THE DIARY OF AN UNREASONABLE MAN

by MADHAV MATHUR

  ‘Hmm … I suggest you start calling people to find another job.’

  ‘I’ve got a job.’

  ‘Well, that was fast! Fucking idiot came around in no time!’

  How happy he was.

  ‘I thought it’d be hard to get you back on track this time. Where are you working?’

  ‘Oh, I’m going to be working for myself.’

  ‘You’re starting your own agency?’

  ‘You could say that, in a way, yes.’ I smiled.

  ‘Cool. What are you going to call it?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure yet.’

  ‘How about “The Vector Ad Agency”?’

  ‘Sounds too much like a front for a bad Bond villain. Though we’d be happy to hear any more suggestions you might have in that cheese factory of a head you lug around.’

  ‘Yes, I guess you’re right. But hell, that’s a side issue, this is great news. Can I help? Do you need anything? Initial funding to get you through the early bits?’

  ‘No thanks, I have some pretty solid savings that I’m finally going to put to good use.’

  ‘Sure. Sounds good.’

  An undeniable sense of relief shone through his excited chatter. He was a good friend.

  ‘I might need your help with some of the logistics though.’

  ‘Not a problem. Anything you need, brother.’

  ‘Okay! So first up. Where can I find a good nursery?’

  ‘Nursery? You mean flowers and shit?’

  ‘No. Just the shit. I need a few barrels of khaad. Come, let’s find out.’

  ‘Khaad?’

  I got up and made for the door. He started walking behind me after what I can only imagine was a moment to come to terms with my apparent newfound interest in horticulture. Manure to be exact. Poor chap. He’d be in on it soon enough.

  As we got into the car and made it round the first bend in front of the Hussain Barber Shop, my fidgeting friend couldn’t help himself any more.

  ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ve got that look in your eyes.’

  The man knew me too well. ‘What look?’ I exclaimed.

  ‘Your naughty, wait-till-he-finds-out-what-I-did-with-his-girlfriend look …’

  ‘Hey! That was once. And it was a long time ago. I’ve grown up.’

  ‘Sure you have. And that was your evil twin brother who pranked the hell out of Sudeep and Salil last week.’

  ‘Those morons are too easy. I’m moving on to bigger things.’

  A light drizzle was setting in. I didn’t bother to switch on the wipers, as we were just a minute away from our destination: Salma Aunty’s nursery. I’d heard about her in a long conversation with one of our neighbours. She had a lovely collection, I had been told.

  ‘All right. What the fuck is up?’

  ‘Will you relax? We’re just going to buy a shit-load of khaad, that’s all.’

  ‘We live on the third floor. You’ve either got a massive secret orchid plantation in your cupboards or you’ve lost your mind.’

  We stopped at a light. There was a huge board on the side, above a building with an advertisement for the SHB Automobile Company.

  ‘It’s not for me, Abhay. It’s for them.’

  I pointed to the billboard. He stared at me with even greater bewilderment, cursing under his breath.

  10. INCEPTION

  It took longer than I had expected. He was his chicken-shit self, even more so than usual. I had to endure hours of ‘You can’t do that!’, ‘You’re out of your mind!’, ‘You’ll get caught!’

  But I wasn’t deterred. I told him I needed his help. I told him it was necessary for me to go through with it. After some time it became ‘We can’t do that!’, ‘We’re going to get caught!’

  Good evening, buy-in.

  This was the only way the ideas would get out. They were my life and I wanted for them to make it to the people. It was necessary. There was an urge to act. This was precisely what we had been talking about as kids, as university students not very long ago. This was my way out of my drudgery, my quotidian struggle to be a man of value.

  ‘Self-worth? You’re talking about self-worth?’

  ‘Yeah. My life has to have a purpose. I’ve finally found it.’

  ‘So did Batman, you lunatic, and he’s a fucking comic book character.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘So, ordinary everyday people do not have to shake the earth to feel like they’re alive.’

  ‘Most people don’t need to feel alive. I want them to see that a lot of what they’ve submitted themselves to is premium quality bullshit,’ I said as I inspected our recently acquired wares.

  ‘For that you want to be a fucking vigilante? Some kind of maniac running around town vandalizing things?’

  ‘I’m going to sell the ideas. That’s all. And someone’s got to shine a light on the dingy, dirty corners.’

  ‘You’re going to piss a lot of people off, you know that, right?’

  ‘Yes. But think about how beautiful it would be. Think about how we’d see ourselves, for once, for what we really are. Think about the debate. Think about the rattle. This is basic, Abhay. I need your help.’

  ‘Listen, the only reason I would be a part of your insane scheme would be to make sure that you don’t get arrested, caught or killed.’

  ‘Don’t you see the reason for doing this?’

  ‘To an extent yes. But …’

  ‘This is what it’s about Abhay. This is our chance to bring about a change. I’m not killing anyone. I’m like a terrorist who doesn’t kill people.’

  ‘Yes, you’ve traded in your AK-47 for a warm teddy bear, right?’

  ‘Indeed. It’s a warm teddy bear with an axe in his head and his eyes on fire, wearing an apron that says “Your TV is Wrong” … perhaps …’

  He didn’t have much to say to that. He just walked out of the house muttering, ‘You’ve lost your mind, Pranav. This time you’ve really lost it.’

  I looked down at the sacks of manure that we had lugged back from Salma Aunty’s place. Twenty of them lay in a heap in our living room, piled up beside my pristine couch.

  ‘How does one kill greed?’ I voiced my thoughts out aloud as I settled myself on my couch with a pad and pencil. ‘How does one sell the right stuff?’

  I scribbled away on my pad for a few minutes. I stopped as I heard footsteps approach the door to the apartment.

  It hadn’t been long since he had left.

  ‘So this is what you meant by the new ad agency?’ he asked speculatively.

  ‘You’re back. Yes. This is what I was talking about.’

  ‘All right. I’m in. This is totally crazy. But count me in.’

  ‘Wow. Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What made you see the light?’

  ‘It’s more like what brought me over to the dark side.’

  ‘Right, Anakin.’

  ‘Yeah. I just want to see the look on their faces when it happens.’

  ‘Whatever works for you. Excellent.’

  ‘So have you thought it through?’

  This was my favourite part. I always believed that content was key and it was up to us to deliver it well. The execution would matter only if the idea being presented had weight.

  ‘I’ve got a few ideas.’

  ‘Are we going to sign off?’

  ‘We’ll do more than that, Abhay. We’ll do much more than that.’

  From a very early age, I had been practising the art of covering for my follies. Not without good reason, of course. Usually I was compelled to do so in order to escape a beating or some other form of devious punishment that only a seasoned authority figure like a parent or a teacher could concoct. I was well used to the cat-and-mouse game. I was used to the thrill that came with knowing more or knowing better.

  I remembered my first real brush with authority. It was a fake recess. It was time off that we had invented f
or ourselves. The vapid emptiness of the late afternoon, right before school finished for the day, had drained us. We couldn’t sit in the classroom waiting endlessly for the bell to ring for the day. We longed to just loll around and play a bit, vegetate and talk. Of course, we were smart enough to do so far away from the main building that had teachers and custodians crawling out of the crevices in the walls. The school’s main building was a dark, cold place where learning was imperative and wanderlust inevitable. This odd combination had given birth to the mass bunk. The teacher was nowhere to be found. He was a traveller himself, it seemed.

  So with my friends and a motley group of other students I wandered out into the playgrounds in search of entertainment. Shahnaz and the other girls were happily skipping rope. The rest of 4A lay scattered around the fields like lazy drops of pollen, looking for an idea. Our sky-gazing antics and cricket-related altercations were interrupted by the angry voice of our vice principal. Mr Singh was here. Mr Singh looked pissed. A towering presence, it was as though his shadow covered the entire football field. We were his herd now. He owned us for the rest of the day and many believed, for the rest of our lives. He rounded us up in Nazi fashion. I couldn’t believe the submissive nature of my comrades in the mass bunk. We marched back to his office, through the hallways of the old school building. The line trembled. Passers-by shook their heads and made mock cross symbols saying prayers for a condemned lot. Some of the louder comedians were rounded up to join the pack. No one was laughing now.

  Mr Singh’s office, like most vice principals’ rooms, had its fair share of enigma and folklore attached to it. Obviously, it was regarded as a place where no one wanted to be taken. Scarred seniors who had been inside for the wrong reasons, told tales of frighteningly thin canes. Apparently there was an entire collection of them adorning the walls of our stickler disciplinarian’s chambers. He was believed to lose his mind in a fit of rage, lashing out at children in the prime of their mischievous young lives.

  After a while Mr Singh fell silent, tired of ranting at us, it seemed. We could just feel his eyes sweeping across us like a spotlight, as we walked slowly. They said he had a room inside his room where he’d lock children up. It was empty and there were no windows. It was tiny and smelt of phenyl. Our seniors had choked while sharing these horrific tales with us. It wasn’t acting. They were truly sickened by the memory.

  ‘So this is what death row feels like.’

  ‘Shut up!’

  ‘My mom’s going to kill me.’

  ‘Who says you’re ever going to see her again? Just keep your head down and do as he says.’

  They warned us about how he would question us and make us feel horrible. After the questioning he’d get up from his chair and walk around in circles. Reminiscent of my favourite moment from the movie Jaws. I’ll have to rethink that. The experience was never meant to be pleasant. My stomach felt weird and before I could share this with my comrades they piped up with similar symptoms. It must have been the fear.

  We reached the office. The enormous teak door was shut.

  We stopped right outside it.

  ‘Single file, you maggots!’

  We gave him what he wanted, as his shining grey safari suit needled its way through us. He opened his door and looked back at us with menace. I don’t know if it was just me, but I saw a glint of happiness in his eyes. He went into his room and there was a tense silence in the ranks. Suddenly a struggle broke out at the head of the line; kids were fighting to be second, third … just not the first one in. The ruckus drew him out of the room.

  ‘Stop moving about, you animals. Is this what you come here to do? Have you got any idea how much your parents want for you to do well? Have you any idea how much your education is worth? Ingrates! Fools!’

  He disappeared from sight after this brief rant. We had heard it all before in some form or the other. We heard his giant chair being pulled back. It creaked portentously against the floor.

  ‘Come in. One at a time.’

  This dramatic statement was punctuated by the sound of a rod or stick of some kind being clapped against his desk. No one moved. We were trapped it seemed. We were in a trance. Someone had to do something. If he wanted an obsequious drone, he was in for a surprise. There was only one thing to do.

  I stepped out from the line.

  ‘I said come in. I know you are in front, Amoldeep,’ he sang.

  Amol didn’t look very good at this time. He was hyperventilating and being helped up only to be pushed in by Sid and Vineet. Who could blame the poor bastards? I walked passed them heroically.

  ‘Tell my parents, I tried,’ I turned to them and said. Decent last words for a fourth grader. They looked at me in shock. I knocked on the door and let myself in, turning back one last time to see my friends and their jaws on the floor. Shahnaz looked down, worried, pained … all at once. This concern, for some reason, made me feel a little better as I stuck my head inside the Vice Principal’s dungeon.

  ‘Pranav!’ I heard my friends shout out to me.

  Their voices were lost behind the teak door.

  This was one of my first face-to-face meetings with authority. We were going to have a long and turbulent relationship I thought. In part I blame my parents.

  ‘Question everyone, question everything’ was a good motto but not one that won you many friends. At this point of time, I had to befriend or impress Mr Singh.

  ‘Where’s Amoldeep?’ he barked.

  I broke right into it. There was no time for procrastination or waiting for the opportune moment, I was there for a reason.

  My Brahmastra was about to be used up. Like a bolt of lightning I ran to his desk and picked up his super-thin cane. I ran for the door as he howled behind me, chasing me like a salivating wolf strapped into a luge.

  ‘Come back here, maggot! Where do you think you are running to? This is my school! This is my school!’

  Sweat ran down my brow as I ran wildly, arms flailing, cane in hand.

  I dodged the orderly who jumped in my path to halt my progress and almost pushed our English teacher Ms Nigam over in my lunatic dash for freedom. I slid under the indoor volleyball net and looked back for a moment. Mr Singh was catching up.

  He kept shouting out for me to stop but I didn’t. I ran to the one place I knew I had to go.

  I reached the canteen.

  Sure enough our elusive teacher, the traveller, Arvind sir, sat there watching dust chase dust, with a cup of tea in his hand. I ran up to him and stood behind his chair. He did not notice me. I looked to my left and saw Mr Singh panting down towards me. He was livid with anger and exertion.

  ‘Pranav Kumar!’ he bellowed.

  I just stood behind the chair as Arvind sir got up. He looked at me and then at Mr Singh.

  I stepped towards the red Vice Principal and handed him the cane. He looked at me in disbelief, as he took it back and then turned to the truant teacher.

  ‘Arvind sir teaches us maths on Thursday afternoons. It’s a double period,’ I said in my most matter-of-fact manner. I then stepped back and waited for it to happen. I wanted Arvind sir to get caned. Adults don’t get caned enough. Perhaps some of them should.

  ‘Go back to your class, Pranav,’ said Mr Singh thoughtfully. ‘I will deal with you later.’

  ‘Good afternoon sirs,’ I nodded and walked away slowly, hiding a smile.

  The single file line from outside Mr Singh’s office had moved and become a blob of confused and angry children piled up inside a corridor, as they watched me walk back to join them. A small half smile slipped out to let them know that all was well.

  ‘We have to go back to the classroom,’ I declared.

  That was my day in the sun. Shahnaz thought I was stupid but brave.

  ‘I’m fine! Look at me, do I not look okay to you?’ I insisted.

  ‘Barely! And you didn’t have to do that!’

  ‘Who did?’ I smiled.

  Other people thanked and congratulated me. I had sur
vived. I had done it to myself and made it out alive. From then on, my friends and classmates started consulting me and even asking me to speak for them in stickier situations. I was the only people’s lawyer in 4A. An accidental Clarence Darrow.

  After that it was smooth sailing. At eleven I had set Aunty Chopra’s dogs free in the middle of the afternoon after tying a piece of meat to her shameless and cruel security guard’s chair.

  More recently, I had convinced Marketing that they had in fact spent three times their budget, just to prove a point about their lax tracking methods.

  The perilous lifestyle, albeit small and contained, had taught me well.

  I didn’t have all the answers. I didn’t have all the remedies for everything that was awry. Just a few beliefs, a few statements. I wished for them to be like pieces of art, created through chaos, born out of an irrepressible desire to wake people up. Public Service Announcements were passé; it was time for Public Service Enactments.

  It was only fitting that I chose to sign off as ‘the Anarchists’.

  11. DUNG CITY

  The day had come. Fidgeting and yet again muttering under his breath, Abhay joined me in what would soon become an occasion for revelry and merriment. We were on our way to Act One.

  The Pirelli Towers had long been used by big companies for their roadshows, campaigns and product launches. There was a massive amphitheatre right in front of the building that seated all the dignitaries and the media; there was also a lot of place for throngs of onlookers to take in the proceedings that were held at the centre of it all. Any firm with a large enough budget would choose to sell their stuff from there. In my day I too had orchestrated and helped organize numerous such events for a couple of colas and electronic devices. The place was a huge hit. Just like today’s SHB car launch party was going to be.

  ‘The talk of the town.’ Indeed.

  I assured Abhay that everything would go as planned and that we would be out of there soon. It was going to be quite a job lugging those sacks of manure up to the top of the building. First, of course, we had to take care of the closed-circuit television feeds that were there all over the building. As planned, we crept into the service office and stole a couple of janitor’s uniforms and caps from the store. We were now Mohan and Vallabh of the ‘Evershine Custodian Services Company’. Proudly we marched out of the office, only to be stopped by a gentleman who insisted that we weren’t doing our jobs properly.