Fear Is the Key

by Juggi Bhasin

  Rahul walked to the tree and hugged it, his eyes watering once again. He turned his back to the tree, clasped his hands around it, and whispered, ‘Come back from wherever you are.’

  He stayed like that for a while, and many tourists around eyed him as if he had gone mad. A little later, he walked away from the Qutub complex and headed towards Lodhi Garden in a Zuber taxi.

  He walked past rows of withering flower beds and came up to a small bridge that descended into a minor forest of overgrown bamboo. It was cool and dry under the bamboo shade, and he caressed the hardy bark. His eyes closed as memory and desire flooded him. He could almost feel Simone breathing against him as he fumbled with her blouse buttons. He heard her scolding and encouraging him at the same time. ‘We will be a scandal soon. This is a public park. We might even land up at the police station.’

  He had replied matter-of-factly. ‘Maybe. But what should I do about the swelling below my belt?’

  She had laughed like only Simone could. Her laughter had drifted across the rustling leaves on the bridge; it flew like a bird flying above the naked, wintry branches of the trees in the park. It reverberated in the tomb of Sikandar Lodhi and then escaped into the air, piercing through the cold, still air. Rahul caressed her breast and kissed it.

  She whispered in his ear, ‘It won’t solve the problem, you know. That swelling of yours will only get bigger. Imagine you walking in the park with that on display.’ She had laughed loudly at her own joke, her high-pitched laugh.

  Rahul was close to tears. A young girl running ahead of her parents looked at him with curiosity. He hastily wiped his tears and walked out of the park.

  Evening had set in. Rahul walked down the streets of south Delhi to claim anything he could from the past. He could not recall the number of times the two of them had walked around the network of bylanes. They did not need an excuse to walk through a historically beautiful part of town. He walked the length and breadth of Amrita Shergil Marg, up and down, not sure about what he was doing or what he was looking for. On a whim, he took a Zuber cab and walked into a movie screening at PVR Saket. The theatre, which had seen better times, was almost vacant. This was just as well because it gave him time to inspect his seat carefully. Long back, Simone had instilled the fear of the unknown in him when she had stopped him from sitting in the same theatre. ‘Always inspect your seat,’ she had said with the utmost seriousness. ‘There are reports that a gang has struck Delhi and that they place needles infected with HIV blood on the seats.’

  He never found out whether she was serious or plain whacky. All he knew was that she had an unpredictable appetite for the bizarre and the unexpected.

  The film played out before him, but his mind was elsewhere, on another film that starred Simone. Simone with her oddities, her laugh, her teasing and mocking self. Suddenly, he could bear it no longer. He burst into tears and wailed as if he was the last man on the planet with a terminal disease. The fatigue overpowered him, and he felt dizzy and short of breath. He managed to escape the theatre and came out gasping for air. He stood swaying near the Looks Salon, feeling very unwell. People stood out in the evening winter air, smoking cigarettes, laughing loudly, others heading for the eateries strewn around the place. Rahul was struggling to breathe and barely managed to take out his cellphone and push some buttons. Then, he collapsed near a pillar next to the salon.

  He woke up in a hospital bed and tried to make sense of the situation. Suhel sat on his left reading an old magazine. He looked up and patted his friend’s hand, careful not to disturb the drip coil injected into his forearm.

  ‘Hey buddy! How are you feeling now?’

  Rahul licked his dry lips and croaked a reply.

  ‘I have never been worse. What happened?’

  Suhel tossed the magazine aside and came to the point. ‘You came close to being the first CEO in Indian corporate history to nearly die of dehydration and hunger. Seriously, buddy, what were you thinking? You could give reality show producers a run for their money. “Heartbroken CEO starves to death. Body found at Saket complex.”’

  ‘Don’t have to drive the point home.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I? They found you with nearly no pulse and blood pressure so high that it could have crashed the machine.’

  ‘I have been smelling her perfume, Suhel. I think I am beginning to hear voices.’

  Suhel got up and eyed the machine recording Rahul’s vital signs.

  ‘Friend, you are losing your mind after having nearly lost your body. The choice is yours, buddy. You want to leave the world for Simone, who, for all we know, could still be alive. How can I stop you? As I said, the choice is yours.’

  ‘I am in despair, Suhel,’ Rahul responded.

  ‘Yeah sure, but you have to come out of it. Otherwise, it will end badly for you. I have a few ideas. We will talk about them later. Now, do I have to feed you this soup lovingly, as they show in the movies, one spoonful at a time, or will you make an effort to prop yourself up against the pillow and eat it yourself?’

  ‘I will give it a shot.’

  ‘That’s good. And that’s a start. You aren’t going down the tube as yet.’

  CHAPTER 12

  The road near MG Metro Station was choked with auto rickshaws, vendors selling bhelpuri, and pools of humanity, especially those coming out of the station. The air was dense with winter pollution, and the bright lights of a nearby mall blazed away, sticking out like beacons in a forest of chaos.

  Suhel instructed the driver to stop a little distance away from the confusion. He thrust a couple of hundred-rupee notes into the driver’s hand and said, ‘Grab a bite and come back to pick us up in a couple of hours.’

  They stepped out of the car, and Suhel inspected his friend’s attire. ‘Get the hoodie to cover your face. We don’t want anyone to recognize us here.’

  ‘I don’t feel good about this,’ protested Rahul. ‘This is so unlike what I have ever done before!’

  ‘Think of it as therapy in a rehab. Your body needs it. The soul can only soar if the body is alive and well.’

  They walked the distance to the mall and took an elevator to the top floor of a building right next to it. It was quiet at the top, but Suhel was not prepared to be reckless.

  He made Rahul wait for some time and looked around carefully before they entered a shady-looking spa called ‘Relaxation’. Perhaps the name was thought of in a moment of irony. A pleasant-looking girl asked if they had bookings.

  ‘Yeah, we have one,’ replied Suhel with a straight face. ‘It will be under the name of Thomson and Thompson.’

  The girl smiled and scanned her computer screen and then smiled even more broadly. ‘Ah! You have booked the special package spa! This way, sirs. Honoured to have you both here.’

  They were led to a steam-filled chamber, where a young girl asked them to remove their clothes and gave them disposable underwear. Another girl wheeled in a tray offering choice Scotch offerings as a welcome drink.

  ‘Drink it up as medicine,’ suggested Suhel. Another girl joined the massage girl. The two friends were led to two massage beds separated by a screen.

  ‘What will it be?’ asked the masseuse. ‘You want it hard, medium or soft?’

  ‘Anything that relaxes me,’ replied Rahul. ‘My muscles feel raw and taut.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said the girl in a sing-song, childlike voice. ‘I will take good care of you.’

  She made Rahul lie down on his stomach and kneaded his muscles, slowly coaxing the tension out of them. She applied a fragrant oil and rubbed it all over him. She worked on him, and he never knew when he slept off his time on the massage bed. He woke up nearly an hour later, feeling refreshed. His masseuse cleaned him with a towel and led him to a jacuzzi in an anteroom.

  ‘Take off the underwear,’ she coaxed him. ‘I will give you an energizing bath.’

  ‘Is there a changing room . . .’

  The girl laughed in her childlike manner, and before he could fully
grasp the extent of the second part of the excursion, she had slid his underwear down and tossed it into a cane basket. She took off her white gown and stood before him naked, her pubic hair expertly shaved in a thin line. She took his hand and led him to the jacuzzi. She started to sing and then joined him, working soap suds all over him. She gave him a good rub and then washed him clean. She broke off her singing, looked deep into his eyes and said, ‘Your soul is parked outside heaven’s gate. We have to bring it in. Come to bed with me.’

  They got out of the jacuzzi, and she gave him a dry rub with a towel before leading him to a bed covered with a soft cotton sheet. She disappeared into another anteroom. From another end of the chamber, Rahul heard Suhel’s groans of pleasure as the second masseuse began to work on him.

  His masseuse reappeared with a sandalwood box. She smiled and opened it, giving him a choice of various coloured condoms.

  ‘Clean and safe,’ she said. ‘After all, you will be entering heaven.’

  Then, in an instant, the entire setting before his eyes vanished and the air was thick with specks of ash landing on his tousled hair and naked body. The fragrance of the chamber evaporated and the nauseous smell of burnt bodies in an electric crematorium filled his nostrils. To his left, the masseuse, with half her face torn off, had pressed a button that started the conveyor belt. The belt pushed a body lying on a stretcher towards the electric furnace. Close to the mouth of the furnace, the sheet flew off the body and Rahul saw Simone smiling at him. Then her body went into the furnace and burnt with a crackling noise. The ash went up into the air and slowly descended on his head forming a white crown on his black hair.

  He screamed as if he would never stop. The bile pushed the puke up his throat and he ran and vomited in the jacuzzi. He had lost control and did not know which reality to believe. He continued to scream even as his masseuse looked at him horror-stricken. From a corner of the chamber, Suhel managed to put on his clothes and ran to assist his friend. They managed to quieten him down and get some clothes on him. Rahul sat on the bed where he was supposed to be making love, looking at everyone with crazed eyes.

  Suhel quickly paid by card and mumbled apologies to the shocked staff and the girls. The girl tending to Rahul helped Suhel take him to the elevators. She pressed the button, and as the lift came up she said to Suhel, ‘I have experience with many men, Sir. There was one like him back in my village. I meant what I told your friend. His soul is lost, parked somewhere in a black hole, struggling to reach the light. It will be touch-and-go for him. He is in complete agony. You take good care of him.’

  The elevator carried both the men to the ground floor, and Suhel put an arm around Rahul to help him out of the building. The cold air outside and the smells and sounds around the station somewhat revived Rahul.

  ‘I will call the driver,’ offered Suhel. ‘We should get you to a doctor.’

  ‘No, I am feeling better. I fucked up in there, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, you did. But it figures. You should have fucked, but you fucked up. Your body is weak and your mind has still not . . .’

  ‘Give me a cigarette.’

  ‘Are you sure? You rarely smoke.’

  ‘I have also never puked in a jacuzzi before.’

  Suhel laughed and lit a cigarette for his friend. They shared the stick and a bit of silence.

  ‘Let’s go and see the trains,’ piped Rahul suddenly.

  ‘What . . . you mean go to the metro station?’

  ‘Yes. As a kid, I loved watching trains come and go. I also want to talk.’

  Suhel nodded and stamped out the cigarette butt.

  A few minutes later, they walked into the station and purchased the tickets. Then they sat on the station benches and watched the metro trains stream in and out. Rahul took a deep breath and opened up.

  ‘Okay, I am fucked up, Suhel. I am not an idiot. I do recognize this. Simone’s disappearance has affected me in the strangest way possible. This is my personal problem. There is another part of me which is a complete professional. I know I am not doing justice to the company I created and helped build. I am completely cut-off from work, and I know that is unfair.’

  Suhel kept quiet, and Rahul articulated his thoughts some more.

  ‘Every crisis has to come to a head. This one is near that. I have no desire to go back to work . . . well . . . not as yet. I need to resolve my mess. I know you are worried for me. But a night of boozing and sex will not work for me. This will not heal me. It will only mess me up further.’

  ‘I am glad we are talking about this, Rahul . . .’

  ‘No, let me finish. I have been doing some thinking. I need to come to terms with Simone’s disappearance. The traditional ways of resolving it won’t work for me. I am going to try out alternative methods.’

  Rahul went silent after that. Suhel looked at his friend sideways. Rahul put his hand on Suhel’s and managed a half smile. ‘Don’t look so worried. I am not preparing to jump before a train. I am not going into rehab in a facility in Austria either. I plan to set a process in motion. I promise you, I will keep you updated.’

  ‘I will back you all the way . . .’

  ‘Thanks. I just need one more favour from you, Suhel. You have been a good friend. I am going to go away for some time. I need you to look after the company and make it grow in my absence. I think I have earned a sabbatical, and my paid leave from work starts from this moment onwards. You are the new CEO of Yummimages as of now.’

  The trains zipped around the two men, picking up and disgorging passengers. There was a life message there for the two friends.

  CHAPTER 13

  Fredo admired himself in the cheap mirror at the back of his locker door. He wet his forefinger and brushed back a lock of hair from his forehead. He smiled some more. ‘Hey, good looking,’ he said to his reflection. ‘The sun is up in the sky, it’s chilly but tolerable, and all the beautiful women in the city are moving around in their bras, petticoats, blouses and lingerie. Oh, what a beautiful day to hunt! God above is smiling in the heavens and man below is doing what men do best. Going on a hunt, of course!’

  Fredo quickly looked around the changing room and opened a manila envelope stuffed with his personal photo collection. He selected one and looked at it with longing. His finger traced the dried semen marks on the photo, and his eyes closed in bliss as he went erect. He thought of the time when he had taken those photos. The opportunity had been there for the taking, and he had not missed it. It was his most prized possession.

  He locked up his stash and sat on a chair, waiting for the others to arrive. He was in the habit of arriving early before roll call. It would give him time to shower and shave in clean surroundings. The changing room was a relief from his squalid one-room digs located in a seedy part of town. After he had cleaned up, he would sit in his favourite chair and plan his day. He would think of all the new angles he could try during the course of his hunt. After all, creativity was not the preserve of musicians, painters, writers and film-makers alone. When given the chance, he could be no less than them.

  Sharp at 11 a.m., his colleagues walked in in singles or twos, chatting, laughing, eager to step into service. His eye never missed even the most minor details in the girls’ uniforms. It helped him plan his day. It could be an open top button of a shirt or the blouse carelessly tucked in. It would give him a peek at some naked flesh or even the multi-coloured bras the girls wore under the striped uniform blouses. That was all he needed to get his morning inspiration.

  Of late, however, he had noticed the women steer clear of him. Perhaps they had a sense of what he was thinking about.

  If only they knew the extent.

  The duty manager called them all to attendance. Soon, the phones started to ring and the orders began to come in. The delivery boys were allocated orders and the manager quickly distributed cash for their motorcycle top-ups. Fredo held his breath as he heard his name over the intercom.

  ‘Order for Mrs Vaswani. Cheese pizza w
ith a soft crust. Block A-7, Vasant Kunj. Delivery boy: Fredo.’

  Fredo’s heart raced with anticipation as he tried to visualize Mrs Vaswani. She could be anywhere between her late twenties and early forties. It would be rare for an older Mrs Vaswani to order junk food that could clog her arteries. He hoped she was in her late thirties or early forties. She should have filled out in the right places then. If he was lucky, then she would perhaps be wearing a saree. The possibilities in a saree for his kind of work were endless. All that was required was that she should be a little sloppy. That, in his experience, often happened when the woman was distracted with something, or she had had a fight with her husband, or if the kids were bothering her. He could sense all that from the brief interaction that followed after the door opened, the order accepted and the woman turned to bring the cash. Besides being an artist, he also thought of himself as an excellent pop psychologist. He felt he could read women well. He prayed that he would be in luck and that some help in the house wouldn’t accept the delivery.

  He put the pizza into a hot case, went down the building and kick-started his motorcycle. As he raced the streets to meet his delivery deadline, he wondered what kind of people ordered an artery-choking pizza first thing in the morning. The consumption habits of people amazed him. But who was he to question that? He had his own peculiar consumption habits. When he looked around, he found almost everyone consuming something or the other that was not normal. The duality of the city and its citizens was also its anthem. Everyone, in their own way, loved to cross the line.

  He parked near a kerb and raced up a flight of stairs for the delivery. He pressed the bell. He could barely control his excitement. The door opened and a young, bored-looking household help held out a two-thousand rupee note. He felt crushed, but he was not about to give up so easily. He was literally thinking on his feet, and he saw the opportunity to draw the memsahib out of her room.