Bearing witness

reviews.

Prologue

He heard the screech of tires, and knew what had happened. He ran as fast as he could, hoping, praying that he wasn’t walking into his worst nightmare. He saw the wreckage of the car, crumbled against the huge tree. Thick, suffocating smoke was rising from the crushed engine that had been pushed back towards the seats. He knew no one could have survived the crash. The car lights flickered for a second, then died. Petrol fumes filled the air and, somewhere in front of the car, was a tiny flame that was spitting sparks into the air. He watched it for a moment before going closer. In the shadows cast by the spark, he saw a silhouette inside the car – head hanging low, body crushed by metal. He leaned across to look through the window, only to realise to his horror that there was one more inside. Tears flowed as he frantically tried to pull the door open, to wake her up, but neither without any effect. He saw the sudden explosion of a flame from beneath and withdrew instinctively. As he fell back, he watched the flame engulf the wreckage in barely a second. He scrambled up and tried to run into the flames, only to be pushed back by the searing heat. Then, she started screaming.

I stand there, watching her burn, the fire almost scorching my skin. I smell the rancid black smoke as it fills my lungs, and I hear her blood-curdling screams echoing through the endless silence.

Chapter 1

Isaw him toss and turn, lost in the familiar reconstruction of a distant dream, living the moments we had fought so hard to forget. I could sense the pain in his closed eyes, tense forehead, hands clutched tight, his teeth grinding. I saw his agony and whispered, " It’s not real". Maybe he didn’t hear me, or perhaps my voice was too soft to pierce the screams of haunted memories. " Wake up! " I shouted. I couldn’t watch him suffer anymore.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember the reason for his pounding heart, the sweat on his forehead. "Another dream?" I asked. He sat up, his eyes searching, quickly moving through the clutter that was his room. Books were in the laundry bin, clothes were strewn around. The dusty old fan turned with a reluctant squeak. Like all things in his life, it was also a cause for misery. But, for some reason, fixing it was never an option. I had asked him more than once, but he had snapped, Fuck it! I like the noise.

I tried to change him, knowing that, beneath the belligerent façade and stoic reticence was someone kind and sweet, someone who would give anything to forget, and to forgive, himself. He glanced at his watch – an old Titan that once belonged to his father. He was late. He fiddled with the strap. Even though the wounds on his wrist had healed, the scars seemed to burn, especially during those terrible dreams. They were like shackles cutting into his skin, reminding him that he would never be free. He got up and searched frantically among the layers of junk – a familiar routine that never failed to annoy me.

"You left it by the window," I said. I couldn’t help the note of condescension.

He found his glasses, splashed some water on his face and rubbed his eyes before putting it on. He stared at his reflection in the mirror for a moment, perhaps wondering why he was oblivious to what everyone else saw in him – the kindness and love he was still capable of, and which they thought he deserved. "Shave, will you?" It was days since he had. And, with the long hair, he was beginning to look like he had given up all worldly comforts. He dismissed the suggestion with a smirk.

He headed downstairs after pulling on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Mom was busy in the kitchen; a delicious aroma filled the air. He stood by the kitchen door, quietly watching her work for a moment. Mother, he called her, a hint of resentment in his voice. She always recognised the resentment, and, guiltily, tried to ignore it. She tried to smile. Go sit. It is almost ready, she said.

I have to leave…am not hungry, he said gravely, and, without waiting for her response or resistance, headed out. I felt his pulse rise, the way it did when he tried to ignore the sadness he felt and instead pretend that it was hatred.

I felt her eyes follow him. I saw them welling up with tears, but there wasn’t much I could do. I wished she could hear me. I wished I could break out of this prison, tell her that I loved her, but I had no voice. A kind word was all she ever wished for – something he had denied her long enough.

"She is your mother, she deserves better from you – and you know it. Please…can’t you see she is hurt?"

He rarely acknowledged my complaints; it was easier to ignore them than face the truth. It had taken him a long time to become what he was. A work in progress at best, I would say, but if anyone had seen him two years ago, they would have been awestruck by the change in him. Maybe he had grown tired of me, begun to think that I was no longer useful. That, what he was now was all he had wished to be. But he was wrong – at some level, he knew that as well.

We stayed in a colony, surrounded by middle-class houses, people and values. Even though he had lived there for as long as he could remember, he found himself a stranger there. He felt uneasy around those people, as if they had always known what he had done and abhorred him for it. He was suspicious of their polite smiles and questioning glances. I often told him he was imagining it, that he was being paranoid, that they were good people and he’d find a more pleasing side to them if he tried – but he never cared to.

Wait up! An eager voice called from behind. Ajith was running, pulling the strap of his bag over his shoulder. Vinod he shouted again.

Vinod didn’t stop; he walked faster.

When he finally caught up, Ajith asked, between loud, heavy breaths, You do realise you are going to class, right? I don’t get your enthusiasm.

I was just running away from you, Vinod replied drily.

You are funny… Have I told you that before? Ajith said bitterly. So, where are you on the project, man? I don’t want to hear that guy yell anymore. You know he’ll rip me a new one this time. Please tell me you have finished it

Vinod nodded carelessly.

Do you even know what it is about? I asked him, a bit annoyed that he hadn’t even bothered to thank me.

No sweat, Vinod said.

The whole thing in one day! I knew you would, but still, I’m impressed. I don’t know how you do it! Ajith smiled. Now I have the tedious task of copying your shitty handwriting. So, where is it? Ajith always followed up a compliment with an insult – when I hear the former, I brace myself for the latter.

Vinod took the file out from his bag and handed it over with a wry smile. Ajith immediately started to look through it.

The project we were talking about was due last week and, despite my constant ‘nagging’ (as he called it), Vinod hadn’t taken the trouble to start until yesterday. Even when he did, he just sat there, head bent over the book, mindlessly turning the pages, leaving me to take care of everything else. Despite being occupied by a million other things, my mind works rather beautifully when applied to a task. Besides, unlike him, I love the subject. So, by the time he was on his seventh cigarette, I had dictated a total of 23 pages that, despite being scripted in handwriting befitting a toddler, would presumably earn him a solid 25 percent of his sessional scores.

Vinod never wanted to become an engineer, and, though he once believed he was capable of anything, he tended towards self-destruction in the later years of school. It took a lot of tears from his mother to direct him to St. Francis Institute of Technology. The college was owned and run by Mr. Sebastian Fernandez. The irony of it all was that Sebastian had made his money in the liquor business, and this college, despite being well known, had only one reason for its existence – to launder his millions. Then he ended up naming the place ‘FIT’. From the very beginning, I enjoyed electronics and communication, called EC for short – and the irony in that, only an EC student would understand.

So…any plans tonight? This was when Ajith would propose his vivid, varied and mostly weird ideas, though they both knew they would eventually end up getting drunk on Ajith’s roof. The reason Vinod endured these ludicrous suggestions was that, despite Ajith’s lack of emotional maturity, or even common sense, he had always been there when we needed him. I could go so far as to say we were grateful to have him as a friend. Of course, Vinod would never make the mistake of telling him that. Ajith was happy most of the time, except when he was drunk. Then, he would pour his heart out in a random mix of bad poetry, incessant sobs and sad stories about his miserable life, love and more.

Don’t know yet, Vinod replied.

You’re going to come over, right?

As long as you get the booze today. You do owe me for the project.

Sure, Ajith replied, then his eyes lit up and he said, Let’s do something epic today! Ajith often used words like ‘epic’ and ‘awesome’ to describe things that were mundane or ordinary at best. This time, it was: We should climb that water tank! He turned back to look at the tank, which towered over the houses in the colony.

Vinod looked at him for an explanation, even though he knew that he probably shouldn’t have bothered.

Arun told me once that he got high on that lighthouse near the beach, with his cousin and some of his friends, and that it was awesome...so...if you could get some of that stuff you get…I thought maybe we could try that as well…you know, new experiences and all that, Ajith explained, obviously rather pleased with himself.

"Sometimes I think he’s just pretending to be an idiot. Sometimes I am not so sure…"

Are you sure you can trust me with heights? Vinod asked meditatively, almost as if he was standing up there, looking down at the freedom he yearned.

"What’s wrong with you?" I yelled at him. "I can never tell if you are joking or not."

Ajith tried to laugh, but it sounded awkward and ended rather abruptly. I could see that he was uncomfortable, and tried to change the subject. He gave a lot of suggestions over the next few minutes. Some were dangerous to the point of being insane, others pushed the boundary of idiocy – all were dismissed without much thought. We reached the bus stop, and I could notice the sudden change in Ajith’s voice and demeanour. His glances shifted quickly across the women who happened to pass by, and then he started the descriptions – some funny, others vulgar, but all very entertaining. Then he saw her – and, as always, she made him nervous.

She smiled and waved at us – well, at Vinod, and ignored Ajith (as usual). Reshmi wasn’t bad looking; some might even call her beautiful but there was something about her that he always found annoying.

Hi! she said eagerly. Her voice was high-pitched, even a little shrill.

Hi. He was as grave as ever,

"Smile! You are talking to a girl!" I tried to help him.

So how was your weekend?

I was reading... That seemed to be an easy lie.

Stooped over some book, ha? That’s so like you… she cut me off as she whined.

"As if she has a clue!" I would have rolled my eyes if I could.

Don’t be such a nerd! You should have fun too, you know… For some reason, she believed it was her responsibility to lecture him on the finer things in life. The toughest choices the 21-year-old ever had to make were between the shades of lipstick and shoes to match her churidhar. Yet, she went on: Life shouldn’t be just about studies, and getting a job and career. That’s no way to live life … I had stopped listening even before the conversation had begun, yet I distinctly heard the word ‘fun’ being chanted like a mantra. Ajith quietly whispered in Vinod’s ears, I like her voice. Ajith was watching her carefully, running his hand through his already tousled hair, as if that would make him look infinitely better. Though she tried to ignore his gaze, I could see flashes of derision on her face. Perhaps Ajith couldn’t see it; he didn’t seem fazed, not even a little bit. Vinod turned to Ajith and said, Don’t stare. Ajith turned away, looking guilty.

Ajith found a seat somewhere at the back of the back of the bus; he sensed that Vinod wanted to be alone. He opened the file and began to copy it in his book. I thought I saw Reshmi somewhere close as well. I found a window seat in the middle but an old man sat next to me at the following stop. It had started to drizzle, and the commuters were pulling down the shutters; some grunted and others cursed under their breaths. Most people, at some point, begin to hate the rains – regarding it as nothing but a constant tedium that interfered with their lives for six months. But I always considered it romantic – it gives inane reality a dream-like quality, making it seem more profound and meaningful.

I could see that Vinod was quiet and pensive as he let his eyes wander over the lush green and submerged fields that spread up to the distant hills. The distinctive redolence of the monsoons was in the cold air that blew against his face – of soggy grass and leaves, of moss-covered trees and doused earth, a scent that opened the gates to a few bittersweet memories as a boy when he had enjoyed the rains as well. Those memories brought him little comfort; they reminded him of the things he had lost along the way, of the joy he rarely felt anymore.

Shut the window, will you? The old man sitting next to him commanded; his shirt was already half soaked.

Vinod ignored him, so the man again said, Close it! His voice was even more petulant this time.

Vinod turned to him and said, Find another fucking seat. His eyes were cold, challenging. The old man, not wanting to pick a fight, stood up and left after casting a scornful glare, cursing under his breath.

Why’d you do that? I asked, but he ignored me and turned his attention to lifeless things that wouldn’t bother him. This was not one of his good days – and, on days like these, it was important not to let him wander in that darkness, a world he had created for himself. I knew he would be lost without me.

"I know what’s bothering you. You can’t ignore her forever." He didn’t hate mom; he just wanted to believe that he did – and the will it took him to maintain the charade was consuming him, and destroying his only chance at happiness.

I can try, he smirked.

"Jesus! It was a long time ago!"

A long time? he retorted. Have you forgotten what she did to me? How could you expect me to forgive her?

"Because I have. She only did what she thought was best for you. Those wounds will never heal…unless...unless you stop hurting yourself. You realise that’s all you are doing, don’t you? She has changed. I don’t understand why you can’t see that…or perhaps you don’t even want to try. I can’t help you if you don’t let me."

I don’t want your help. It was a hard notion to shake, but I knew it wasn’t true.

You know as well as I do that you are not there yet. We…are not there yet.

Maybe I am. I am tired of having to explain every fucking choice that I make.

"Do you think I like this? Being trapped in this cage, in your fucked up mind! I did not ask for this!"

We were interrupted by a familiar shrill voice. Who are you talking to? Reshmi asked. A moment ago, I had seen her sitting behind us, towards the rear end of the bus.

No one, Vinod said shaking his head impatiently, exasperated.

Do you mind if I sit here? she smiled, looking at the seat next to him, even though they were wet.

I don’t think you should, Vinod replied, trying not to sound rude. It wasn’t that he cared about the inquisitive eyes around, watching them, he just didn’t have any patience for her – especially now.

I thought we could catch up, she said casually.

"Tell her to go away." She was getting on my nerves as well.

Not now, he said almost dismissively, turning away from her.

Come on. What’s going on with you? She was persistent.

Could you just leave me alone, please! he snapped and I saw more eyes turn toward us but he didn’t seem to notice nor care. I felt sorry for the poor girl who had wandered unwittingly into his miserable world. I felt bad that I hadn’t tried to stop him.

She was taken aback, but she looked at him and said slowly, her voice flustered, I was only trying to help. His eyes followed her as she slowly walked away. Perhaps I had been wrong about her all along.

Chapter 2

It was 2a.m., and they were still there, on that wretched roof – only mildly drunk, a little disappointed that they had not bought enough, and incredibly proud of their tolerances to the bottle. They had quickly gone through two bottles of vodka, and I was about to say, We should probably leave, when Ajith began to render his tale of misery – which, in turn, made us all miserable.

Shut up, will you? Felix yelled. He seemed bothered by something all night, but hadn’t uttered a word till Ajith started singing.

What is your problem? Ajith wasn’t happy at being interrupted. Felix didn’t answer but took another drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke into the air. He was the serious one amongst the three of them – the only one who seemed to have a direction in life, so to speak. He was the good-looking one too, not that Ajith or Vinod would ever concede to that fact. He was wiry, with the broad shoulders of an athlete, and was quite strong as well, as Ajith had found out when he had irritated him once too often. Not that it would stop Ajith from doing it again.

Ajith came closer, swaying, a goofy smile on his face. He squinted at Felix’s face and said, What’s going on, asshole? You seem…

Agitated?

Fucked up was what I was going to say, Ajith grinned.

"It must be the girl," I sighed. It had to be; Felix soon confessed that it was.

I just can’t take it anymore…her fucking games! She said she has to…think about our relationship…she says I don’t support her enough and…and you know what! All of a sudden, she has found that we don’t have any common interests! After three years! Can you believe that? I hate that…

Bitch? Ajith offered.

Yes…what? No! Come on! Felix exclaimed.

You know, I don’t even get why you are with her… Got a cigarette? Vinod was lying back in his chair, gazing at the night sky, trying to make shapes out of the stars – something his dad had taught him a long time back. Felix handed him one from his pocket. "It’s your fifth today," I reminded him; he had had enough.

Because she’s hot, Ajith suggested, then smacked his lips and laughed. Vinod also laughed, but Felix looked at Ajith as if he was ready to kill him.

Fucker, Felix mumbled, then turned to Vinod. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so obsessed with her.

"He just can’t help it, can he?"

Vinod lit the cigarette and took a drag. You need to get over that… Is there a better word for ‘bitch’?

Don’t call her that, come on! Felix exclaimed angrily. Relationships are not easy. You won’t understand until you…

I am not boyfriend material man, Vinod chuckled.

You don’t control these things, you know. Who knows? Maybe, someday…

God help that girl! Ajith exclaimed.

Vinod smiled.

"Ya, God, help her!" I chuckled.

So, how long can this go on? Vinod asked, looking at the series of empty bottles on the floor. When’s your dad coming back?

Maybe he won’t, Ajith said and tried to smile, but it made him look sad.

There’s something seriously wrong with you, man, Felix said. You know he’s all you’ve got, don’t you?

Dude, I have warned you before, don’t patronise me when am drunk. It kills my buzz. You know what, don’t patronise me at all!

Leave him alone, Felix, Vinod said.

"He has a point you know. But then, who are you to judge?"

Ajith seldom talked about his dad. He worked in a multinational company, made big bucks and was busy most of the time. Thanks to his busy schedule of business meetings and foreign tours, he was seldom seen at home for more than a few days, let alone have a heart-to-heart with his boy. Ajith told me that he wasn’t always like that, though the memory of those good old days had slowly waned. After his wife’s death, Ajith’s father did not remarry – not for the sake of the son he still had, but for the memories of a wife he refused to let go of.

Felix told us that Ajith used humour to mask his true emotions, that he actually missed his dad and was angry at him for ignoring him. I had heard Ajith sing about his mother, of the few good memories he had of her; I had heard him sing of the girls he had fallen in love with, or, rather, believed he was in love with (that included some of our teachers as well). I had never heard him say a word about his dad; maybe it was one of those deeply buried emotions, those he wasn’t even aware of. I preferred not to think about what was going on inside him; I had enough problems of my own. If he wanted to talk about it, he would – it was not my place to advise or patronise.

After an awkward silence, Ajith said, Let’s take a walk, and so we did.

A drizzle had started, and it was getting heavier by the minute. Vinod threw the cigarette stump and watched the red splinter vanish in a pool of water. Ajith waddled into the middle of the road. He continued to sing, and no one protested. After all, it was one of those things that made our evenings so special. "He has a good voice," I said.

Ya, but don’t tell him that. It’s hard enough getting him to stop! Vinod said with a chuckle, not concerned that Felix was right beside him. It was not the first time someone had caught us in the middle of a conversation, but Felix was drunk, and Vinod even more so. We heard the whirr of an approaching engine, then saw a pair of lights. It came closer, faster than we thought it would. It took a passing moment for Vinod to realise where Ajith was standing. Before he could yell, the silence was broken by the deafening sound of a horn. Tires screeched and the vehicle slipped, almost hitting Ajith – and it would have if he had not jumped off the tarmac and landed in the dirt, rear first. We now saw the silhouette of the jeep that had almost killed Ajith, illuminated only by its bright headlights. Although nothing bad had happened, the driver leaned out of the window and yelled out some choice curses in true slum lingo. I helped Ajith off the ground. His pants were soaked; and though I didn’t think he was hurt he started limping.

We saw the lonely flame from afar, and, in its light, the stall and the dear man who owned it. Jayan – a man perpetually sunk in the sea of local toddy, ever ready for a jovial repartee and a heart-to-heart on those lonely nights. He was a kindred spirit, aimless, living in the moment, complaining about a future he never really had, and a past he was trying to forget with the help of a bottle too many. A functional alcoholic, Felix had called him, although we weren’t happy about labeling vices – especially when we knew we could be just a notch below him in functionality. A lone customer sat there, quietly finishing his plate of food, while Jayan was chatting away. He was clearly happy to see us.

Come sit, boys. What will you have today? How about some beef? Three plates? And porotta? Coming up! And tea, of course!

Jayan always knew what to serve us, depending on how drunk we were. When we seemed mild to moderately drunk, it called for something heavy; when we were ‘fall on our faces’ drunk, he would give us his disgusting ‘special’ tea and wait for us to vomit before he served anything solid. The food, however, was always served hot, with a personal touch – this merely meant that he’d touch it with his sweaty hands. Life lessons were doled out for free. The stall had all the makings of a fine restaurant except a solid roof, proper flooring, or hygiene for that matter. On a positive note, despite having no walls, the ambience was great and we were usually too drunk to notice how disgusting the food really was. The roof was thatched with old hay, water dripped from unexpected places, and, every day, there was a new leak. Something to look forward to, as Jayan used to say. The man who was sitting there quickly swallowed his meal, paid and left in a hurry. One drunk was bad enough; he couldn’t suffer three more.

As usual, we slid onto the lone, wobbly bench in the stall, Felix to my right and Ajith to my left, rested our elbows on the desk in front of us and pretended to listen to Jayan’s pontifications. He always took offence if he felt we didn’t pay attention. Ajith was staring up at the roof, trying to dodge a stream as it dripped, but not caring enough to change his seat. So, what have you boys been up to? Jayan asked eagerly.

Nothing…wasting life, I guess, Ajith sighed.

Wasting? I don’t think so... Why do men work so hard? So that they can eat and get drunk with their friends. You guys are already doing that

‘There is wisdom in this man’s words,’ I thought, but that was because I was drunk. Jayan suddenly turned to the dark thicket beside his shop and yelled like a mad man, brandishing a large knife in his hand, If I find you lurking again, I’ll chop off your legs! Then he stared into the darkness for a minute in silence, but there was no one there and no sign even of a stray animal that might have deserved this stern warning. We weren’t quite as startled then as the first time we had seen his reaction to what ostensibly was a hallucination. Jayan soon recovered and went on with his incoherent drunken babble. Another thing I always found curious about him was that his arms seemed to have a mind of their own. Even now, during the odd episode, his arms were moving ceaselessly – picking up and washing plates, setting them neatly in stacks, and stirring the curry pot.

I thought you had a girlfriend, doctor? Jayan said to Felix, as he arranged the plates in a line in front of us.

He had, Ajith said eagerly, emphasising the ‘had’, smiling, trying to taunt Felix.

It’s complicated, Felix snapped.

She left you? I am sorry to hear that, Jayan offered sympathy as if he had expected it all along, then turned back to grab a steel bowl which he filled with hot curry.

No, she hasn’t… Felix insisted, but with little conviction in his voice.

Look here, doctor… Jayan said, as he ladled out some beef on Felix’s plate, then waved the spoon in the air as he continued, …don’t invest your emotions in a girl. I am telling you, you can’t trust their kind. Women. He mouthed the word as if he was disgusted by it, and one began to see where that led. As expected, he raved, You give her everything, everything just keep to her happy…and then she… He pointed the spoon at Felix, She ripped my heart out, that bitch! The change in his tone and bearing was abrupt. He looked as if someone had just stabbed him in the heart and left him to bleed. Then again, this was not the first time it had happened. We were neither startled nor frightened. Ironically, we weren’t sure if he had become a drunk after his wife left or because of it, as he claimed. Though we didn’t dare correct him, we knew there were two sides to the story. Of course, his wife wasn’t going to come back any time soon to tell us her version.

Thanks, I feel so much better, Felix mumbled under his breath as Jayan went back to the stove. He took a cigarette packet out of his pocket, opened it and, on finding it empty, threw it away.

Haven’t got your brand, Jayan said. Wills? Felix was usually partial to certain brands, as was evident from the watch on his wrist to the shoes on his feet, but that was when he wasn’t going insane.

Ya, give me something.

Jayan brought a cigarette and lit it for him. Felix sat there, puffing it, as Jayan went back inside.

"Ask him!"

No.

"Ask him!" I don’t know why I tried to persuade him; there wasn’t much he could do.

Are you going to tell me what really happened? Vinod asked reluctantly.

I don’t want to talk about it, Felix snapped.

There. You happy? Vinod whispered, but, a second later, Felix began to talk – as I knew he would.

I don’t know man… One moment, we were sitting there talking about her trip and…I don’t know…a dog…I think, and…

A dog? Ajith interrupted, his eyes wide open.

Felix shook his head impatiently, Doesn’t matter. And then she is yelling at me…I never know what the hell is going on with her…think she said, she needed some space…but am not sure if she really meant it…

What did you do? Vinod