Prodigy of Errors

By Manisha Gupta

When most of us are busy perfecting our lives, Nitya is already an Einstein in her own forte. Ever since her early childhood, Nitya has grown up believing that she is the chosen one, with some manufacturing defect. Strangely enough, she refuses to regret it; in fact she is obsessed with it.
However, hounded by slanderous perfectionists from all sides, she finds herself trapped under perpetual pressure, to perform. The more she strives for excellence, the greater blunders she commits. In her relentless pursuits of perfection, she faces some of the most uproarious and stupefying predicaments that have turned her life around.
Spanning over five decades, right from the Hippie era of the seventies, to the turn of the dynamic millennium, her story is an insightful reminiscence of her mysterious past, laden with trapped memories that have long haunted her.
What shadows does her past hide and what will become of her growing obsession? Read only if you really want to know! ?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: May 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781482800210

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Prodigy Of Errors

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Manisha Gupta

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Copyright © 2013 by Manisha Gupta.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Partridge books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

Partridge India

Penguin Books India Pvt.Ltd

11, Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi 110017

India

Phone: [phone]

Contents

Acknowledgements

Foreword

One

Insightful Awakening

Two

The Match-Making Catastrophe

Three

A Scintillating Combat

Four

First Date

Five

A Sweet Blunder

Six

In Retrospect

Seven

Enraging Escapade

Eight

Rising Nostalgia

Nine

Cascading Flashback

Ten

Deplorable Moment

Eleven

Astounding Spectacle

Twelve

Stark Naked

Thirteen

Ripped Apart

Fourteen

Treacherous Adventure

Fifteen

Forbidden Secret

Sixteen

Shuddering Embarrassment

Seventeen

Sacred Insanity

Eighteen

Victim Of Fantasies

Nineteen

In Exile With Daniel Sir

Twenty

To Be Or Not To Be

Twenty-One

Compelling Screams

Twenty-Two

Alluring Mystery

Twenty-Three

A Chance Meeting

Twenty-Four

Love-Hate Bond

Twenty-Five

Driving Crazy

Twenty-Six

The Formidable Scientist

Twenty-Seven

A Whimsical Flight

Twenty-Eight

Epilogue

This book is dedicated

to the first-time readers,

to my children,

and to my grandchildren

when they come . . .

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My sincerest and most humble gratitude goes to:

— my most venerated literary greats—William Shakespeare and George Bernard Shaw for instilling in me, unabated inspiration, through their masterpieces.

— my favourite esteemed authors, J.D. Salinger, Geoffrey Archer & Vikram Seth, for honing my writing skills through their unbeatable bestsellers.

— my extremely talented artist friend, Manon Doyle from Arizona, for her generosity in sharing her artwork on the book cover.

— my honoured publishers for their unbiased constructive criticism through their unfailing rejection slips.

My heartfelt thanks to

— Sharad, Shishir, Charu, Nupur and Narendra, for enriching and embellishing my life with some of the most cherished moments; and for their frank reviews.

— friends and colleagues, for their wholehearted support and motivation.

— the first-time readers, for their challenge, never to read.

"I was born to make mistakes;

not to fake perfection!"

FOREWORD

S ince I am prone to start projects that never quite get finished, my goal, when I began writing this book, was simply to complete it. Often, while writing, I had envisioned these pages take the shape of a book, that one day I would be able to point at, with some measure of pride and say—This is the first book I had written! Being my first one, I have not attempted to bind myself to a rigid protocol, but have used a reasonable literary license so long as my work remains within a framework of credibility. May be at times it rambles, but it comes straight from the heart. Surely, somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind I have always dreamed of getting it published. The characters contained herein are purely fictitious.

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. . . . Shut not your doors to me proud libraries, for that which was lacking

on all your well-fill’d shelves,

yet needed most, I bring forth from

the war emerging, a book I’ve made,

the words of my book, nothing,

the drift of it, everything… .

-Walt Whitman

ONE

Insightful Awakening

I was on my regular weekend schedule that Saturday afternoon. As much as I had wanted to slip out unnoticed, it wasn’t to be.

Where’re you off to, Nitya? I heard my husband’s languid drawl as he stirred in his afternoon nap. My hand stopped for a brief moment before I resumed combing my long tangled hair. I kept tugging at them using deliberate strokes with a metal brush, brutally, mercilessly. What the hell!!! I muttered within my mouth, exasperated at the whole effort. Then, hurriedly rolled up the tangled mass and clasped it with a plain black hair clip, avoiding even the slightest sound that I could. Yet, I heard his voice again.

Aren’t we going to the club this evening? I fumbled desperately for a legitimate reply as I picked up my bag, preparing to leave.

I have an appointment at the dentist’s. Will be back soon. I said it all in a gasp of breath. I always panic when I have to lie. But I couldn’t afford to miss this chance. My only chance!

The metro platform was overcrowded as usual. Feet trampled back and forth overhead, and I could hear voices, but most of the words were too deafening to figure out. There was a chorus of jovial shouts on the other side of the platform, and cordial feminine shrieks in reply. Damn, you, freaking maniacs! I gritted my teeth in frustration. My patience was fizzling out. The old gentleman seated at an arm’s length, on the bench, was staring at me, somewhat amused. I chose to ignore him for I hadn’t much time, and abruptly left. Adjusting the laptop bag across my shoulder I leapt from the crawling escalator and literally scrambled onto the general compartment as soon as the train came to a halt. Cautiously, I pushed myself through the swarm of men, to grab the solitary ‘Ladies Only’ seat available. Half my mission for that day was accomplished! I sat leaning against the glass panel right next to the exit doors, trying like hell to avoid the pressing shoulder of the male passenger sitting next to me. Two others came and stood hanging on to the handle bar, swaying their backsides right in front of my face. And the one facing me had his right hand stuck deep into his trouser’s pocket. Ugh! I almost grunted in disgust as a stray thought crossed my mind—Men will be men! Yet I did not regret my resolve, not to travel in the ‘Ladies Compartment’. This happened just out of sheer impulse, you’ll soon figure out, Why? As the train sped away, my thoughts about this mission became more and more animated—the excitement was exceedingly overwhelming. How I wished I could share it with someone! Nevertheless, I pulled out from my backpack, the recently launched National Bestseller that had hit the stands a week ago, and plunged myself into its volatile romance—

"She shut her eyes tightly as her body shuddered against the cold rugged wall of that cramped bunker. He was inching closer, she could sense in the dark. She had not heard the sound of his footsteps on the damp ground below her feet. He was just within an arm’s length from where she stood, undressed . . . ."

The nosey bugger sitting next to me had started fidgeting too much, I realized, but not until I felt the length of his entire right arm nicely nestled behind my back—his musky, sweaty odour literally smothering me. I recoiled as much as I could, and tried to return to

my reading—

". . . Her eyes flew open as she felt the cold, sweaty touch of his fingers on her temple, tracing the soft contours of her dusky face, her slender neck, her supple body, and down to her delicate waist. She winced and tried to move away, but there was no room for her to even sway backwards—not when they stood face to face from each other . . . ."

A stray finger ran tracing my right shoulder, awkwardly advancing towards my neck… Am I imagining or what? I muttered to myself as I sat upright, alert, prepared to retaliate. Would you mind? I must have almost growled, for the jerk got the signal alright. The irritation was obvious on my face—the irritation of being interrupted while reading such a gripping scene… . Eagerly, I resumed my reading once again—

"In the dim glow of the earthen lamp, he stood looking at her. His skin was brown and his build, stocky—sculpted like a warrior. Yet, there was something endearing about his ferocity that none could resist . . . . Then, in a sudden flash, he drew her body, jerked tight against his. Shrieking with pain she felt the bones of his arms on her ribs, and his mouth on hers, muffling her scream. She did not know what to do in that jolt of terror. Her fists beat against his shoulders, against his face."

Again, I sensed something strange around me. From the corner of my eyes I noticed, at least a dozen bemused eyes gaping at me. Something weird was definitely going on. I couldn’t care less, for I couldn’t wait to finish reading that scene—

". . . He moved one hand, took both her wrists and pinned them behind her, wrenching her arms. She turned her head away as she felt his lips glide down her throat. She fought like an animal, but she made no sound. She did not call for help. And then, she shut her eyes, hating the sight of him. She felt his body turn flaming hot and experienced a strange helpless terror in her blood at that moment. Unable to stand on her feet any longer, she thrust her elbows at his throat, twisting her body to tear herself away from him

Aaaaww… . aaaaooooh!!!!! My poor co-passenger groaned in pain, as my elbow, unintentionally, had struck hard, into his stomach, on a strong reflex impulse! Embarrassed beyond measure, I fumbled with my bag and kept my eyes glued to it till I heard the announcement of my approaching destination. Desperate as hell, I braced myself up, to disembark.

A stormy evening of emerald and silver was closing in as I, wrapped in my grey stole, threaded down that shady Eucalyptus Lane, eager to get to my destination. The dusk was deepening and it was not easy to guess if I was headed in the right direction. I hesitated a moment, as I sensed deliberate footfalls behind me. My heart skipped a beat at the stray thought of some dreaded stalker stomping the lonely street. Perhaps it was my own apprehension. Doubling up on my feet, I made a desperate attempt to evade. And to my great relief I found myself approaching the only landmark that seemed familiar at that moment, The Serenade—a people’s park. The holiday makers had not wholly dispersed: a few couples sat sheepishly on benches, and here and there a distant girl still shrieked in one of the swings. Standing at the wicket gate I tried to focus on the street across the park. The name written on the stone template was somewhat hazy. In whatever little was left of the daylight, I read, ‘Genuine Publishers’. I was pleased to finally locate the place that I sought the most at that moment.

The tedious ride on the crowded metro rail had exhausted me tremendously. I had crossed almost twenty five stations away from my home. And at last I was there. I looked suspiciously at the ramshackle building and let out a sigh of despair rather than relief. Looks like the roof will probably fall right down on my head! Yet I went ahead to explore. I wandered down the length of the long corridor, then, circled the back of the building, trying to find a way in. Hello? I called softly. Is anyone here? As my ears strained through the silence, an android-like figure appeared before my eyes from nowhere. He was a moderately tall youngster, with hair and eyes as black as smoke. These youngsters get on my nerves!

"Is Mr. Pereira there? I asked, clearing my throat.

His shrug was noncommittal, You’re here with a book proposal? I regarded him for several minutes, mustering my dignity, Yes, I was trying to find someone to help me. I just… .

Let me guess, Romance writer?

It was said with such obvious disdain that I felt myself stiffening.

"What’s wrong with romance writing? And anyway, I’m here to meet Mr. Pereira, and that too on appointment!

Mr. Pereira? He threw a dark glance over his shoulder, I wouldn’t count on that, if I were you. I’d get right back home than waste my time here. Why? What do you mean? I had to run to match his long strides and by the time I caught up, I was out of breath. You must be insane! I gave a snort.

Look, The young man turned to me, his jaw set in a mockery of a smile. I’m just giving you the facts, lady, Mr. Pereira hasn’t even shown up yet—in fact he has a habit of not showing up at all; sometimes for weeks that is. You probably won’t even see him at his residence. Just a little free advice, that’s all. I don’t need your advice and I don’t need your help! I glowered at him. Nothing was going to deter me now. My gaze shifted from his cold and stony one, and fell on the partly shut door behind him. I don’t know what impelled me, but the next moment I was barging into that cabin which looked like some tiny conference room. A modest looking book rack that occupied the front wall immediately caught my eye. I noted rather dejectedly, the brand new arrivals rubbing jackets with the classics and the masterpieces. Almost instantaneously I felt myself turning green with envy. Some day… may be… . I dreamily peeped into the waiting lounge. There was not even a hint of a soul present in the building. My heart sank. I had met Mr. Pereira earlier that month on ‘Yahoo Chat’ while I was hunting for a publisher. Moreover I had been in touch with him online and that is how I was able to get an appointment. Well actually I was impressed by his gentlemanly style and the grandeur with which he communicated with me; his greeting in French made me seem so elegant—Bon jour mademoiselle! And then he was praising my work with such panache’ that I was completely floored. Getting so much admiration from a stranger was all so alluring. What could have gone wrong now? Within my heart of heart I knew I had blundered somewhere, somehow, once again! A nagging afterthought kept sniggering at me all the way back home. It wasn’t long before a hint of realization crossed my mind. The author in me had finally awakened! "Bloody maniac!" For once I felt proud of my ‘still intact’ wisdom.

With heavy footsteps Mr. Pereira walked back to his cabin, pursing his lips as he swore aloud, Damn the Holy Cow! She turned out to be a dumb old hag!

My head was pounding heavily as I turned the key to my apartment. Sneaking cautiously into the quiet house, I headed straight for the washroom.

Ah! Thank God he’s not home yet! I sighed with relief as I hurriedly splashed some cold water on my sullen face. I’ve got to stop this, somehow I decided as I studied my reflection in the mirror. But then, what’s the harm? The devil in me tried to justify. There was a strange emptiness in my gut; perhaps due to those hunger pangs. I tiredly tiptoed to the kitchen and whipped up a cup of black coffee, cooked a couple of poached eggs and proceeded musingly towards my study upstairs.

Should I, or should I not go ahead with this? I sat contemplating, at my desk for long. And then, in a state of intellectual excitement, I scrupulously resolved to go for it. Everyone is doing it these days. There! That’s the trouble with me. Everyone is doing it, so I must do it too! I don’t know when, this ‘me too’ syndrome gripped me. Perhaps it was that constant nagging during my growing years—Look at Nandita auntie’s children… . so talented… so brainy! Why can’t you too be like them? So I too joined piano classes and painting classes and swimming and dancing and what not.

Off late, there has been a rising trend of frivolous flaunting. You’ll find, everybody has something or the other to gloat about. Whether in the real world or the virtual domain, if you don’t have a style statement, you don’t deserve to exist! I’m not exaggerating. The other day, at the club, they were all talking about something which I could not quite gather—

Hey J. C… . What’s up?? . . . Saw your thing on the FB… looks great! At that, my imagination went wild! O my God! What had she seen? Then, some were busy whispering random letters to one another, their diamond-ringed-delicately-manicured fingers moving deftly on