Tall Man Small Shadow

By Vipin Behari Goyal

It is an English novel based on philosophy of existentialism. Salil loves a shadow which transforms into many characters to reveal the secrets of life. Aalya, his neighbor, is doing research in English literature. Her guide Seema is a childless lesbian. Paul, husband of Seema, is a drama director. I am the protagonist, who coins philosophies for day to day events and my wife Sulekha is the second protagonist who makes coincidences happen with her artful manipulations. Read on to learn what happens when....

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vipin Behari Goyal
• Release date: Jan 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9788182534124

Vipin Behari Goyal

Poet,Writer,Thinker,Learner,Existentialist,Financial Advisor,Film Maker and yoga teacher, Spiritual Counselor Author of following English Novels: 1.Tall Man Small Shadow-Fiction 2.Maya- In search of Tantric Father-Fiction 3.The old man and the Nymph 4.Burn me naked love my naked soul (eBook) 5.Apsara~Nina Bonita (eBook)

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Tall man small shadow

By

Vipin Behari Goyal

Published by Vipin Behari Goyal at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Vipin Behari Goyal

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Burn me naked ~love my naked soul

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Table of contents

Book 1

Book 2

Book 3

About the author

Other books by Vipin Behari Goyal

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Book 1

He was 6’2'’. By any standard, he was a tall man. If you describe him, this would be the first thing you would mention. Maybe because he was not only tall but also thin, that made him look taller. When I met him the first time, he was standing with a slight stoop in his back and was trying to light the cigarette dangling from his lips. He was 28 years old, but looked older due to his attire. His eyes had a depth and he scanned me at a glance.

So, what do you do for a living?he asked casually.

I do not look like a man who does something for a living. I simply nodded.The idea of doing something for a living was always so heinous to me.

If you don’t have inheritance, how do you survive? Now he was curious.

I smiled as if that was a big secret.

I never told anybody because nobody would believe it. Every day I went to a stock exchange for about an hour. I bought and sold some scripts at random, intuitively and earned bucks not just enough to survive but also enough for some rainy days.

I did not believe in luck. Being a mathematician, I had a calculation in my subconscious mind.My randomness had logic and my intuitions were cosmic inspirations.

He was not supposed to interrogate me. After all, I was doing a favor for him. I had come to deliver him a book. When I went to collect my posts from the courier,he was holding a book in his hands.He had inquired about the address of an apartment just opposite to mine in the same building I was living.

The courier requested me to deliver the book if I did not mind. I took the book from courier, and here I was standing before this young man, being interrogated.

I always invite troubles unintentionally. Do any favor, sit tight and wait for disfavor. It will come. Do not curse, do not swear, let the tide pass and be ready for doing the next favor.

We were standing opposite the building we lived. I knew his name from the address on the book—Salil. He accepted the book without thanks and without asking any question about how I got it. He took the book unceremoniously and pushed it inside the open chain of his jacket. For a moment there was anxiety in the eyes of the young man but he recovered quickly. The book made him look healthier.

Would you care for a cup of tea? This was his third question, and I preferred to answer it in words.

Sure, I think I need one.

He smiled profusely as if he never believed I would agree.

While sipping tea at a nearby stall we talked sparingly about the weather and politics. He did not ask any personal questions, nor did I.

I think he had seen me in the building before and knew that I lived here.

As soon as his cup of tea was finished, he looked at his wristwatch, jumped out of his chair, said excuse me and left hurriedly without saying goodbye. There was no slump in his back, he was walking straight.

****

He was awake at noon. It was Sunday and he had no agenda for today. He was awake because he was hungry. This physiological need makes life worth living, he thought. The maid had cooked his favorite dishes for Sunday. The book delivered to him yesterday was on the dining table.

He picked up the newspapers scattered onthe balcony of his apartment, prepared coffee and settled into an easy chair.

He had no interest in news but still he had subscribed to three newspapers. Sometimes they remained unopened. He again looked at the book. The book wanted to be unwrapped and was looking at him provokingly. He had patience. He will do it slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. It had teased him for such a long time. He searched for it in all possible places. Now that the old man had delivered what he had longed for so badly for so many years. Even while accepting the book, he had managed to remain cool. Nobody could read his desperation, least of all, the old man.

He put the book on his chest and closed his eyes. He could feel the book going up and down with his breathing. He traveled long in the past to see how this love for books was inculcated in him by his grandpa in his early childhood. How comfortable he was with books, since the beginning. What a beautiful journey it had been. He sighed and opened his eyes. The coffee has gone cold. He threw it in the basin and now he was in no mood to have another.

He brought a paper knife from his writing table, and looked at the book from all sides. He intended to do it carefully and meticulously with perfection. After all, it is perfection that, if aspired, dispenses the need of God. When the outer layers of packaging were removed, the book

emerged. It was neither thin nor thick, a paperback with beautifully decorated cover page firmly secured in plastic covering. It was the last barrier between him and the book. He searched for a small opening in the thin sheet, found one, inserted his knife and tore it open. Now it was in his lap naked and eager. First he took a bird’s-eye view of the book. The quality of paper was good, not the kind that goes yellow with the passage of time. The fonts of the print were also good. He didn’t need to strain his eyes too much. He preferred to start from the title page and read everything including preface and prologue, if any. Books loved him for that.

Now there was in his hand a book that would keep him busy and entertained for so many days to come.

He did not start reading the book at that time. He had already given enough attention to it. What is the value of its goodness if there is no admirer? He put it back on the dining table, and went to the kitchen to take food.

****

She could not sleep last night. She had seen her father talking to that tall, handsome man from the window of her room and afterwards they were having tea at a roadside stall. There was a severe pain in her chest whenever she looked at him. This man was not a good omen. Why has he rented an apartment in their building? Why had he never looked at her when they crossed each other on the stairs? Has he ever noticed her? He is certainly not like other young men, who always glare at her. Not that she minds it,but she certainly does not like to be ignored. And now he is talking to her father. What the hell are they talking about? Certainly not about her. She did not get a chance to talk about him with her father that day. Never do anything to make your parents suspicious.Let them live in an illusory world where they think of you as a pretty little doll, unspoiled by the vagaries of the world.

On Sunday her father was relaxed, the stock market remains closed and he nurtures his only hobby of cooking. Mom is happy to have a husband like him who never minds cooking or suggesting menus for the day-to-day cooking or special parties.

Before he left for the market, she casually asked him what he was giving to that gentleman yesterday. Her father, for a moment, could not recollect the incident. She pointed out the place they were talking yesterday. Her father narrated the story of the delivery of the book. She was still looking at her father expectantly as if she desired to know the entire details, but her father found it of no importance and left for market.

So he loves reading books. So far so good. She also likes reading but she is not an avid reader. She does not like the books that are confusing and are superficially written for intellectuals. They have no correlation to the hard facts of life, as to why she feels a pain in her chest when she looks at that man. She has always found him carrying a

book. This also explains why this man is never properly dressed. If you are too much in books, you lose a sense of looking decent and you wear whatever comes in your hands without bothering about any color coordination.

If ever I get a chance, I will teach him to be properly dressed.

This man is nothing to me.Why should I bother about him?Her mother called her from the kitchen, and she went to give her a helping hand.

****

I was on my way to market. I walked on the footpath made for pedestrians on the roadsides. The noise and black smoke caused by traffic is obnoxious. While walking, I thought about my daughter. Aalya is 22 and good looking. She has finished her post graduate in English Literature. She is not spoiled, despite being our only child. My wife is ill most of the time, so it is Aalya who manages the house. After her marriage, our survival is unthinkable.

I have secured investment to spend on the marriage ceremony. I should start looking for a suitable boy. Is it possible that Aalya has already chosen someone? Does she have a boyfriend? If yes, it would save a lot of my burden. But I would like to check the credentials of the boy first, maybe secretly.

I should talk to my wife, she will be the first to know if there is some boy. Why was Aalya asking about the boy in the street? Does she know his name? He has no nameplate outside his apartment. It seemed she wanted to know more about him. Was she simply curious? Is she attracted to him? What is wrong if she is? After all, he is a handsome guy. I don’t know anything about this boy. I should meet him often and trace his background.

I was walking through a park now. It was clean and without traffic pollution. The bench under the jacaranda tree, where I often sit and contemplate, is unoccupied. Some children were playing. On Sundays the park is monopolized by children the whole day. The bench is in an isolated corner of the park surrounded by many flowering trees. There was a violet carpet of jacaranda flowers on the ground. I could catch my breath here. Except for some voices of children in the distance, the park was totally silent. Slowly these voices also become part of silence and I am at peace.

The anxiety of Aalya’s marriage is over. She has her own fate, which I don’t control. The boy would search for her, or she him. Once she is gone, I will have no purpose in life. Maybe I can spend time taking care of my wife. What is the vacuum I fill in this world that will remain, if I were to die now, on this bench? I lie down on the bench and pretend to be dead. I could listen to my own heartbeat. A dead man with heartbeat. Maybe my heart is a pumping mechanism, and there is no blood to pump. Few flowers had fallen on me. Great funeral. Nature is also ready to bid me farewell. I felt as if I have filled some vacuum in nature. Some flowers floating in the air change direction and fall on me, and others coming at me go asstray and fall on the ground.

A flock of birds settled on the tree of jacaranda and sing a chorus. My eyes are closed; there is no movement in my body. Birds are not scared of me. One sits on my shoes, I can feel her beak searching for food in the crevices of my old shoes. Wherever I will be after death, I am sure there will be no bird landing on me in search of food. There