On your marks. Get. Set. BANG! Run… Kill him and run. Just run. But kill him first

• Unknown ‘Do you know what you have to do?’ she questioned the boy. The boy nodded. His eyes pregnant with tears, his fist clenched, teeth gritted. His body ached to feel pain and to administer in copious amounts. ‘Don’t say anything to the cops. The lawyer will take care of things as soon as the FIR is registered.’ The woman instructed, waited for the boy to finish sniffing and wiping his now runny nose. ‘He deserves it… Don’t you think?’ she gently asked. The boy took a deep breath to clear his blocked nose and wiped away his tears. The look on the boy’s face turned resolute. ‘Yes’
  ‘I hope you do the right thing’ she said with a genteel smile. The boy heard the dial tone ringing in his ears, shaking him out of his reverie. He kept the phone receiver back and stepped out of the PCO booth. ‘Who was it?’ the shopkeeper inquired as he looked at boy’s reddened eyes and the tear smeared face. ‘Nothing…’ the boy replied as he hurried The room was dressed in dark, even though the sun outside was making the tar melt and dance to its unflinching tune. Black plastic around the VHS tapes and the shiny plates of CDs accessorized the darkness. ‘Please!’ the man pleaded, clutching his gut, the green shirt changing its colour to black under his tightened palm. Blood oozed from his broken nose, merrily mixing with the spit which bubbled and frothed from his lips. His plea was muted and lost under the loud banshee screams of the naked woman lying on the bed cowering and hiding her modesty under a blanket. Modesty which was until a few minutes back was being recorded under the expert direction of the man pleading for his life. The man, looked at the young boy, all of fifteen years of age, dressed in white shirt and navy blue trousers, chappals, two sizes too small for his feet, the bloody kitchen knife firmly clutched in his left hand. ‘You are going to kill your own father madarchod!’ The man screamed in pain as he willed his body to slither away from where the boy was standing. ‘I told you not to do this’ The boy calmly replied as he flung cassettes and CDs on the wall, sending splintered and shattered pieces of plastic flying across the room. The woman continued screaming and sobbing in the background. Having destroyed all the cassettes and CDs which caught his attention, he walked over to the screaming woman and yanked the floral printed blanket off her naked body. She held her hands up reflexively but the boy, calm as he was swiftly swished the razor sharp blade he held in his hand. The woman screamed louder as the knife tore open her skin, exposing the white muscle on her forearms. The boy caught the woman’s hair, the woman screamed, begging the boy to spare her. The father, screamed abuses at the boy in the background. Without a forewarning, the boy ran the knife along the young girl’s neck. Blood gushed like water from the tail of a water lorry. The man stopped screaming. The boy stepped over his father, slapping his father and forcing him to look into his blood splattered face. The young boy could see the fear in his father’s eyes. The boy cleared his throat and spat on his father’s face before plunging the knife in his father’s heart. He repeated the action twelve more times before he was satisfied. The only sign of emotion the boy showed was the slight curl of his lips. The boy, removed the gold watch his father was wearing before standing up over the dead body. He surveyed the room, as he removed his white school shirt and vest which were now dripping red. He wiped the blood off his face, chest and fingers before flinging the shirt over his dead father’s body. The boy looked at the time, quarter to one, as he slipped the wrist watch on his hand. He walked over to the kitchen, picked up the canister of kerosene and liberally sprinkled it around his house. He pulled out a newly washed white shirt off the hanger. Looked into the mirror and combed his hair into place. He looked around for his running shoes and slipped them over his sockless feet. He stood up from the stool and surveyed the room once again. Satisfied, he pulled out a box of matches from his trouser pocket and stuck it. He hurried as the bus driver pushed the gear and jumped aboard the running bus. ‘Saale! You want to die or what?’ The conductor yelled at the boy, who cheekily smiled back. ‘National Games Village’ the boy extended his hand with the five rupee coin as he climbed inside the bus. Thick black smoke rose into the sky, trying to challenge the sun.

‘I thought you wouldn’t make it on time’ Salman yelled as he saw his best friend get off the running bus. ‘Quick, the coach has been throwing a fit all morning’ Salman ran up to take his friend’s backpack. ‘Armaan!’ The boys heard their coach thunder, ‘Get warmed up!’ he bellowed. ‘Yes sir!’ Armaan promptly replied as he took off his shirt and trousers, revealing his bare chest and white running shorts. Salman pulled out the shiny violet jersey from Armaan’s school bag. Armaan walked up to the beginning of the starting line. He stretched his legs, his chest still heavy from the fast sprint he had done from the bus to the stadium. He spread his legs apart and oscillated his weight, stretching his inner thighs. He looked around to gauge his competition. Strong, lithe bodies glistened with sweat under the punishing sun. New shiny studs stitched to perfection around their feet. He looked at his own feet. White canvas shoes the inner side of the sole worn out from all the abuse the shoe endured. ‘Gentlemen…’ A man dressed in a white t-shirt, brown trousers, black whistle hanging between his bulbous breasts walked in front of them. ‘Wait for my call. Two false starts will mean instant disqualification’ The man instructed as he walked over the sideline. ‘On your marks’ the man yelled as he pulled out a gun and loaded it with a blank. The eight boys crouched and took position behind the white line. Sweat dripping down their noses and backs. ‘Get. Set’ The man raised his hand with the gun held aloft over his head. Armaan lifted himself off the ground and balanced himself on his toes and finger tips. His feet dug in hard, trying to find the grip he wanted on the red coloured synthetic turf. He looked up and saw the red ribbon sitting taut on the horizon. His mind flashed images from a life he had put an end to in the morning. BANG! The gunshot echoed as white smoke bellowed out of the gun barrel.

The inspector read the headlines, ‘Porn Racketeer found burned to death’. He raised his head and met the eyes of the young boy sitting crouched in the corner of the cell.

Bullied turns the baton “Perhaps it is only human nature to inflict suffering on anything that will endure suffering, whether by reason of its genuine humility, or indifference, or sheer helplessness.” - Honore de Balzac There are few workplaces which mutate and transform from being busy beehives to a dance party in a matter of moments. A police station is one of those rare places. ‘Patel? Patel!’ he shouted the hawaldar’s name out loud. He looked keenly at the curtained door. Ek, do, teen… Char, paanch, che, saat, the strains of the popular bollywood song lilted through from behind the curtained doors. Curtained doors, windows and a table fan, all for himself, few of the many perks of an Inspector enjoyed. ‘Sahib!’ he watched the portly figure of Jitin Patel salute clumsily as he rushed in. Kabir could see Patel’s moustache still wet with the milky tea he was slurping off the plate. ‘You see that cat? Tell chacha to give him a cup of milk’ Kabir pointed at the cat sitting in the corner of his office. ‘Ji Sahib!’ Patel nodded as he proceeded to pick up the cat. ‘And get me the morning report after you are done’ Kabir ordered at Patel’s doughy back. ‘Ji Sahib!’ Patel mumbled as he navigated past the fluttering curtains and through the door out of Inspector Kabir Hussain’s room. ‘Any news about that loser?’ Kabir looked up from the file he held in his hands and inquired. He waited and watched Patel hold the cat gently in his arms which gleefully lapped up the chai on the saucer. ‘Which loser sahib? Everybody who comes here is a loser anyway’ Patel smirked and watched Kabir’s face break into a thin smile. ‘Arey! You remember the school girls and their parents who complained about that fucker who exposed himself in the school playground?’ ‘Ji Sahib… Shukla found out who is.’ Before Kabir could call Shukla, Patel volunteered the information. ‘Rajiv Chedda, son of a big shot businessman. Apparently he went to vilayat to study and ever since he has come back, he is always either drunk or getting high where all the sadhu-sant log get high on ganja near the river bank.’ ‘And the father?’ Kabir inquired. ‘Paritosh Chedda, he owns an electronic shop on is apparently doing quite well. Rumour has it that in the late eighties he made his money by getting his merchandize through customs. He had some jhol going with them.’ Patel put the cat down on the floor and watched it lick its paws. ‘Like father, like son eh?’ Kabir muttered. ‘What is that proverb Sahib?’ Patel smiled as he rhetorically quizzed his senior, ‘Baap ek numbari beta, dus numbari… But sahib, solid party they are…’ Patel grinned slyly, hinting at what he believed was the right way to deal with the father and the son. ‘You know where this spoilt bastard will be right now?’ Kabir inquired. ‘Who? The father or the son?’ Patel inquired. ‘The son. I will deal with the father later on’ Kabir smiled as he got off his chair and motioned to Patel to follow him and headed towards his bike. ‘Ambabai’s bar on Nehru road sahib.’ Patel directed as he sat on the tiny rectangle of sponge which made for the pillion seat on Kabir’s bullet. Ambabai’s bar, one of the few places which ran twenty hours, seven days a week, three sixty five. National holidays, dry days were observed in secrecy and a bottle of your favourite booze priced at double its original cost. Kabir had visited the bar once before with Patel. He remembered the dirty curtain and all the hues of an amoebic rainbow hanging outside its door. The bar was small, on a good night it hosted close to fifty people, drunken brawls and women dressed in their finery, dancing to old love ballads on a makeshift stage. There were no windows, and the three strategically placed neon lights, illuminated the place just enough. Just enough light for the customers to see their drink and eat their food. Just enough light for them to forget about time, their families, their dead-end jobs, their mean bosses, their nagging wives and their money woes. The music was just loud enough to be wrap its patrons in their little bubble of alcohol coated nostalgia, just loud enough for the young boy to refill their drinks, just loud enough for Ambabai to hurl abuses at whoever couldn’t handle their drink, who didn’t shy away from painting the floor and the walls with the by-product of their failing digestive system. Kabir’s nostrils twitched with the smell of spicy masala peanuts, warm beer and cheap whisky which hung around the air. It took time for his eyes to adjust to the insides of the bar as he took off the dark shades and pocketed them. There were the usual smattering of door to door salesmen with their bags filled with soap and washing detergent, couple of taxiwallahs and a handful of young college students who had clearly bunked classes for the day. ‘Good morning Patel sahib’ the young boy smartly saluted and greeted Patel in English. ‘Arre Patel sahib? So early in the morning? Chotu clean two chairs and a table’ Ambabai yelled as she grinned, showing her betel stained gums. She had long ago lost her teeth. Patel raised his hand to acknowledge her and smiled in return before placing his index finger against his lips. He mouthed, ‘Bade sahib’ at Ambabai who gleefully chortled.
‘Sahib’ Patel pointed at a young man seated amidst the college students. Kabir didn’t take long to figure out who Patel was pointing towards. The young man was surrounded like a man who was buying drinks for the entire table. Clean shaven, expensive watch around his wrist, gold chain hanging around his neck. Kabir figured that the young boy wouldn’t be slightly younger than he was. Twenty four – twenty five. Kabir immediately took an instant dislike towards Rajiv Chedda. Kabir nodded and silently motioned Patel with his chin to stop the rest of the group from making a run. ‘Oi! Bhenchod!’ Rajiv reflexively yelled as he felt Kabir’s heavy hand grab hold of his Armani T-shirt. Kabir let go of his t-shirt and smacked him hard on the back of his head. Sensing trouble, the three college students frantically made for the door. ‘Where do you think you are going?’ Patel gleefully questioned before he haphazardly slapped the three of them. ‘Just who the fuck do you think you are?’ Rajiv screamed, tears pooling around the corners of his eyes from the sharp stinging pain. ‘I heard you like to show your cock to young girls’ Kabir muttered as he turned Rajiv to face him and landed another open handed slap. ‘What are you talking about?’ Rajiv protested. ‘Patel?’ Kabir called out. ‘Is this the same fellow?’ Kabir questioned. ‘Ji sahib’ Patel replied seriously. ‘Go on… Show us your penis… Or do you just show it little girls?’ Kabir mocked him in between slaps. The music had stopped. And so had the non-existent time inside the bar. ‘Sahib… he is a kid. Leave him’ Ambabai protested. She didn’t want her bar to be recognized as a place where the cops could come and create trouble. Kabir stared at her. Before silently pulling Rajiv by his t-shirt. The t-shirt gave way under the opposing pull of Kabir and the protests from Rajiv. ‘Sahib, take whatever money you want. How much ever you want… Just let me go’ Rajiv protested as he stood shirtless in broad day light. Traffic was slowly coming down to a halt, as bystanders paused to take in that day morning’s free entertainment. ‘Patel!’ He called out his junior who was busy collecting money from the college students before letting them go. Patel rushed forward. ‘Sahib?’ ‘He is offering to give money. Should we take it?’ Kabir’s stern face broke into a smile. Rajiv sensing that he may have a way out, smiled in return to show that he was ready to cooperate and accede their demands. ‘So soon sir?’ Patel remarked. ‘Drop your pants’ Kabir spoke softly. ‘Sir?’ Rajiv looked surprised. ‘It is only fair that you show your limp cock to everybody and not just to little school girls. Or is that the only way you get it up?’ Kabir questioned, the smile now gone from his face as he slapped Rajiv again. The chitter-chatter from the crowd turned into loud gleeful hoots as Rajiv took down his pants as tears gushed out of his eyes. ‘Who the fuck is going to remove your underwear? Your father?’ Patel questioned as he hit Rajiv on the back of knees with his baton. Rajiv complied. ‘Look at this motherfucker! He has a hard on’ Patel pointed at Rajiv’s genitalia in surprise. The crowd had ballooned as news spread around the street. ‘Take his clothes’ Kabir instructed Patel and started walking towards his bike. ‘Come and pick up your clothes from the station bastard!’ Patel commanded Rajiv as he bunched up the jeans and underwear and stuck it underneath his arms and walked away. Kabir started his bike and waited for Patel. ‘Sir, don’t you think you went little bit overboard?’ Patel questioned as bike idled and Kabir looked at the signal, waiting for it to change colours. ‘Have you ever picked up a fight with somebody bigger than you?’ Kabir questioned in return. ‘No sahib… Middle class mentality na… Despite me being in the force, I never want to get into any skirmish. Even if it is with my neighbour.’ Patel smiled. ‘There is a joy in abusing somebody weaker than you. Cowards feel like they have power. They feel like men. But…’ Kabir paused as he changed gears, ‘when you take on somebody your own size or somebody bigger than you. Then the pleasure in landing even in one punch is far greater than all the pain you will feel’ Kabir espoused his theory and watched Patel smile and nod his head in the rear view mirror of his bike.

Lunch at the station “Police business is a hell of a problem. It’s a good deal like politics. It asks for the highest type of men, and there’s nothing in it to attract the highest type of men. So we have to work with what we get.” – Raymond Chandler

Majority of a copper’s life is spent writing, shuffling, sending, taking and on occasions wantonly misplacing reports and files. The life cycle of files and reports uncannily resemble that of a fellow copper’s career. They start as being thin, idealistic and always in the out bin to be sent higher up the chain of command. As time relentlessly rolls on by, the files become bulkier and find themselves placed in the in-bin for eternity. Their colour fade are tinged with cynicism. To the trained eye there ceases to exist any difference between the files and the men penning its contents. ‘Sahib DSP sahib asked you to call the moment you got back’ Shukla casually remarked, lifting his head from the typewriter and watched Patel smile childishly holding a pile of clothes in his hands. Kabir nodded and waved his hand as he walked over the pot of water and the ladle attached to the tumbler. ‘He said to call him the moment you got back’ Constable Shukla remarked as he watched Kabir dunk the ladle and scratch the empty pot. He raised his eyebrows curiously at Patel, asking him to explain about the clothes as Patel threw them to a corner on an empty bench. ‘And then what happened?’ Shukla turned his attention back to the boy squatting on the floor in shorts and vest. ‘Water?’ he pointed at Milton water bottle Shukla kept on his table. Kabir’s Adam apple bobbed up and down, as the cold water trickled down his chin and down his gullet. With the bottle still tilted at an angle, Kabir craned his neck to take a look at the the wall clock. It was ten to two in the afternoon. Kabir’s adam apple settled down and so did his eyes on the school boy squatting next to Shukla. ‘What did you do?’ Kabir directed his question at the boy, his voice dropping a decibel tone, coated with fraternal concern. The boy kept quiet. Shukla’s palm landed on the back of the boy’s well oiled head. ‘Answer! Sahib is asking you a question’ Shukla threatened. Kabir’s eyebrows knotted themselves in mild irritation. The boy held his silence. ‘Look at him! Kills his own father and now refuses to answer Sahib’s question’ Shukla complained to Patel who was walking back after dumping Rajiv Chedda’s clothes at the back of an empty jail cell. ‘Somebody fill up water in this!’ Kabir commanded as he pointed at the water pot. He was hungry, annoyed and irritated. Patel recognized the tone in his senior’s voice. ‘Sahib, I will go lunch and on my way I will have a word with my informer about those burglaries on Nehru road.’ Patel offered, recognizing the change in his senior’s tone. Kabir nodded before returning back to his cabin. ‘You mad or what? You never hit a person who is weaker than you… Sahib doesn’t like it’ Patel admonished Shukla as he adjusted his Nehru cap atop his head before stepping out. ‘Shukla!’ Kabir called out from inside his cabin. ‘Sahib?’ Shukla came rushing in. ‘Where is Wagale Sahib?’ ‘SI sahib is still at the crime scene sahib… The father was apparently running some sort of sex video parlor… That bast…’ Shukla stopped himself mid-sentence, correcting his speech in front of the new inspector, ‘that boy burned his father and some other woman. Wagale sahib is making sure that the forensic team don’t ruin anything’ ‘And what makes Wagale think that the boy did it?’ Kabir inquired. ‘One of the neighbours saw the house burning and the boy walking out of the house’ ‘Okay… once Wagale comes back, tell him to come meet me. Also did DSP sahib say what he wanted to talk to me about?’ ‘No sahib’ ‘Fine… You had your lunch?’ Kabir inquired as he lifted the telephone receiver. ‘No sahib… Not yet’ ‘Fine, when Patel comes back, we will have lunch together’ Kabir smiled, as his fingers tapped the soft rubber buttons on the phone. As he heard the phone ring on the other end, Kabir called out to Shukla once again. ‘When did he call?’ ‘Shukla checked his watch before replying, ‘Some ten-fifteen minutes before you came back sahib’ ‘Thanks’ Kabir absentmindedly replied as he continued to hear the phone ring on the other end. ‘Sir Kabir here!’ he spoke into the phone. ‘Yaar Kabir! How long has it been since you reported for duty at the station? And don’t you have a mobile phone? Why are you calling on the landline?’ Kabir pictured DSP Shivam Pradhan rubbing his hand furiously over his balding pate. ‘Three days sir. I keep forgetting to charge the phone sir’ ‘Three days and you are already proving to be a fucking pain Kabir! You just got married. Didn’t you?’ ‘Sir!’ ‘Then why the fuck would you go about getting into fights in broad daylight?’ Kabir kept quiet and smiled. He realized that the boy’s father had already made the necessary calls to whomever he knew who could reach the DSP’s ears. He knew he had heard a lot more abuse from DSP Shivam, he had after all been his senior and mentor in the academy. ‘What the fuck happened?’ Shivam’s voice softened. As Kabir narrated the meeting he had with school girls’ parents. The parents didn’t want to register a complaint as they were afraid about their family honour. He could picture Shivam’s face breaking into a smile. ‘Sir, given the situation…’ ‘Acha! Acha! Don’t worry about the Chedda fellow, will advise him to send his son to some hill station or something to cool off.’ Kabir smiled, Shivam had a way with dealing with people who believed that he owed them something. ‘You are coming for dinner tonight right? And bring Alisha along.’ Shivam commanded ‘Sir!’ Kabir smiled as he replied as he extended his hand towards Shukla and took the FIR. ‘Anything else?’ Shivam inquired. ‘No sir’ Kabir mumbled as he peered at the FIR. ‘Good… will see you tonight. And tell Wagale also to come. And remember this is your honeymoon posting. Don’t go fixing things which aren’t broke.’ Kabir heard the dial tone as Shivam hung up with the parting words of advice. Kabir leaned sideways to take another look at the boy. Shukla continued to pound the keys on the typewriter, occasionally checking something in his notepad. Kabir’s eyes met the boys’. Kabir could swear he saw the corner of the boy’s lips twitch. Kabir recognized that look. He knew that look. He had seen it before. He had seen it on his own face as a kid when he knew he was doing something wrong and nobody could do anything about it. ‘Shukla!’ Kabir called out. ‘Sahib’ Shukla yelled back, his fist shaped like crab claws hung in the air, waiting to hear more from his senior. ‘Arre Shukla! You still haven’t thrown this little runt in’ Wagale’s voice boomed across the station threshold. He briskly walked towards his chair, threw his cap on his desk. He hurriedly pulled his shirt out from his pants, and unbuckled his pants and let out a high loud sigh of relief. ‘Yaar, I really need to start losing weight’ Wagale moaned to no-one in particular. ‘Wagale?’ Kabir called out, as he checked the drawers for something. Wagale raised his eyebrows in alarm, and walked into the cabin. Kabir looked at his Sub Inspector in a state of undress. Wagale presented a funny sight. His hair was combed back, highlighting the receding hairline. His stodgy nose was the only thing which stuck out from his otherwise round face. Kabir couldn’t help but picture a golf ball balanced atop a basketball, dressed in a shirt and pant. ‘I thought you had gone out’ Wagale responded as he haphazardly tried tucking in his shirt back in. ‘Relax Wagale… Sit…’ Kabir pointed to the chair opposite him. Wagale smiled, as he pulled his shirt back out and sat down. ‘You had lunch?’ Kabir inquired. ‘No sir. Not yet, I came back to change and to go out for lunch’ ‘You go home for lunch?’ Kabir questioned, his voice unable to hide his envy. ‘No sir… There is a restaurant close by’ Wagale offered. ‘Relax, there is a food coming. We will have lunch together. By the way, DSP sir has asked you to come over to his place tomorrow for lunch’ Kabir continued to open and close the drawers on his desk. ‘Searching for something sir?’ Wagale inquired as he leaned forward in his chair. ‘Yeah! I had kept a pack of cigarettes here.’ ‘I have sir…’ Wagale’s hand swiftly dug into his pants and pulled out a pack of 555 cigarettes. Kabir looked at the open pack of expensive cigarettes being offered to him and pulled one out. Wagale’s rough hairy hands flipped open a zippo, his well manicured hands rolled down the flint and offered the light to Kabir. ‘Wagale sir, you have expensive tastes’ Kabir remarked as he pulled hard on his cigarette and blew out. ‘After fifteen years of service, one learns from big people like you and Shivam sir’ Wagale sheepishly retorted, as he pulled a cigarette with his lips and lit it. ‘I just got an earful from DSP sahib about the Chedda case. You wouldn’t know anything about it now would you?’ Kabir inquired as he tapped his cigarette into the ashtray before moving it to the centre of the table. ‘Chedda sahib has been a long time friend sir… Plus I didn’t know how to broach the subject with you’ Wagale tapped the cigarette and avoided looking at Kabir. ‘Wagale sahib, I understand that you think I am kid who doesn’t understand who this place works. You think just because, I got educated in vilayat, I don’t know how all this works’ Kabir looked admiringly at the faint orange cursive lettering on the cigarette filter. ‘You are partly correct. And I don’t want to step on your toes any more than I want you to step on mine. Next time, before you take things to the DSP you come to me. You understand’ Kabir smiled, as he tried to take the sting out of his words. ‘By the way, Shivam sir told me to inform you that he has invited you for dinner tonight at his place’ ‘Sir’ Wagale curtly replied. ‘Why don’t you begin to tell me about that boy sitting outside that you arrested?’ Kabir leaned back in his chair, his elbows resting on the armrest and looked on inquiringly at Wagale. ‘Nothing to tell sir, it is an open and shut case’ Wagale pulled hard on his cigarette, leaned forward, before continuing, ‘The father was a homeopathic doctor by day and a randibaaz by night. He lured women into compromising position, made video tapes and then blackmailed them with it. The boy got wind of it, he got angry. Killed his wife and some whore and then burned the whole place down.’ ‘That sounds bit extreme doesn’t it? Usually boys his age run away. They don’t kill’ Kabir mused as he blew out smoke rings. Wagale raised his eyes in surprise, ‘I thought the exact same thing… So I asked around about the boy and father. Turns out the father deserved to die. The story goes that the father pimped his wife. And the wife had committed suicide by hanging herself from the ceiling. The boy was the first one to discover her body. Then the boy discovers just how chutiya the father is and decides to dish out justice. It is an open and shut case sir. One of the neighbours saw the boy get running away from the burning house. We picked him up from the school sports meet.’ ‘Why didn’t he just run away? Why go on acting like nothing happened?’ Kabir quizzed as he leaned forward to stub his cigarette. ‘I don’t know… He probably planned to run away after the sports meet. It is an open and a shut case’ Wagale insisted. Before Patel pushed through the door, the warm aromas of home cooked food wafted in. ‘Sahib… Lunch’ Patel gleefully announced. ‘Call Shukla, and get four plates’ Kabir instructed as he got up to wash his hands in the toilet attached to his office cabin. ‘So go on tell me…’ Kabir wiped his hands on the hand towel and let it rest on the back of his chair. The three others who had placed themselves into a semi-circle around Kabir looked unsure. ‘DSP sahib tells me that I am supposed to take it easy here. So you might as well tell me, who gets what and what is my cut’ Kabir smiled as he surveyed the lunch spread. As the veterans of the station filled in the gaps and the social hierarchy followed in their area of jurisdiction, Kabir silently ate, his head nodding and mentally taking notes. Wagale seemed to have the system pat down. Kabir mentally calculated that he roughly made fifty times more than the government salary. ‘Have some of this kache kele ki subji… Its good’ Kabir pushed the bowl of raw plantain dish towards them. The others looked at him expectedly, wanting to know how much of a margin would they have to sacrifice from their earnings. Kabir read the pregnant look on their faces and replied, ‘I don’t want a cut. In return, I don’t want any open and shut cases, unless and until they really are open and shut cases’ He smiled at Wagale. ‘Sahib… if you don’t mind, can I ask you a question?’ Patel spoke with a mouthful of rice. ‘Ask away Patel sahib’ Kabir spoke as he tore another roti and dipped it in the bowl of dal. ‘Is it true what they say about you?’ Patel inquired as he loudly masticated his food. Kabir chortled, his hands involuntarily moved in front of his mouth to stop any accidental spraying of food, ‘And what is that they say about me Patel Sahib?’ Wagale and Shukla looked at each other, telepathically making plans to disown Patel post lunch. ‘That you are Justice Mukherjee’s son and that you declined to work with the amreekans and the angrej on the anti-terrorist unit. And that the government had sent you to yaark’ Patel continued. ‘New york’ Kabir corrected as he sipped on some water. ‘And that you married a gori’ ‘Patel!’ Wagale turned his head and shot a deathly stare at the constable. ‘It’s okay Wagale sahib…’ Kabir smiled, he turned towards Patel and smiled. ‘Yes, I declined to work with ATU. Everybody thinks their religion is the best. And their actions find no rhyme or reason. Somebody steals, kills, rapes, blackmails. They have their reason. The only reason terrorists do what they do is because they think their god is great. And after a while, if you take out the glamour of getting your name being printed in the newspapers, there is nothing to the job. And yes,’ Kabir paused as he surveyed the half empty boxes of food before deciding to serve himself some rice. ‘I married a gori, which reminds me that madam had requested you guys to come home for dinner one of these days. Why don’t you come home this Sunday? And come with your families’. ‘So what did the informer say?’ Kabir broke the silence which had enveloped the four of them as he brought the topic back to work as he mixed rice and curry together. ‘Kapil mechanic’s boys sir…’ Patel absentmindedly replied as he stuffed his mouth with roti and subji. ‘Sir, would you like some omelette? My wife made it’ Shukla extended his lunchbox. ‘Sure’ Kabir tore a small piece of the omelette, ‘After you are done with lunch we will go visit Kapil. My bullet also needs an oil change and need to get that annoying sound its beginning to make checked.’ Kabir smiled as he looked at Patel, who returned the smile. ‘Leave that to me sir… I will take care of it’ Wagale offered. Kabir noted the change in Wagale’s demeanour. He was unsure if Wagale was placating him for not asking for a share in the pie or if it was the mention of his father. He had avoided answering Patel’s question, but he knew that these guys had dug around his file, possibly to use as leverage against him. This probably also explained as to why they didn’t make a stronger case for him to wet his beak in the pool. They knew he came from old money. As the conversation moved to movies and local gossip, Kabir couldn’t help but find his thoughts drawn to the boy who had killed his father. Kabir got up from his seat, sliding all the red chilli and bay leaves in the dustbin underneath the sink and washing the plate. ‘Leave it sahib! I will wash it’ Patel offered as he wiped clean his plate and hurriedly got up off his chair. ‘It’s okay…’ Kabir motioned as he rinsed the plate. He smiled at Shukla through the mirror. ‘Cigarette sir?’ Wagale offered as Kabir sat down in his chair. ‘Thanks’ Kabir took a cigarette and lit it. ‘You sure you don’t want me to come?’ Kabir inquired. ‘No sir it is fine. I will take care of it. Need some exercise after all this food.’ Wagale smiled cheekily. ‘Fine then, I will speak with the boy and see if it really is an open and shut case’ Kabir smirked as he blew out smoke.

Dinner Party “Society was nothing but a long, dull dinner party conversation in which one was forced to speak to one’s partner on both the left and the right.” – Ann Patchett

Kabir let himself into the house. He quickly untied his shoelaces and removed his shoes and socks and tiptoed towards the bedroom. He heard the shower being turned off and the faint tune of could hear the shower running in the bathroom. He rushed across the room and hid next to the bathroom door and waited for the door to open, his heart pounding with impish delight. ‘Boo!’ Kabir yelled and watched the woman scream in horror, making her drop the towel. Kabir broke out into a clutch of childish giggles. ‘Well done Inspector Kabir Mukherjee… You are officially worse than a six year old’ the woman scowled but unable to hide her amusement as she gathered the wet towel off the floor. ‘We still have time you know…’ Kabir’s hands encircled her waist. He pushed aside the wet hair off her neck. His lips relished the softness, the skin still warm from the hot shower. ‘No we don’t…’ she whispered as she pushed back against him. ‘You have to take a shower. You smell’ she giggled as she tilted her neck further to and felt his lips nibble at her ears. ‘Stop it… It tickles’ as he blew teasingly into her ears. ‘What did you do all day today?’ Kabir inquired as he cupped her breasts, his fingers unconsciously flicking her now pert nipples. ‘Nothing, I went and checked at the university if I could continue my thesis here and any guide was good enough to help me complete my doctoral thesis.’ She spoke as she raised her hands behind back and ran them through his hair, guiding and directing where she wanted to be kissed and nibbled at. ‘Don’t bite! I don’t want to be labelled as the gori whore’ She winced in a silent moan as she turned around and he bared his teeth with her nipple pulled between it. Kabir stopped and kissed it. ‘Somebody say something?’ Kabir inquired worriedly. ‘Nothing happened… Just that the auto rickshaw fellow was extremely rude’ ‘Did you note the license number?’ Kabir inquired seriously. His mind furiously working out how to teach this ‘It is okay… I think I shut him up when I let him that not only do I understand Hindi but main hindi bol bhi sakti hoon’ She pinched his nipples as Kabir tried hard not to laugh at her anglicized hindi. ‘Now go take a bath… We are getting late…’ ‘We still have time…’ Kabir whispered as he kissed her and lifted her in his arms and dropped her over the bed. He gently kissed open her legs, her hands found themselves teasing her nipples. As Kabir’s tongue pushed against her clitoris, she arched her back. She grabbed hold of his hair and pulled him up. ‘Why am I the only one wearing clothes’ she cheekily questioned as she hurriedly unbuckled his belt and pulled down his zipper as Kabir offered to unbutton his pants. She expertly pulled down his boxers with her toes and guided him in. They lay on their backs, panting, their warm naked bodies covered in sweat, waiting to catch their breath, enveloped in silence and comfort of each other. ‘You are such a bastard!’ Alisha complained. ‘Why? What did I do now?’ Kabir inquired, Alisha giggled as she watched him wheeze and talk. ‘I just got out of the shower and I changed the sheets today morning. Now I will have to do it all over again’ Alisha feigned mock irritation. ‘Fine, you change the sheets, I will get rid of the rubber and jump into the shower. You can join me if you want’ Kabir winked and flashed with wicked grin. Alisha laughed and playfully slapped him on his shoulder as Kabir got off the bed, and frantically jumped around as he covered his flaccid member and peered around to see if the bedroom window was open. ‘You didn’t think to check if the windows were open when you wanted to jump my bones eh?’ Alisha chided him as she picked up the towel and covered herself with it. Kabir grinned as he dropped the slimy rubber in the dustbin. ‘Well, I wouldn’t want Mrs. Sharma to think I am a sex toy now do I?’ Kabir grinned as he rushed into the bathroom and spoke from behind the door. ‘No, we wouldn’t that’ Alisha gurgled and slammed the bathroom door, ‘Go and have your shower. We are late.’ The hot water and the feeling of being clean rejuvenated Kabir. He stepped out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. He found the sheets already changed, and a fresh pair of boxers, his jeans and shirt laid out for him on the bed. ‘You really want me to wear this shirt?’ Kabir inquired as Alisha stepped back into the bathroom for a shower, again. ‘It looks good on you’ ‘But its… yellow…’ Kabir moaned. ‘Fine! Then pick out your own clothes then’ Alisha huffed as she closed the door behind her. Kabir smiled as he dressed himself up in front of the mirror. He caught himself staring at himself, into his own eyes as he combed his hair back. He couldn’t shake the look on the boy’s face. He still didn’t understand what the boy was talking about. He did take solace in the fact that the boy spoke something instead of being mum. Kabir found his thoughts interrupted as Alisha wolf whistled at him as she walked out of the bathroom. ‘Somebody is trying to make an impression’ She chided him as she buckled her bra straps. Kabir smiled, and watched his wife dress herself in polka dotted pyjama and a black salwar. Alisha held up two pairs of earring for Kabir to pick. He held them both against her face and then picked the hoop earrings. Alisha smiled as she put on the earrings and found matching neck piece. ‘How was your day? Make any new friends?’ Alisha inquired as she combed her hair. ‘It was okay… I guess’ Kabir spoke as he tied the laces on his shoes. ‘Should I tie it up or let it be like this?’ Alisha inquired as she examined herself in the mirror. ‘Tie it up… In a high pony tail’ Kabir replied as he mentally compared the picture of her with her hair loose and tied up. ‘You know sometimes, I wonder if you are straight, you know more about clothes and colours than I ever bothered to care about’ Alisha mocked him as she found a hair band. ‘Well, when you have been raised by your mother, you are bound to learn few things along the way’ Kabir smiled in return. ‘Oh! Which reminds me, your father called’ Alisha stated as she applied kajal on her eyes. ‘My father?!’ Kabir questioned in a reflexive surprise. ‘Yeah! He was wondering since tomorrow is a Sunday if we wanted to come over tomorrow for lunch.’ ‘And what did you say?’ Kabir inquired, his eyebrows crowding over his eyes into a frown. ‘I told him that I wasn’t sure about your plans and if you are free then we will drop in’ Alisha replied as she studied Kabir’s face. ‘Relax… We don’t have to go if you don’t want to go’ ‘I don’t want to go…’ Kabir replied, checking his watch, ‘We are late’ he mumbled. ‘So? Now, we are getting late?’ Alisha questioned, slowly getting annoyed with the implied insinuation. ‘It’s okay… I will tell him we got caught in traffic’ Kabir smiled placating his wife and her annoyance. Alisha held on Kabir’s shoulders as his bullet slowly thundered down the road. ‘So who all are going to be there at the party?’ Alisha inquired as she looked at Kabir through the rear view side mirror on the bike. ‘Well the DSP is going to be there, his wife. Wagale will be there…’ ‘And what did you make of Wagale?’ Alisha questioned, before adding, ‘And you didn’t tell me about your day’. ‘Well, I told you about the pervert who was flashing his willy nilly to the school girls?’ ‘Yeah? You caught him?’ ‘Yeah… He is apparently a son of a rich man, who has the DSP’s ears. Anyway, he got what he deserved’ Kabir explained. Alisha knew better to probe further. Alisha kept silent and waited for Kabir to continue. ‘Some kid killed his father. In the boy’s defence, the father was a douche. He was running a porn production scam under the guise of his homeopathic practice… But…’ Kabir paused as he gauged if he could squeeze the bike through the gap between two cars in front of him. ‘But?’ ‘But something doesn’t seem right… I mean the way the kid carried it out. It doesn’t seem right’ Kabir explained. ‘Well, people do crazy things…’ Alisha consoled. ‘Anyway, what did you do? And you didn’t tell me what happened with the rickshaw fellow’ ‘I had got an e-mail from the university saying that they are fine if I finish my thesis in India as long I am able to find a good guide. So, I have to go to the University here on Monday. I hope somebody knows something about Tectonic paradigm shifts in ethics and morals in the twenty first century. Also, I don’t understand why Mrs. Sharma insists that I hire a maid.’ Kabir laughed, ‘Well, things are different in India. It’s not like how it is back in the states. You should have just told her about what you are trying to get a doctorate in. Don’t tell her about your father who ran away from Indian in search of the great American dream. That will just encourage her to give you a list of things she would want from the states.’ ‘Well she is annoying and she is not going to get anything from me.’ Alisha spoke with finality as she got off the bike and waited for Kabir to park it. ‘What happened with the rickshaw fellow?’ ‘Well, he kept staring at me through the mirror. And then he picked up another friend of his on the way. The two of them started talking about how hot I was and shit. So I told them in Hindi, that just because I look white doesn’t mean that I don’t understand the rubbish they are talking about.’ ‘Then?’ ‘Well that shut them up.’ Alisha said with victorious smile. ‘I thought it was just dinner’ Alisha commented as she noticed the number of cars parked. ‘That’s what I was told’ Kabir looked as surprised. ‘Well, don’t drink too much then. And stick to beer.’ Alisha warned him as the constables on duty at the gate smartly saluted Kabir. ‘Yeah okay! Let me know when you want to leave.’ Kabir offered as he heard DSP Shivam Pradhan’s unmistakable deep throated gurgle of laughter. ‘Ah! There he is… The man of the moment!’ Shivam stopped laughing midway and yelled as Kabir stood at the door with Alisha surveying the guests. Shivam finally managed to win the struggle against gravity and got off the couch. Alisha looked at Kabir and tried stifling a laugh at the huge man with a bigger tummy than she had ever seen on any man amble towards them. ‘Indira! Indira!’ Shivam called out his wife’s name. ‘You must be Alisha, I have heard so much about you’ Shivam clasped her hand between his. He turned towards Kabir, ‘You son, have hit the jackpot’ and winked at Alisha. He led the two of them to the centre of the living room, picked up his glass and bellowed. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen! The guests of honor… Kabir and Alisha Mukherjee’. Kabir and Alisha exchanged embarrassed looks with each other. ‘Ah! Indira… Meet Alisha.’ Shivam introduced his wife. Alisha looked pleadingly at Kabir to save her. Kabir smiled innocently, enjoying his wife’s misery as he watched Mrs. Pradhan touch and pinch Alisha’s porcelain cheeks. ‘She looks just like a doll! Kabir… she is beautiful. Don’t mind me, but I am going to steal your wife for the night’ Mrs. Pradhan giggled before whisking her away to where the ladies had congregated. ‘Come Kabir… Before I introduce you to people, tell me what will you have?’ Shivam inquired as he motioned a waiter with his fingers. ‘Beer?’ Kabir replied, unsure. ‘Rubbish! Beer is for the bacha log. You have now joined the glum club of married men.’ He laughed at his own joke before turning his attention to the domestic help, ‘large whisky with soda, water and ice’. He winked at Kabir and slapped him on his back. ‘Come, I will introduce you around.’ ‘This is Mr. Jha, Mr. Qureshi, You know Wagale… Mr. Sharma, Mr. Cheddha…’ Shivam paused as Mr. Chedda tried squeezing Kabir’s hand with all the vile and venom he could muster. ‘You met his son in the morning’ Shivam grinned as he watched Chedda’s face contort with emotion. ‘I am sure it was all a big misunderstanding sir’ Kabir heard somebody say with a heavy British accent from behind. Kabir didn’t flinch as he tightened his grip, he knew Chedda was beginning to feel the pain. ‘Ah! Completely forgot… Kabir’ Shivam placed one arm over Kabir’s shoulder and the other over Chedda. Chedda let go of Kabir’s hands, but scowl remained on his face. ‘This is Mr. Aditya Gupta, to list what all he has accomplished at his young age is going to take more than one lifetime’. ‘Call me Adi’ he offered his hand to Kabir, ‘After all, you and me are about the same age’. Kabir smiled as he shook hands. Kabir wasn’t sure how old Aditya was, but there was something about him which impressed Kabir. ‘Arey Chedda sahib… Come let me refill your drink… Wagale!’ Shivam steered him away from where Sanjay and Kabir stood closely followed by Wagale. ‘He is a bit of a cunt isn’t he?’ Aditya quipped as the two of them watched Chedda angrily complain to Shivam. Kabir smiled in return, unsure about the group dynamics. ‘I suppose congratulations are in order, they tell me you recently got married?’ Aditya raised his wine glass in toast. ‘Yeah…’ Kabir replied as he raised his glass in return and took a sip. ‘How did you guys meet?’ Aditya inquired. ‘We met in college…’ Kabir replied, still not comfortable to recount the tale how he met Alisha. ‘She seems nice’ Aditya smiled as he sipped on his red wine. Kabir smiled politely ‘I hope I didn’t impose myself with that question. It is just that I am a sucker for love stories. And yours seemed like an interesting story’ Aditya explained as he read the plastic smile on Kabir’s face. ‘How long has it been since you guys been married?’ Aditya inquired. ‘It is going to be three months soon’ ‘Wow! And you are already back on duty’ ‘Well, they tell me that this is the best cushy posting anybody can ask for’ Kabir explained and chuckled. He was slowly warming up as the whisky went down his gullet. ‘And how is Mrs. Mukherjee dealing with being a stay at home wife. I swear I would have killed myself with boredom if I was her.’ Aditya quizzed as he raised his hand and motioned the waiter to repeat Kabir’s and his drink. ‘Oh! She hasn’t taken my name. She still goes by her maiden name, Diaz. And she is currently looking to complete her doctorate.’ ‘That’s nice… Ought to keep her busy. Though must be hard for her to go about with her daily chores though. India is a very different creature to deal with.’ ‘Oh! She speaks surprisingly good Hindi’ Kabir chuckled as he remembered the exchange between the auto rickshaw fellow and Alisha. ‘Anyway let me know if you guys need anything’ Aditya offered with a smile. Just then Shivam slapped both of them on their back good naturedly and invited them to have dinner. It was well past one in the night, when Alisha and Kabir thanked their hosts and took leave. The cold night breeze on the bike managed to re-energize them both. ‘So? What did you think?’ Kabir inquired as he throttled the bike down the empty roads. ‘The women are intolerable. Adi seems nice, and it sort of helped that he is about our age and not like the others. Can you remind me to get in touch with Professor Guha on Monday. I know I will remember, but remind me anyway’ ‘Yeah!’ ‘He is apparently something like a genius. Which makes me wonder as to why he would hang out with bunch of old farts like them?’ ‘It is all about making connections.’ Kabir explained, ‘By the way did you get to know as to what Adi does?” he inquired. ‘He has couple of dot com companies. He also plays venture capitalists. According to the women at the party, he is the catch. He has loads of money and apparently has a huge cock’ Alisha mimicked the ladies at the party. That drew a chuckle from Kabir. ‘Apparently spends most of his time trying to figure out how to spend his money. And he has expensive tastes. The wine he was drinking was from his own vineyard. And he always carries a case with him in his car.’ ‘Maybe we should call him for dinner one of these days and get some free wine’ Kabir joked as Alisha leaned forward and hugged him tightly. ‘You are such a cheapskate’ she whispered in his ear before nibbling at his earlobe. Routine “There are certain people in whom you can detect the seeds of madness - seeds that have remained dormant only because the people in question have lived relatively comfortable, middle class lives. They function perfectly well in the world, but you can imagine, given a nasty parent, or a prolonged bout of unemployment, how their potential for craziness might have been realized.” – Zoe Heller

The middle class is defined, not by what it aspires for, not by what it has, not by what is out of its reach, not by the power it yields in a single electoral vote. The middle class is defined by the routine they follow. 

Sunday is the day when the common middle class man doesn’t have to go to work. He doesn’t have to his seniors. The abuses and questions about his competency don’t stop though. For a common middle class man, Sunday is the day he gets to spend time at home, but all he wishes for is some quiet and respite. And so his day is spent in barber shops and a visit to the local butcher. A shave, a haircut, a scrumptious and sumptuous afternoon meal and a long uninterrupted nap post lunch. The middle class man seeks respite in the languorous lather of shaving cream being applied to his face, in the joyful chirps of the scissors going snip-snip. The loud narrator of newspaper articles competes with the radio wailing songs. The news is read aloud, they are discussed and dissected. The common middle class man seeks respite and companionship in the loud whinging and moaning of his peers about the government, the state of the cultural decay and poor performance of the warriors on the cricketing field. The barber and the butcher shops are the last bastion for the common middle class man where he is not judged, where he leisurely immerses himself in the illusion of being a man. Nobody questions, yells, nags or taunts him. Not his mother, not his wife. He is in neutral ground and he isn’t expected to side with the woman who gave birth to him or the feisty woman he is married to, the one he is unable to aid in having her own kids. He strolled out of the barber shop, smelling of old spice, his hair and moustache neatly combed into place. But the heavy handed heat with which the sun beat down on him made his spectacles slip down his nose bridge. He ambled down the street, to the butcher. Unlike the sleepy melee outside the barber’s shop, the crowd outside the butcher’s was livelier and resembled the top of an ant hill. ‘As-Salaam-Alaikum! Ghosh babu’ the butcher yelled above the din and smiled at him. He waved his hand and smiled back. ‘Maderchod! Why you pushing? Stop pushing’ Angry voices yelled at each other. ‘Arey! Relax… there is more than enough meat for everybody’ Karim, the butcher bellowed as he ordered around his shop assistants to pack the meat inside the black polythene covers faster. A scuffle was breaking out. As the crowd pushed and pulled like a single celled organism. His eyebrows crowded. He knew his wife and mother were waiting for him to return from his Sunday sojourn. He lifted his hands underneath his kurta, pulled out the semi-automatic pistol from his waistband. The first shot silenced the crowd gathered in front of the butchers. The following shots got silenced by the blood curdling cries as bodies started slumping and crawling to a safer place. One by one, he emptied the clip. He paused to reload the gun. He stepped over the dead bodies and walked upto the butcher’s chopping block. He looked at Karim, the butcher who lay on the shop floor, the pool of blood broke the damn and slid down the steps. He sat down on the steps, and as he surveyed and noted the sound of the last gasps which exited the bodies strewn on road. ‘One kilo boti… Please’ he mumbled before and waited patiently for the cops to arrive. The sirens finally rang out through the air. He slowly raised the gun and held it against his temple as he watched the constabulary excitedly jump out of their cars and jeeps yelling at him. Tears strolled down his freshly shaven face. ‘Don’t do anything stupid!’ Kabir yelled at the man. ‘Please! Excu…’ the man’s scream was stopped mid sentenceas the bullet tore through his temple and splattered his brains down the bloody alley.

Media fallout/Chain of Command(?)

‘What the fuck happened?’