The Line Reader

By Agni Tripathi

A youngster decides to play a prank on his friends, pretending to be able to read the lines on their palms. But, what he sees on his own palm shocks him. Do the lines truly foretell what is in store for one?
A young couple suffers the perennial perplexities of young love. Is this one the soul-mate? Are the feelings mutual? Can they speak their minds out in time?
A young man masters the technique to wipe out memories. What could the consequence be?
Woven around the myriad ironies that are a part and parcel of complex human relations, moving from the tranquil hills to the sweltering plains, touching upon the lives of Metropolitan cities and the remotest rural villages, this collection of short stories will take you through the lives of the various protagonists, who are typical to India in her magnificent diversity.
Written in a lucid style with a mix of humour and pathos, the stories are sure to touch your hearts as they unfold…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Notion Press
• Release date: Oct 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9789352063727

Book preview

THE LINE READER

A Collection of Short Stories

AGNI TRIPATHI

Notion Press

Old No. 38, New No. 6

McNichols Road, Chetpet

Chennai - 600 031

First Published by Notion Press 2015

Copyright © Agni Tripathi 2015

All Rights Reserved.

ISBN: 978-93-5206-372-7

This book has been published in good faith that the work of the author is original. All efforts have been taken to make the material error-free. However, the author and the publisher disclaim the responsibility.

No part of this book may be used, reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Contents

Title

Copyright

1. Fasting to Liberation

2. Killer

3. Parting Gift

4. The Line Reader

5. Love Birds

6. Bongaon Local

7. Photograph

8. Quarter No. 7B

9. At the bus-stop on the 28th day

10. God’s Own Child

11. My Gentleman

13. Shall We Dance?

14. Innocent

15. Mr. Ghosh’s Bungalow

16. Tale of the Maxriter

17. Operation Infecto Leaderous

18. The Other Couple

19. All’s Well that Ends Well

20. My Friend Jyoti

21. The Meeting

22. Yesterday

Fasting to Liberation

I still remember my days at Govindnagar. It was an unfortunate coincidence that the State Government had found me the ideal scapegoat to be sent to this remote place, far away from the city. Being a junior in the Government of Shanti Pradesh’s health services, I was not in any position to grumble about the fact that the person who had originally been allotted my post had managed a change in his transfer order simply by gifting a sack of fresh Laxman phuli mangoes to the Secretary of the Department of Health.

To understand the sensitivity of my post you have to understand that the sub-division of Govindnagar is a part of the district of Badalpore which in turn (and at least till date) is a part of the state of Shanti Pradesh. However the fickle nature of this inclusion is evident from the determination with which its people carry on the revolution to free themselves from the clutches of oppression. And myself being a rather docile creature, I would refrain from commenting on how much truth there exists in this claim of subjugation. Nor would I reveal having any false impressions that an opinion of mine would make the least bit of contribution to the development and integrity of my nation.

So here I was somewhere in the Himalayas trying to serve my state in its quest to serve people of a region who despised the service that I, or in the big picture, my state had to offer. In fact contemplating on it now, I just realized I was lucky enough not to become the offering itself. But no matter how much hostility they put on display, they just couldn’t stay away from me because in reality there was only one hospital in the sub-division which till now is under the Government of Shanti Pradesh.

I was doing just about enough to keep myself alive amidst all the animosity till I was informed of the fact that my transfer order had finally succeeded in passing itself through all obstacles at the Ministry (with a little help from my father-in-law who is a close associate of the Irrigation Minister) and I could leave Govindnagar in seven days. I almost cried out with joy, and had I been a hero of a Hindi movie, would have had emotional music playing across my head, like how it is played when a mission is concluded and the director is indicating to the audience that the climax is over and they can finish up the remaining bits of pop-corn and coke because no matter how much they enjoy the air conditioning or the cushioned seats, they still have to get out and drive through those absolutely congested city roads so that another set of unsuspecting victimswould pay for the tickets, pop-corn and coke and then enjoy the air-conditioning or the cushioned seats or the movie (as per their priority).

Unfortunately in my case the music was interrupted byan order summoning me to the office of the SDO to constantly monitor and medicate a group of stubborn citizenswho as a part of the above mentioned revolution were trying to fast their way to liberation. In anguish and frustration I cursed a certain father whose vision was threatening to compel me for a ticket cancellation in the midst of such a serious recession. When no amount of pleading rescued me from the situation, I postponed my plans of packing and went into a state of submission.

The next morning I found myself in front of a dozen apparently-fasting rebels, two dozen non-fasting and not-pretending-to-fast rebels, half a dozen journalists with their camera-crew and two policemen armed with lathis. Before I could get to within a meter of one of the fasting persons, one of the enthusiastic reporters pulled me aside.

Sir, are you the new doctor? enquired a person from a vernacular channel.

Yes, I said, was there someone before me too?

Yes sir, he replied, but he didn’t do anything for the health of these people.

Are they concerned about their own health? I retorted.

A lady from a national Hindi news channel spoke out. "And that, ladies and gentleman is the new doctor who has arrived. Thus we can clearly see that the Government of Shanti Pradesh has no concern about the people of this region. Now it is up to you to decide whether Badal Pradesh should be made a separate state. If your answer is yes, go to the right message box of your mobile and type YES and send it to 420420 and if it is no, type NO and send it to 42042".

"Hey, you missed a digit in NO’s number", I protested.

Did I? she enquired. Don’t worry, they’ll still get through. Then she smiled and for a millisecond shut one eye while keeping the other wide open. Disgusted I proceeded to check the patients.

It was the second day of the fast and effects were already beginning to tell on the strikers. Most of their blood pressures were either on the higher side or much lower than normal. There was a senior lady who was supposed to be a leader. I went up to her and asked.

Ma’am, I think we should be sending some of them to the hospital.

She looked at me suspiciously. Don’t you try to dampen the spirits of our revolutionaries! They have gathered here for a noble cause. And that is to free the people of Badal Pradesh from the clutches of your corrupt Government. If you ever again tell me to send them to hospital, I will file an FIR against you for molestation.

Shocked, puzzled and petrified I obviously decided not to press the matter any further. Let’s wait and watch, I told myself.

On the third day I realized things were moving beyond control. A middle aged guy complained of nausea and dizziness. On check-up I found that his blood pressure had dropped to 100/70.. The trouble was if I complained I would be charged with molestation, my family’s reputation would be ruined and I would be jailed for about a year. In fact considering the sensitivity of the case, my Government would probably give me an extra year’s term just to please these people. On

the other hand if I didn’t complain, this guy would die, I would still get beaten up and my medical certificate would be seized. I nodded to acknowledge to myself that either way I was about to be ruined. But then, I had to choose the former option because at least that would help one person survive.

An ingenious idea struck me. Instead of going to the protesters I went up to the SDO and made him aware of the situation. Then I quietly hid myself in the cabin that had been temporarily allotted to me. Within fifteen minutes an ambulance arrived followed by a police jeep. Before anyone realized, the apparently-fit guy was stretchered off. The leader began a speech as the camera-crew sprung into action. Friends, look at the way we are being treated. Our opinion is never respected. But we will not give up so easily. They have taken away a friend of yours but we will not let his sacrifices go in vain. We will continue our mission. We want Badal Pradesh.

The crowd erupted, "Badal Pradesh, Badal Pradesh!"

I looked at the apparently-fit guy who was now being hoisted on to the ambulance. He could hardly move a finger minutes ago. But somehow now was lifting his right hand and waving a goodbye to the crowd to which another set of slogans followed. "Badal Pradesh Zindabad! Zindabad Zindabad!"

Someone seemed to have mastered the art of brainwashing.

On the evening of day four a thin guy arrived as a replacement for the middle-aged who had been stretchered off. The new person was definitely more than sixty years old. His glasses of his spectacles were so thick that his eyes looked as big as almonds. I was terrified when I found that his blood-pressure was 90/60.

Why would they bring someone like that? I wondered.

I decided to let him do his stunt for a day and then send him packing the next morning. But to my utter surprise, he was perfectly normal on the next day. In fact, the condition of all the protesters seemed to have improved overnight. After scratching my head for a couple of minutes I realized what was going on. Needless to mention that a bright smile dawned on my face, for even if the rarely-smiling CM of my state would have been there in my place, he couldn’t have helped but smile.

I was on my evening rounds on the eighth day. Everything was perfect. I was tired of reporting everyone normal. It was not hard to imagine how the health department would react on seeing my report claiming that a dozen men who had fasted for more than a week were perfectly normal. I wondered if they would consider me inept for the job

Reviews for The Line Reader

[Suproteek Chowdhury · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

At the first look, the Line reader, by Agni Tripathi, looks like just another attempt into strory telling by a debutant author, one among many in the new writing age in India ushered in by the likes of Bhagat and co. Taking nothing away from the esteemed author of many bestsellers, the book by Tripathi is well a bit different, and thankfully refreshing hence! I finished reading the book a fortnight back, seeing its growing popularity on different pages, I felt I'll pen down my thoughts on the book too. The best thing about the book is; and it is an important measure for me to gauge a short story book, is how well the stories grip you and compel you to go from one to the next, without much of a heave or sigh from the strain of finishing one story. Short stories are, well, just that. They are meant to entertain immensely in the short time that they have with the reader’s limited attention span of one continuous read. The author Agni Tripathi very well knows these nuances of a good short story, the mix of varied story lines in one story after the other, kept me interested all throughout and finished reading it in no time!Its 'the' book to have on a long boring train ride or a quiet weekend evening at home nuzzling your coffee. The first read maybe fast and short for you...give some time, and the book again, I am sure some of the stories this time will have more of an impact on you, when you discover some of them have more deeper fabrics of messages and thought processes by the author than it met the eye when you read it first.