by Mainak Dhar
'How can anyone outrun a car?'
At that moment, a familiar face appeared on TV. It was DCP Upadhyay, and he was addressing a Press Conference.
'DCP Upadhyay, what do you make of Miss Duggal's descriptions of her saviour?'
The DCP seemed amused at the journalist's question.
'She was in trauma and is obviously very grateful to the individual who saved her. But how can any man do what she described? I don't think it would be responsible of the press to further such fantastic stories. He must have happened upon the scene of the incident, and as for dodging bullets, the criminals must have just missed him in the dark.'
'What do we know about him?'
The DCP pointed to a chart behind him, and Arnab watched in silence as the camera moved to show the crude sketch of a man.
'From what we have ascertained from Miss Duggal's description and from the confession of the three criminals, he is an extremely fit and strong man, perhaps in his mid-twenties, and certainly must be of an imposing build and height. From my experience, I would say he may be very skilled in some martial arts, or perhaps has some military training. We don't know what he looks like, but do know what he was wearing.'
Arnab heart skipped a beat as the camera zoomed into the figure. He was wearing a hooded jacket, and prominently displayed on the chest were the letters 'GA'.
'While he did do something good last night, I must stress we do not encourage vigilantes. One of the criminals is in the ICU and could have died. It's good to help others, but he should know that the best thing to do is to call the police, not take the law into his own hands.'
Mishti switched the TV off with an angry grumble. 'Idiot! The man who saved her is a hero, and I hope he gets rewarded in some way. What do you think, Arnab?'
Arnab mumbled his agreement, and as Mishti and Jayantada left in his car, Mishti promised to come by to the library to say goodbye the next day before leaving for Bangalore.
On the way back to work, Arnab kept replaying what he had seen on TV in his mind, and he could barely wait to get back home and turn on the TV himself. When he got home he noted, with some disappointment, that his story was no longer the lead item, having been relegated to second place by a Breaking News report about an inquiry into how a certain Minister claiming to be from an 'economically backward background' had amassed properties worth tens of millions. However, the story was still being covered on most channels, with ad nauseam replays of the interview with Anita Duggal and the Press Conference. The most fame Arnab had experienced previously was a part of his shoulder featuring in a photograph of the Minister after the bank robbery, so this was a totally new experience for him.
He knew at a rational level, that they were really not talking about 'him', and their perception of the unknown hero was almost the polar opposite of what he was in real life. Yet, something in him felt really good, as if he had finally achieved something. Finally made an escape from the obscurity that he had taken for granted all his life. He would perhaps never admit it in public, but for the first time in his life, he felt that he had something to be really proud of. Something he wanted to shout to the world.
He had turned all the lights off, and had taken off his glasses, revelling in both the coverage he saw on the news, and also his ability to see without his glasses in the dark. He was taking almost childish pleasure in walking around his house in pitch darkness, exploring the full extent of his power. He realized that when he got close to a source of light, such as the TV or when he opened the fridge door, his vision got a bit blurry. The darker it got, the clearer his vision was.
Then he remembered the DCP's parting words, and he realized how lucky and how stupid he had been. If anyone had seen his face, he would probably be facing a police questioning now. What would he tell them? How would he explain his newly found capabilities? They would probably think him a freak or lock him up. No, the next time, he would have to be more careful.
Then he stopped himself in mid-thought.
He would be a suicidal idiot to go out on such an adventure again. Why was he even thinking that there would be a next time?
FIVE
The next morning, Mishti showed up at the library as promised. Arnab walked with her to the Cafe for a coffee as she told him about how much she was dreading going back to work.
'I would have thought you would take a break, since your arm isn't fully recovered', said Arnab.
'You don't know my boss. A total workaholic.'
'I never did ask you, which company do you work for?'
'Woodpecker Industries. Heard of them?'
'Who hasn't' said Arnab. Mishti's employer was one of the biggest corporations in India. The fact that she worked for such a large firm made him realize once more just how out of his league she was. Mishti caught him completely off-guard with her next question.
'Arnab, do you have a girlfriend?'
Arnab almost choked on his coffee as he responded after a pause.
'No, I don't.'
He saw Mishti's expression and thought she was asking why. Without thinking too much, he blurted out what was according to him, the truthful answer.
'I don't think too many girls would be interested in me.'
Mishti put her cup down, and looked at Arnab with a smile.
'And what kind of guys do you think girls like?'
'You know, well-built, good-looking, rich, sophisticated. Certainly not an Associate Librarian from Uttarpara.'
He hadn't meant to come out sounding as bitter as he did, but he was shocked when Mishti reached out and touched his hand.
'Arnab, not all girls judge a man by his bank balance or his looks. There's a whole lot more than that, things you have in spades. Like honesty, like a good heart, like just being a decent human being.'
'How do you know I'm decent?'
'Because you haven't tried to hit on me yet. Most men would have flirted or made a pass by now', she replied with a mischievous grin.
'I guess I don't know how to flirt.'
Mishti laughed out loud, showing the smile that Arnab had decided he could never tire of seeing.
'And that, Arnab Bannerjee, is what makes you so irresistible.'
Arnab had no idea what to say to that, and was grateful when Mishti looked away at her watch and got up with a start,
'Shit! I'm going to miss my flight if I just sit and chat here. Arnab, I've never been one for long goodbyes, and am going to be back in town real soon. So take care and tata.'
To Arnab's delight and horror, she leaned over and gave a quick peck on his cheek before she left. As Mishti walked away, Arnab felt somehow that his life may return to some degree of normalcy. After all, the whole episode in Gurgaon had to do with her, didn't it? Now that she was gone, he could try and forget what had happened and get his life back on track. The TV channels had found other news to occupy themselves with and coverage of his adventure was slowly but surely disappearing from the airwaves. Soon enough, nobody would remember anything, and he could get back to his work at hand. That included starting to study for the upcoming exams, not clearing which would condemn him to at least one more year of being Jayantada's assistant. Just then, he noticed a large group of students gathered around a laptop. As they chattered excitedly, more and more students joined until there was a veritable mob gathered around the table, jostling to get a glimpse of the screen.
'Holy shit, did you see that?'
'Man, its for real!'
'Play it again.'
Curious as to what was going on, Arnab walked over to one of the students he knew.
'Ram, what's happening here?'
The boy looked at him, eyes wide with excitement.
'Man, this is amazing. This guy really rocks.'
Arnab was totally confused.
'Who rocks? Who are you talking about?'
'The Gurgaon superhero. Someone taped him and put it up on Youtube. He moves as fast as a rocket. I've never seen anything like it!'
Arnab literally s
topped breathing. Trying to act as nonplussed as possible, he got out of the Cafe, and then rushed to the library. He booted up the PC there and went to Youtube. He didn't have to search too much. Just typing 'Gurgaon' produced a video titled 'The real Gurgaon superhero'. Its description read.
'He's for real folks! Took this on my mobile. Check it out! Just watch him move like a rocket!'
With shaking fingers, he clicked on the video. It was grainy, and opened on the side of the road where Arnab had been sitting near the Sumo. The camera was pointed at a young girl. A male voice, presumably that of the person recording the video was speaking.
'Come on, sweetheart, say something.'
'What do I say, yaar?'
Just then, there was movement behind her. The camera moved to show three men rush into the Sumo and drive off at high speed, leaving a cloud of dust and smoke in their wake. Then Arnab could see himself standing there. His face was obscured by the hood but it was nevertheless a shock to see himself on video, exposed to the whole world. In the video, he stood still for a second or two, and then began running, suddenly accelerating till he was little more than a blur. The camera tried to follow him down the road, but in the blink of an eye, he had disappeared.
'Holy shit! Did you get that?' the girl's voice was heard saying.
Arnab sat in stunned silence for several minutes, not knowing what to do. The video had been uploaded that morning and had already been viewed 5000 times. By the time Arnab got home in the evening and checked on his computer, that number had climbed to over 100,000. If he had thought his adventure would be forgotten soon, he was very wrong. All night, there was a veritable feeding frenzy in the media on the video clip. Channels would freeze on frame after frame, zoom in to try and see more details and linger on the point where he seemed to accelerate like a rocket and run after the car. Arnab woke up the next morning and walked to the nearby newspaper vendor to see what the papers had to say. What he saw astounded him. Every paper carried the story as its lead item on the front page, and while there was little by way of any more information than had been available the previous day, there was a lot of speculation. Arnab bought about a dozen papers and spent the rest of the day doing little more than reading what they had to say.
'Is he some genetically modified experiment?' speculated one paper.
'Do we have our own real life superhero?' screamed another.
As he read story after story, he found himself getting obsessed with what they had written about him, and some of their wild speculations and theories made him laugh out loud, since he was the only person who knew the whole truth. In the evening, he turned on the TV to see the Minister he had met, Balwant Singh, on a news programme.
'Mr Singh, as the Law Minister, what is your take on this superhero story in Delhi?' asked the anchor.
Balwant Singh seemed to be chewing tobacco once again, and was wearing a khadi kurta-pyjama and a cap that made him look just a little bit comical. What he had to say was however not something Arnab found funny at all.
'You see, nowadays with technology you can do anything. You can make a man fly, run fast, or take a bribe.'
He smiled broadly at the studio audience, many of whom cheered. As the camera panned over the audience, Arnab could recognize PC Sharma, the Minister's flunkie and wondered how many in the audience were plants as they had been in the college Press Conference.
'Mr Singh, I presume you're referring to the cash for votes scam, where your colleagues were caught on camera taking money, but you continue to insist those are doctored photos.'
'You see, the Opposition..'
The Minister looked visibly upset when the anchor cut him in mid-sentence and tried to steer the discussion back.
'To come back to the Gurgaon video, are you saying this is a fake?'
'All I know is that this superhero talk is bogus. Someone helped that woman out, which is a good thing. But I request your audience not to conclude that taking the law into your own hands is always good, and also not to sensationalize this with wild rumours. Now coming back to the Opposition, you see..'
Arnab switched the TV off in disgust. He sat there, wondering why he was feeling so agitated. He had not wanted nor asked for any recognition or reward for what he had done, but to have what he had done, what he was, dismissed as a hoax and a publicity stunt made him feel angry. He realized that this was the first time in his life when he really felt proud of who he was and what he had done, and to have that undermined and ridiculed really got under his skin.
What made things worse was that on Monday, the media got a new favourite story-a Krishna idol that had suddenly started playing the flute in a Mysore temple. They dumped Arnab's story like a hot potato and descended on this new sensation, where thousands of devotees were lining up outside the temple, to get a glimpse of this miracle and to seek blessings with offerings of cash and valuables. Two days later, the whole episode was revealed to be a hoax by the temple priest, who had placed a small wireless speaker under the idol. To Arnab's dismay, a lot of the media began linking the story to his video, talking about how scamsters can use technology to mislead people.
That Wednesday, while sitting in the college Cafe for lunch, he overheard two students talking at the neighbouring table.
'Man, you can't believe anything nowadays. The whole Gurgaon superhero thing was a scam, and I thought it may have been real.'
'Come on, dude, there are no heroes in our country-just keep your head down and survive, that's all. Bloody scamsters, all of them.'
'Guess you're right. Would be nice if there were someone like that around, though-someone who could make a difference. I guess it's that way only in the comics, right?'
That was the last straw. Arnab could feel his blood boiling. He was no scamster, and certainly no comic book character. He felt it a real perversion of justice that someone who had done nothing more than help another person was being ridiculed. He would prove them all wrong, and they would know he was only too real, and that someone could actually make a difference.
***
This time however, Arnab didn't act rashly. He had learnt his lessons from his first adventure and as tempted as he was to rush into another one, he decided to prepare thoroughly. He realized that the hooded sweatshirt had served him well in helping conceal his identity and he would continue wearing it. He also decided to operate only at night, since revealing his powers in broad daylight was just too risky. Also, he realized that at night, his power of vision gave him two added advantages. First, he would be able to see clearly when any likely adversary would not, and secondly he would not be encumbered with managing his bulky glasses. Years of reading detective novels and comics gave him another idea-he brought a pair of gloves. Not only would they help keep his hands warm in the winter nights, but also ensure that he would not leave behind any fingerprints.
All of this took the better part of a week, a time during when Arnab did precious little studying, appeared even more absent minded at work and earned a few more sarcastic comments from Jayantada. He decided he would go out again on Friday night, and with three days to go, he also decided that next time he encountered trouble; he wouldn't be just evading blows and wondering what the hell to do. A trip to the nearby video rental shop yielded a hoard of old Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan movies, which he watched late into the night, hoping to learn some moves. When he tried to emulate a kick and lost his balance and landed on his face, he realized that he would need a bit more help. Looking at the DVDs suddenly gave him an idea.
A wiry old man known to everyone around as Khan chacha, Hindi slang for Khan Uncle, ran the video parlour. It was rumoured he had once been a famous boxer, but nobody really knew the full story. As Arnab reached the shop to return the DVDs, he waited for the other customers to leave so he could have some time alone with Khan.
'Khan chacha, I wanted to ask you something.'
'Go on.' Khan replied in his usual gruff voice, as he sorted the discs that had just been returned.
; 'Can you teach me a few boxing moves.'
Khan looked up, startled.
'What are you talking about?'
Arnab decided to persist. 'They say you were once a famous boxer. You surely could teach me something.'
The man didn't even deign to reply, and got up saying he had to close the shop for the night. Arnab pleaded with him to wait.
'Why do you want to learn? I don't teach youngsters so they can get into silly fights to impress girls.'
Arnab told him about the incident on the bus, leaving out how he had thrashed the two goons, and saying that he felt so helpless in situations like that and if he knew some moves he could at least try and help in future. It was a lie, but Arnab figured it was all for a good cause, and it seemed to work as the old man's features softened a bit.
'Come upstairs with me.'
He took Arnab to a small room above the shop. In a corner wall hung several photographs of a younger Khan, many featuring him in the boxing ring. Beside the photos was a frame displaying several medals. Arnab was speechless.
Khan pointed to the medals, speaking with a bitter tone. 'National Championship Gold, Silver in the Asian Games.' He saw the unspoken question in Arnab's eyes, questions he had been asked a thousand times earlier. Questions he tried to avoid by keeping his past a closely guarded secret.
'Arnab, all I got for my efforts were photos with some political bigwigs and a few photos in the papers. I was an ordinary infantryman in the Army, and with three mouths to feed, I earned barely enough to get by on, let alone cover the cost of training and equipment. Those days, there were no corporate sponsors, no lucrative ad deals and we were at the mercy of the bureaucrats. The Army was supportive, but to really compete at a world-class level, I needed equipment and training that nobody had the money for. I loved boxing, but I had to choose-struggle through it or raise my family. I made my choice.'
Arnab didn't know what to say, so Khan walked up to him and said, 'Yes, I'll teach you. Come here every evening.'
And thus Arnab's training began. He met Khan the next evening after dinner when the old man had closed his shop.
