. Ridwan remembered about the argument he had with Ron regarding calling a CNG vehicle just “CNG”. “See dude, CNG is the juice that gets the vehicle going, it’s just a baby taxi that’s being driven by CNG. You can’t call it a CNG!”. “To hell with your arguments, I am so going to call it a CNG”

The idea was Ridwan’s but, tonight’s liquor outing was heavily supported by the usually quiet guy Ron. He’s quiet by nature, but when he decided to speak up, he’s hard to argue with. However, that day Ridwan won the argument. Then they started another silly argument as to why the CNG’s are only painted green instead of Red, Green, Blue or any other color whatsoever...

“Red is not my favorite color, but why red is circling around me? Is it because she was wearing red when we broke up?”

“Procrastination is the devil that stops us from climbing the stairs up”, thought Ridwan and looked sideways to find himself alone in the CNG. His other two friends did drop off at some point of time, but he could vaguely remember himself bidding farewell to them while they descended. Anyways, he thought, they should be home safe and sound by then. He looked around to find a secluded alley, which he could not readily recognize. “Err, is the small gifts of madness drink causing this?” The memory of getting mugged by who looked like a friendly acquaintance came back to his mind. That was almost four years ago. Since then, he maintained a high level of alertness while traveling alone in a CNG.

The difficulties at work, the break up, the arguments, the demanding family—everything was finally hitting him hard. He was definitely tipsy, and when he found the vehicle slowing down, he wasn’t too surprised. As he thought, a guy jumped inside the CNG as if he’s an old friend. He saw him brandishing a shiny knife and saying something to him. He was hearing but not listening. He smiled and said “Who are you?” The knife guy was half amused and said something about handing over the belongings in a harsh tone. He also added something about splitting his belly if he failed to comply. The CNG driver was nowhere to be seen, nor were anyone else found in the locality.

The knife guy was wearing a red shirt and blue jeans. Ridwan was not in the mood. He felt a sudden rush of anger ridden emotions surging up.

A memory of past bothered him. He was very afraid of chickens when he was a kid. He found the otherwise tasty bird like species to be very frightening when they were alive and flying and charging at him. So when he was asked to hold the neck of the bird when someone else would be slaughtering it, he was afraid, but he was also happy to be part of the killing session of an annoying thing.

When the knife was placed on the neck, the bird’s reddish complexion and lamenting moans did not create any sympathy in the young Ridwan’s mind. He was jubilant when the first drops of blood spilt over and med his hands red. That was blood, and it had the same color as it had when he used to have nosebleeds.

In an unthinkable act of urgency, he snatched the knife from the knife guy. The guy was not expecting this. He had been mugging people for quite some time, only to ensure the regular supplies of heroine and other such substances. At the beginning, he found it appealing to keep count of his victims, but he ceased to do so after scaring away his hundredth victim, and not a single one showed any signs of courage. He had a deal with a number of CNG drivers, and they would always bring him coward victims.

When Ridwan was stabbing the knife into his abdomen and neck repeatedly, the knife guy was staring in surprise, “What’s going on? I am the hunter, I should not be hunted like this”. He struggled, and managed to punch his victim in the eye. But it did not seem to bother him a bit.

Ridwan was taking a blood bath. He saw the CNG driver standing nearby. He had both his hands in his head. He was not coming to help the once alive figure of the knife guy. Ridwan’s purple shirt was now red. The knife was also red, and so was everything else. His eyes were filled with blood.

Flicking the knife casually, he came out of the vehicle. Home is not too far away, he thought. He looked at the CNG driver, who was now trembling in fear. Ridwan started to laugh. There was not even a dog or a cow to hear his laughter, let alone other humans. It was sadistic, and he made the streets red with all the blood.

He took out the ipod from his pocket, and started playing Californication by Red Hot Chilli Peppers on his way back home....

“Today’s been an eventful day”.

Fiha Equation: Chapter 5

Chapter 5

It’s a heavy iron gate. No calling bell is visible from the outside. Marla Lee knocked the gate couple times. He wasn’t sure whether the barely audible knocking sound reached the inner parts of the house. He noticed that the sky is getting cloudy. It might start raining anytime. He started feeling cold. How long will he stand like this? Marla Lee resumed pushing the gate. He heard some heavy footsteps; robotic steps. Some robot is arriving with heavy treads. What type of robot this? Such noisy robots are no longer manufactured.

The gate didn’t open. A small peep hole opened. Bookworm’s face became visible. His Iridium brazen eyes were illuminating in the darkness. In a happy tone, he said “Did you bring the book?”

“Yes”

“Give it to me and you can leave”.

“It cannot be given to you. The book is very expensive, and I myself have to deliver it to Fiha”.

“You can give the book to me without any hesitation. I am a personal aide to Fiha. My name is Bookworm. He likes me very much.”

“I am very happy to know that Fiha likes you very much. Fiha doesn’t like me much, but still I have to give the book to him myself”.

The peep hole closed. Bookworm went back towards the house making heavy noise. Fiha noticed that it already started drizzling. The temperature is going down fast. He started wondering whether he should go inside the car. Who knows when this Robot called Bookworm will return? These are PR type Robots. They are clumsy in nature, but their thought process is very improved. The most important thing is that they acquire knowledge from the surroundings.

The gate opened suddenly. Bookworm asked him to get inside.

“Fiha is waiting inside the library room for you”, said Bookworm. You will have to be very careful. There is no light inside. You can take my hand if you wish to.

In a very calm voice, Marla Lee said “I don’t need to hold your hand. You can lead me instead”.

Fiha frowned at Marla Lee. He didn’t even show the slightest intentions of hiding irritation.

Marla Lee said “I did not feel like disturbing anyone else at this hour of night. So I myself brought the book. I know I’ve trespassed. I should not be nearing 1000 yards of your home. But still I came”.

“You could’ve sent this book via a Robot.”

“No sir, I couldn’t. This book cannot be entrusted with anybody and everybody.”

Fiha extended his hand and took the book. Marla Lee said “It’s very cold outside. I am not sure whether you have noticed or not, it’s raining outside. I’d be very grateful if I can get a cup of coffee.”

“Please sit down. Let me ask for coffee.”

“Thanks”.

Marla Lee sat down. Fiha did not sit, he kept standing. Even if he wanted to sit, there was no way of doing so. There is only one chair in the library. Marla Lee said “Won’t you sit, Fiha?”

“Do I need to sit?”

“We can have a conversation if we sit face to face. Once in a while, people do talk with their enemies. As you have given me the permission to enter your house, I am hoping that you’ll permit me to talk as well.”

Fiha came out of the library and asked Bookworm to get another chair. Bookworm said “It is kind of demeaning for me to move furniture; can I ask the cook robot to do this job?”

Fiha nodded.

“Another thing, sir. I have noticed that this person is really irritating you. You are being gentle. If you permit me, I can do some trickery of words, which will irritate him, and eventually he will leave.”

“I don’t see any reason for doing that. You were eavesdropping, which I don’t like. Go and stand in front of the gate.”

Bookworm left instantly. His Irridium brazen eyes looked a bit dim.

Marla Lee said "I am very surprised to see only one chair in your gigantic library".

Fiha said "There is nothing to be surprised about. I'm a loner".

"I'm a loner too, but I can't even imagine having only one chair in my living room or library", said Marla Lee.

"You are not Fiha and that's why you can't imagine that. I can, and this is the most logical thing to me. My library is not a place for drinking coffee or chit chatting".

"If you think it's a trouble sitting here and discussing, we can sit somewhere else".

"Do you really need to talk to me?"

"It'd have been better if we could talk, but we don't have to talk if you don't want to"

"I am not feeling like talking".

"Alright. I will bid farewell as soon as I'm done drinking the coffee."

Marla Lee silently finished his coffee. He removed his cap and placed it on the table. He wore the cap again. In a calm voice, he said "I will be leaving now. Good night, noble Fiha."

"Good Night"

It seemed to Fiha that Marla Lee was just going out. But instead of placing his feet outside the door, Marla Less stopped abruptly. He turned around, and in an even calmer voice he said "I could have easily forced you to listen to me. I am a Mentalist. If I want, you cannot say no. I could've forced you, but I did not. Mentalists never force anyone in doing anything. Still there is a serious misconception among the human beings that mentalists are forcing their will on the general mass.

"Don't you have total control over the army?"

"Of course we have. There is a reason behind it. If we did not maintain this control, the army would split in to two parts--mentalist's army and general people's army. I don't think I need to explain the outcome of that."

Fiha said, "A very important and specialized research is taking place in the physics laboratory. You people have shut down electricity supply in the lab. You are impeding the research progress".

"Correct information, but wrong explanation. Electricity supply has been shut off because a strong storm is approaching. It's a very powerful tornado. The power will be restored as soon as the storm ceases. No matter how much hatred you have for us, you must agree that we never discourage any kind of research work. It is regrettable that we have no scientists amongst us. Mentalists cannot do creative work. Thus those who are creative get special respect from us. Just consider yourself, noble Fiha. Can you imagine how much respect you get?"

Fiha said "This respect is not selfless. You need us creative people for your own interest. You have no other alternative; you are fully dependant on us for scientific and technological progression".

"You just presented another faulty interpretation of another correct piece of information. It is a fact that we cannot progress in science without the help of humans. But whatever progress has been made till date is good enough for us. We don't need more than this. The requirement is little for mentalists. They are easily satisfied. They don't dream about conquering the whole galaxy."

"So they prevent those who have such dreams?"

"No, we don't. As a long time head of the scientific council, you know that we do not stop any kind of research. When you wanted to conduct a research on devising ways of telepathic communication, we did not prevent it. Conversely, we allocated a big budget for that research. But that research was a failure. On the other hand, when we request you to do research on particular issues, you do not agree. Mentalists face some physical problems starting from the age of thirty. A specific kind of enzyme comes out of the pituitary gland. No scientist agreed to conduct research on this area."

"I am not a biologist, so I don't know about this".

"Noble Fiha! You don't know many things. When we get sick, we have to depend on robot doctors. When human doctors come to treat us, they come with deep hatred. We are mentalists, we can sense it."

Fiha said "You don't have doctors?"

"No. There are no doctors among us."

"I did not know that".

Marla Lee said "I took a lot of time of yours. Thank you for listening to me patiently".

Fiha said "Will you tell me a truth?"

"Of course"

"We just had a lengthy conversation. Did you not carefully prepare the field for this discussion? Did you not use your mental powers to influence me?"

Marla Lee said "No, I didn't. I don't know whether you believe me or not, but I am telling the truth. Good Night".

The night was not too good. The storm was terrible. The tornado wrecked the whole science villa. Despite of taking all security measures, twenty three people died. All of them were police men. They had street duty. The did not have the permission to go to the shelters.

I wrote this quite some time ago, but forgot to post it. Hope you like it. You can back track the older chapters in this blog.

Classfriend

Classfriend

By-Satyajit Roy

Translated by- Me

It's quarter past nine in the morning. Mohit Sarker was fastening his tie. Suddenly, his wife Aruna entered the room and said "There's a call waiting for you".

"Who's calling at this hour?"

Mohit Sarker is habituated with reaching the office at exactly nine thirty. So the natural response was a frown when he heard about the phone call just before setting out for office.

Aruna Devi said "He says he went to school with you".

"In School!", exclaimed Mohit. "Did he tell his name?"

"He said you know him by the name Joy"

Mohit Sarker left school thirty years ago. There were around forty students in his class. If he thinks hard, he might be able to recall the names and faces of around twenty students precisely. However, he could easily recall Joy or Joydev's face, because he was one of the top performers of the class. He was neat and clean in appearance, he was a good student, he was a high jump champion, he was adept in showing nice card tricks, and he also once received a medal for reciting the poem Casabianca. Mohit Sharker did not hear from him once after leaving school. He realized that despite of being friends at that time, he is not feeling any attachment towards him after such a long separation.

However, he decided to receive the call.

"Hello"

"Hi Mohit! Do you remember me? I'm Joy--Joydev Bose from Baliganj School."

"Your voice seems different, but I remember your face. What's up?"

"You are a big officer now man; I'm obliged that you at least remember my name!"

"Oh cut that out-- Tell me what's going on?"

"Err; I need to talk to you in person. Can we meet sometime?"

"When?"

"Whenever you are free. But if you can make it early...."

"Then let's meet up today. I'll be back by six. Can you come by seven in the evening?"

"Definitely. Thanks friend. Will talk to you in the evening".

Sitting in his new light blue standard car's comfortable seat, Mohit Sharker was engrossed in thoughts. He was on his way towards office. He tried recalling some incidents from his school life. Despite of head master Girin Sur's hazy looks and grave serious attitude, the school days were filled with happiness. Mohit himself was a good student. Shankar, Mohit and Joydev--three of them had clash among themselves. They used to occupy the first, second and third positions in turns. Mohit Sharker and Joydev Bose studied together since class six. Many times they would sit side by side in the same bench. They also played side by side in football games; Mohit played right-in, Joydev played right-out; at that time Mohit used to think they would remain friends forever. But they walked different roads after passing school. Mohit's father was a well off person; he was one of the prominent barristers of Calcutta. After finishing school, Mohit got himself in to a good college, and passed out in two years to join a merchandising office. Joydev went to a different city and got admitted in a college there because his father held a transfer oriented job. Strangely enough, soon he realized that he was not feeling the absence of Joydev; he made new friends in college. Then again friends changed when he finished his student life and entered the job life. Now he is one of the top four men in the office, and his closest friend is one of his colleagues. Amongst his classmates, he only comes across Proggan Shengupta occasionally in the club, who also holds a good position in a reputed organization. Strangely, Proggan has no place in his school memories. But Joydev--whom he didn't meet for almost thirty years--occupies a lot of space in his memory. Mohit realized this truth very well whilst reminiscing.

Mohit's office is in Central Avenue. As soon as the car came near the intersection of Chourongi and Shuren Banarjee road, the traffic jam, honking horns and polluted smoke crashed him back to reality from the memory lane stroll. Glancing at the wrist watch, Mohit realized that he would be two to three minutes late today.

Finally, when he finished office work and returned to his house in Lee Street in the evening, not an iota of Baliganj School is present in his mind. As a matter of fact, he totally forgot about the morning phone call; the whole incident came back to him when the butler brought a note to him. The note was made by tearing a piece of paper from a ruled exercise book and it had these words written on them--"Joydev Bose, as per appointment".

Turning off the BBC radio news, Mohit told Bipin "Ask him to come inside". Saying this, he realized that he should have arranged some food for Joy who was coming to see him after so many years. It would have been very easy for him to get some cakes and pastries from Park Street on his way back from office, but he totally forgot about the appointment. He was wondering whether his wife remembered about the appointment and did the necessary arrangements.

"Can you recognize me?"

Hearing the voice, and then after looking at the owner of the voice, Mohit Sarker had a feeling which can only be compared to the feeling one gets by stepping in to emptiness thinking that there is another step; while climbing a staircase.

The person is wearing a ash colored, non-matched and bigger-than-needed sized cotton pant and a cheap half sleeve shirt; it is apparent from the outlook that neither the shirt nor the pant ever went through the process called ironing. Mohit tried really hard, but he failed to find any resemblance between the Joydev in his memories and the mouth that is popping out of the shirt collar in front of him. The stranger's eyes are dim, his skin is deeply sun burnt, his cheeks are wrinkled, he has at least three day's old unshaven whiskers, his upper portion of the head is smoothly bald and he has a few locks of disheveled hair near his ears. As he asked the question with a smiling face, Mohit managed to see the inner portions of his teeth and he thought someone with such betel-leaf eroded teeth should always cover his face before attempting a smile.

"I have changed a lot, didn't I?"

"Please have a seat"

Mohit stood up by then. After the stranger sat in the front seat, Mohit occupied his own seat. Mohit has a few pictures from his student life; anyone can tell today's Mohit from the fourteen year old Mohit. But then why am I struggling so much to recognize this person? How can a person's appearance change so much in thirty years?

"You can be instantly recognized. I would have recognized you if I saw you in the streets"--the gentleman continues talking--"Actually I've been through a lot of ups and downs. Father died when I was in college, and I was forced to quit college. I started looking for a job. You can understand what followed. Good luck and backing are essential elements for a normal person to strive..."

"Will you like to have some tea?"

"Tea? Oh yes, that'd be...."

Cutting him short, Mohit called Bipin and asked him to bring tea, and thought that it's not a big problem even if there is no cake or sweet available; biscuits are good enough for this person.

"Oh!--the gentleman continues, "Throughout the day I've been thinking about the old times, Mohit."

Mohit decided not to tell him that he also spent a significant time looking back.

"Do you remember LCM and GCM?"

Mohit forgot, but he remembered instantly. LCM was P.T. master Lalchand Mukharjee and GCM was mathematics teacher Gopen Mitter.

"Can you remember who forcibly made us stand beside the drinking water tank and pose for a photograph?"

Grinning, Mohit made it clear that he remembers. Strange, all these are true incidents. If this person is not Joydev, then how come he knows all these?

"You know, the five years of school are the best years of my life", said the stranger, "Those days will never come back".

Mohit could not resist saying one thing.

"You and I are almost same aged, as far as I remember".

" I am just three months younger than you."

"Then how did you age up so fast? What happened to your hair?"

"Struggle, it's all due to struggle", said the stranger. "But baldness is a common syndrome in my family. Both my father and grandfather became bald by the age of thirty five. Wrinkled cheeks are the result of hard work and toil, and also due to poor diet. I don't hold a desk job like you lot. I worked in a factory for seven years, then I became a medical salesman, an insurance agent and then I tried many different types of commission agent jobs! It is not my luck that I will stick to a single job. Just like a swinging pendulum, I'm swaying from left to right, all the time. They say you can make your body absorb anything and everything, but at the end of the day, the body becomes battered, rammed and the end result is premature ageing. You can clearly see it in me.

Bipin brought tea. In another plate there was Shingara and Shondesh. My wife is smart, thought Mohit. However, Mohit dared not imagine what would be his wife's reaction after seeing the likes of his so called classmate.

"Won't you eat?" asked the stranger. Mohit nodded his head in the negative. "I just ate".

"One Shondesh?"

"No, you take it.

The gentleman started chewing on a Shingara and continued talking with food in his mouth--"My son's examination is imminent. But my state is such, I cannot imagine how I will manage the fees."

That was enough for Mohit. He understood instantaneously. He should have guessed the reason behind this visit. It's nothing but seeking aid. Financial aid. How much will he demand? If it's twenty-twenty five, it'd be smarter to give, because there is no guarantee that declining will stop this botheration permanently.

"You know, my son is very bright. I lost my sleep thinking that his studies might stop prematurely due to lack of finances".

The second Shingara ascended from the plate. Mohit is constantly trying to match the childhood Joy's face with the stranger's face, and gradually he is getting more and more confident that there is nothing common between this elderly person and the boy in his album.

"So as I was saying, brother", with a loud sip in the tea cup, the stranger continued, "If you can at least hand over one hundred or hundred fifty bucks to this old friend of yours, then....."

"Very Sorry"

"Huh?"

Mohit previously decided that he would decline instantly if money matter comes up. But after saying it, he thought he could have done it in a less rude manner. Thus in order to do some damage control, he told him in a gentler voice "Sorry brother. Right now I am running a bit low on cash".

"I can come tomorrow. Any time. Whenever you say."

"Tomorrow I am going out of Calcutta. I will return after three days. You can come on Sunday."

"Sunday...."

Disappointment was visible in the stranger's face. Mohit is determined. There is no proof in the face that this person is Joy. Calcutta people know thousands of ways of ripping off people through hideous tricks. If he is an imposter? Maybe he knows the real Joydev. Is it a very difficult task getting some thirty year old information about Baliganj School? I guess not.

"At what time are you returning, on Sunday?" asked the stranger

"I'll be back within nine to nine thirty AM."

Eid holidays start from Friday. Mohit has already made plans to visit a friend's farm house during the weekends. His wife will also be with him. Two day's stay and return on Sunday--that is the plan. Thus the gentleman will not find him if he comes on Sunday morning. This trickery was not needed if Mohit could refuse directly. But there are certain people who cannot do such things. After Sunday, if the person again tries to see Mohit, he will find another excuse to not see him. Then maybe he will not bother Mohit again.

As soon as the stranger took his last sip in the teacup, another person entered the room. He is Mohit's bosom friend Banikanto Sen. Two others are supposed to join in for a card playing session. This is a regular event. Banikanto gave a look of suspicion to the stranger which Mohit did not fail to notice. With a straight face, Mohit totally bypassed the fact that he knew the stranger.

"Okay, I'll go now..."--the stranger stood. In a very informal tone, he said "If you can do this favor to me, I'll be very, very grateful, friend. Truly".

As soon as the gentleman went away, Banikanto faced Mohit with a frown and said "That person was talking to you like a close friend--what's the idea?"

"He was speaking in a formal tone until you came. Just before leaving he used the informal tone to let you know that we are really close."

"Who is this person?"

Instead of replying, Mohit brought out an old photo album from his book shelf, opened a particular page and moved it towards Banikanto.

"Is this your school group?"

"We went to the Botanics for picnic", said Mohit Sarker.

"Who are these five?"

"Can't you recognize me?"

"Wait; let me take a closer look".

Banikanto brought the album page closer to his eyes and he managed to identify Mohit in ease.

"Now take a close look at the boy standing at the right side of me"

Banikanto took an even closer look and said "Okay, I saw the picture". Mohit said, "This is the person who just left".

"Did he start gambling from his school life?"--Banikanto grumbled after closing the album with a loud bang and throwing it on the sofa. "I've seen him at least thirty two times in the race course."

"That is expected", said Mohit Sarker. Then he told him in brief the entire conversation within him and the stranger.

"You should call the police", said Banikanto, "Calcutta city has became a depot of thieves, forgery specialists and touts. The boy in the photo album and this gambler cannot be the same person. It's impossible".

Mohit grinned and said "He will understand that I don't believe him after not finding me on Sunday. I don't think he will disturb me again after that"

Eating freshly caught fishes from friend's pond in Baruipur, poultry chicken eggs, mangoes, blueberries, palm and guava, lying in the shadow under trees, playing cards on a mattress laden on grass with a pillow on the chest--all these activities eliminated all sorts of mental and physical fatigue far, far away from Mohit. He returned home at 11 PM on Sunday and heard from his butler that the person who came before came again in the morning.--"Did he say anything while leaving"

"No, sir", replied Bipin.

"Great", thought Mohit. It's a simple trick, but it did the job. He won't come again. The annoyance is gone.

But no, he was wrong. The annoyance was gone for that day, but it returned again the next day morning. Mohit was in the living room. It was eight AM and he was reading the newspaper. Bipin entered the room with another piece of paper. Mohit opened the folded paper and saw a three lined letter.

Dear Mohit,

My right foot got injured, so I am sending my boy. Even if you can manage to give him a very small amount of money, it would help dearly. I hope you will not disappoint me.

Bye,

Joy

Mohit realized that there was no escape. But he decided that little means little and he told the butler "Call in the boy".

Within a few minutes, a thirteen to fourteen year old lad entered the room through the door, approached Mohit and did a small bow as per Hindu religious custom. He instantly moved back a few steps after completing the respect-showing bow. He stood silently.

Mohit deeply gazed at him for a few minutes. Then he said "Have a seat".

The boy hesitantly sat at the corner of a sofa; placing his hands over his lap in a stationary position.

"I'll be back soon".

Mohit went to the second floor, took the key lock from his wife, opened the almirah, took out four fifty taka notes and placed them in an envelope. He sealed the envelope, closed the almirah and came back to the living room.

"What is your name?"

"Sri Sunjoy Kumar Bose".

"There is money in this envelope. Can you take it carefully?"

The boy nodded in the affirmative.

"Where will you keep it?"

"In my chest pocket"/

"Will you take a tram or a bus?

"I will take a walk".

"You will walk? Where do you live?"

"Mirjapore Street".

"You will walk that far?"

"Father told me to walk back."

"Rather than that, you can do this. Wait for an hour, have some tea and sweets. There are many books and magazines here; you can go through them. I will go to office at nine; the car will drop me in the office and then take you to your home. You will be able to direct the driver towards your home, right?"

The boy again nodded in the affirmative.

Mohit called Bipin and asked him to serve tea to the boy and went upstairs again to get ready for going to the office.

He felt very light and happy with himself.

He could not recognize Joy by seeing him, but he found the Joy of thirty years ago within his son Sunjoy.

The End