The Tonic

By Mayur Sudhakar Sarfare

Mumbai, 2017: Reymerg D’Souza, a media tycoon and powerful militant Atheist, harbours an ominous plan to cleanse the country from religion.

Avantika Das, an investigative journalist, partners with a suspended cop to embark on a perilous journey to expose Reymerg’s darker agendas.

Back in 1992, two young misfits are drawn together by the ravages of an approaching Hindu-Muslim riot.

Masher, a diffident teenager with a speech disorder is forced into participating in an annual elocution contest held in his school.

During this period, he befriends Raem, a twenty-one-year old recluse with a foreign descent, who gifts him a packet of mysterious chocolate pills.

The pills magically begin to embolden their lives. They begin to win moments and people. A Tonic that turns them from being misfits to stupefiers.

But soon the riots begin to take its violent form. As it takes away everything from one but not so much from the other.

The two tales separated by decades, strangely begin to converge towards the end, to forge a deadly truth that binds the lives of these people in the most unexpected manner and may be the key to stopping the atheist from executing his sinister plans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: One Point Six Technologies Pvt Ltd
• Release date: Oct 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9789390040278

Mayur Sudhakar Sarfare

"Mayur Sudhakar Sarfare, aged 30, is an Indian author. He is a Professor of Mass Media with a keen interest in creative writing. His range of subjects include Understanding Cinema, Content Writing and Media laws. He teaches at Usha Pravin Gandhi College of Arts, Science and Commerce in Mumbai. He began his career in Public Relations at India's largest independent PR machinery - Adfactors PR, but a love for media subjects and cinema drove him towards academics. However, the childhood passion for writing continued blossoming, finally fuelling the idea for his first novel.He is an ardent consumer of metaphysics and philosophy. A man of powerful words, Mayur Sarfare is much sought after for the multitude of thoughts that spring from an ever curious mind, which he shares on Social Media platforms, urging people to sit up and think.His growing popularity stems from the way he perceives things objectively, without being judgemental.He also enjoys hosting events and plays moderator during panel discussions.The Tonic, is his debut novel.You can reach him at email id:Twitter Handle: @erudFacebook link: https://www.facebook.com/mayur.sarfareLinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/mayur-sarfare-5aa51523/Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/labyrnthine/?hl=en"

Book preview

PROLOGUE

It was a chamber like area governed by an inky darkness with no visible source of light. Raem’s eyelids burst open and it felt as if they had been forced into being shut for an incalculable time. His entire body, covered in a purple satin quilt, experienced this lack of vitality and a tinge of heaviness. He was still half-conscious and lacked the strength to emerge out of the bedstead. By now, he was certain this was not his good old bedroom, and he was somewhere else, far away from his abode, in some alien, distant land. The last thing, he remembered was Richard offering him a drink. A sense of dryness in his mouth made him crave for a pitcher full of ice-cold water. He tapped into his last reserves of strength, dragged the quilt off his stiff body and trundled his way through the inky darkness until he reached a point where the lighting improved – a passageway that led him into what seemed like a gateway to an enclosed private park. Almost a thousand yards in length and breadth, environed by a myriad of glorious lampposts through which exploded lumens of fluorescent light that scintillated the park with an exotic splendour.

Excuse me, Sir. A woman in skimpy attire with a brim-full glass of lemonade approached Raem. Without questioning her origin and intention, he gulped down the entire glass in seconds.

What is this place? Why am I here…I need to be home with my daughter. Raem screamed the obvious. But the woman, fully in anticipation, politely smiled and walked away.

Towards the end of the park was a modest pool and few foldable loungers adjacent to it. The serenity of the area was strong enough to calm Raem and douse his curiosity, at least for the time being. He had never been to such a place, the placidity and quietude felt frighteningly perfect to him. Something made him want to have more of it, though his conscious mind was in denial of it. He marched towards the pool to gaze at its perfect stillness, only to be disrupted by a jolty emergence of an imposing figure from the still waters of the pool. For a moment, to the bleary eyes of Raem, the figure seemed like a hairy corpulent beast, awakened from its dormancy and in the mood to attack anything within its immediate sight. Raem rubbed his eyes vigorously, and to his great relief, it was not some savage beast, but a rotund man with a densely bushy chest and a bestial aura. He levelled his gaze at Raem with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. His acquaintance with the pool and the shade of unconscious arrogance in his eyes gave off a proprietorial whiff.

The luminescent lights…they still pale…in front of that blue sparkle of your eyes! With awkward pauses, he roared at Raem, who wondered for a moment if it was even directed at him.

Hello…Sir…I am not sure if I know you… Raem moved a few steps further to get a closer look at him. The face was not as grotesque and unfamiliar as he feared. It was vaguely familiar, one that he had seen every now and then, but couldn’t quite recollect.

Oh, yes, you know me…you actually know me better than anyone… Raem was utterly perplexed by now.

I am Reymerg, the militant atheist cum media tycoon that the media can’t stop talking about these days….With the newly grown beard I may not be entirely recognizable.

You are The Reym…

Yes, the Reymerg. He slapped the once again still water.

So you own this place, I am guessing.

Yes. Without being bashful, Reymerg gently lifted his gigantic naked body from the pool and reached for his purple towel hung on one of the loungers. Reymerg’s unclothed body disconcerted Raem, briefly, until he put on his trunks.

Why am I here…was that all a trap…Costa’s son and the emergency? Just to bring me here?

Your anxiety and restlessness is completely justified…my friend…and yes, the dots are quite easy to join, I guess.

Why did you have to go through such deep trouble, such an elaborate scheme to bring me here? You could have just sent a chauffeur driven car?

Well, for starters, I didn’t even have to break into a sweat…and yes, you could have still refused, I couldn’t take that chance. The timing is crucial.

Fair enough…but what is unfathomable is what does the most powerful man in the country have anything to do with an ordinary mortal like me?

Everything! Reymerg lit his cigar and prepared to head towards the private elevator hoping Raem would follow. He noticed hesitation and uneasiness mounting upon Raem’s adorable countenance.

Reymerg couldn’t help but crack a ferocious grin. How’s Uncle Sam, must he be alive? And Rheya, how are you guys doing together, does she still dance?

What! How could you possibly know? Raem felt as if his well-arranged locks were being pulled apart in total shock.

And what about that young friend of yours…the stammerer?

Masher…He died in the great fire, decades back during the riots. As if a wave of electric current jolted him, How is it even possible? How can you know?

Oh, I know just about everything. It is my job, I run a newspaper, you see!

Bullshit, tell me the truth?

The truth, oh, the truth I feel is truly unknowable. It can have a thousand meanings and yet they all come together to constitute a singular event. I don’t have the truth. No one can have the truth.

Can you just stop this nihilistic crap? Raem raised his tone for the first time, stripping away the veneer of respect and courtesy.

There cannot be a chasm between reality and philosophy. Reymerg matched his tone.

Just stop. Please!

A revolutionary event across the country is about to take place soon, Reymerg’s voice quiesced but deepened in intensity; the private elevator opened and beckoned to them, Let’s go upstairs and I promise you all the answers, a decisive moment of your life awaits.

A reluctant Raem deprived of a choice followed him to the private elevator with the hope of answers, but equally sceptical about what mysterious and petrifying things Reymerg had in store for him.

CHAPTER 1

1992, Bhuleshwar Jurisdiction, Bombay

The water cascaded down upon his naked body from the derelict showerhead and blended with the clammy sweat unhurriedly gliding across his forehead sprawled by a layer of small inflamed elevations, something distinctive of adolescence.

His left eye was partially closed, and his body trembled in exaltation, as one of his bony hands was glued to the wall and the other gently stimulated his phallus with great dexterity. The advancement to the verge of discharge was predictably smooth; it made him softly moan in a fit of rapturous delight followed by the utterance of a series of expletives in a hushed tone, engendering in his mind an intoxicating mixture of alleviation and gratification.

Inevitably and uncontrollably, he spattered a trickle on to the decrepit bathroom tiles.

Amongst the medley of emotions that had been formed, the gratification gave way to a frisson of unfettered ecstasy that culminated with a wave of overwhelming relief.

Damn this world, damn everyone...Am I not the king...?Am I not the fucking king with the world at my feet? He rambled faintly gasping for air.

An unexplainably hollow sense of accomplishment had empowered him.

Masher...Masher! He was barely heedful of the angry shouts... You have exceeded your fifteen minutes of shower time!

Yes, Ma! I am almost done, he chuckled in sheer ecstasy.

After wiping the wall and turning off the knob rather clumsily, he emerged from the bathroom in a towel draping his emaciated body. It was sudden, like a flash, her hand smacked onto his cheeks. Masher was not quite jolted, instead sported an indifferent smile, still possessed by the feeling of that peculiar form of unmatched ecstasy.

Present-2017, Mumbai

Breaking news: Media tycoon, Reymerg D’Souza, has been detained by the CBI officials for what they have described as a preliminary level interrogation on grounds of reasonable suspicion. This is a move that comes after the yearlong protests and demonstrations made by the Hindu Rashtra Sangh (HRS) and other religious organizations, demanding the arrest and investigation of Reymerg in relation to the abduction of close to twenty-three God men in the last four years. When contacted Reymerg’s office… And the power button on the remote was squeezed by an irritated Rakhil viewing television at his residence. Half his face was covered in lather. He fixed himself a glass of imported whiskey and began gliding the razor blade gently down his sunken cheeks.

A mysterious smile emerged on his dismayed countenance right after the much-awaited vibrations of his phone, followed by a few long sips.

CBI Headquarters, Mumbai

A throng of Reymerg’s disciples wrestling against a bevy of journalists with their cameramen had crammed the gate of the CBI office, barely being kept from barging inside by the tiny phalanx of security personnel. Quickly was this congregation transforming into a raging mob, hungry for answers and demanding explanations. Santosh Mishra, the Superintendent of police, slyly stole a glance at this from his plush cabin. Only half an hour had passed since Reymerg had been brought in for interrogation and the sight outside was a worrying one. He drew his cupboard, fished out his asthma inhaler, and viciously puffed it twice, as the incessant clamorous telephone bells began ringing. And he knew that they were coming from all kinds of people and places, important people and places…

Reymerg had made himself comfortable upon the poorly cushioned desk chair, which ,however, was barely able to hold his massive constitution. He had spent the last twenty minutes thoughtfully sipping away the specially made coffee, high on caffeine that his driver had delivered to him. He was brought into a poorly lit and mediocrely furnished room surrounded by glass walls, what he had inferred to be the interrogation room. The authorities had failed in their attempt to make the journey to the CBI headquarters a clandestine affair to escape any form of attention. Anxiety and vexation were emotions that had long ceased to exist for Reymerg. Neither did the fact that he had been brought in for questioning by the authorities quite succeed in evoking those emotions of consternation nor any kind of trepidation as it could have for any other normal being. But that was the thing; he had forgotten what it was to be an ordinary mortal. Instead, he looked at this situation as an opportunity to ruminate in ways he couldn’t have otherwise in his sumptuous office. Not that his office couldn’t afford him tranquillity, but a change in environment could often do wonders. Alas, the period of basking in this solitude in a foreign setting had just ended with the arrival of two officers, attired immaculately in formal wear. Of the two, one appeared to be senior, balding, in his late forties; the other one was a lanky lad with a twirly moustache who sallied in, much younger and exuberant, compared to the senior guy who moved lackadaisically towards the table.

A very good afternoon Mr Reymerg…At the risk of sounding sarcastic, I will apologize for the lack of stateliness in our furnishing…I know that you for one have an extravagant taste for such things… The senior official gave a fawning smile to which Reymerg responded with a suppressed laughter.

"I don’t know if you remember me, I had the pleasure of meeting you at the launch of The Observer, a few years back. I was one of the guest writers, for the crime and psychology section…does the name ‘Abhishek Tripathi’ ring a bell?" The senior official continued with an ingratiatory tone, showing no signs of starting anything remotely interrogatory. Reymerg continued to exercise economy of words in his responses. However, the young lad was least impressed by Reymerg’s aura and was visibly exasperated by the sycophantic demeanour of his colleague.

Oh, sorry, I just missed out on introducing my young ebullient partner here, Rakesh Dubey…joined the bureau last year…he had a…

What is your nature of connection with the militant group -The Legion? Rakesh interrupted the senior official mid-way in his sentence and fired a question at Reymerg without a warning. For the first time Reymerg laid his eyes upon Rakesh, intrigued by his impudence.

Rakesh…that was slighting! The senior official stealthily pinched his elbow and pulled him back, stealing at him a reproachful glance.

Excuse me Mr Reymerg…like I said, he is new, he is finding his feet and quite outspoken…he doesn’t quite know how it works…and he doesn’t know you!

Reymerg maintained a steady silence, but his eyes continued to diligently study Rakesh, who sensed a slight discomfort with the movement of those curious eyes.

Should I repeat my question Mr Reymerg? He lunged forward across the table in an attempt to intimidate Reymerg with his persistence and conviction.

Reymerg’s prying eyes caught a glimpse of the tiny gold Om pendant dangling onto the gold chain that encumbered Rakesh’s stiff neck and the sapphire gemstone that encrusted the ring on his index finger.

Where were you on the 15th of October? Rakesh fired another question, unaffected by the frequent scornful glances that his senior helplessly threw at him.

You are a believer…the arrogance and impudence…that’s where it comes from? Reymerg finally broke his silence compelled by his curiosity.

I am going to repeat the question now…where were you on the following dates this year: 12th of March, 10th of April, 15th of June, 17th of July and 15th of October? Rakesh continued to be persistent and purposefully evaded the questions that were directed towards his personal beliefs, so he thought.

Do you pray Mr Rakesh?

I thought you were the one being interrogated?

I will answer your question but tell me…do you pray?

I used to.

I see, people think they derive strength from that act…but they are at their weakest when they prostrate and clasp their hands.

I don’t see how this is relevant to the questions I asked you Mr Reymerg…

Reymerg flashed a crooked smile. However, the senior official was done being muted and helpless.

That’s enough Rakesh. I think, I will take this interrogation ahead with Mr Reymerg, we originally wanted to ask you some questions regarding the disappearance of a number of spiritual leaders.

Verging on insubordination, Rakesh opened a file and placed several photographs. They were photographs of several spiritual leaders of different religions.

Mr Reymerg, I am sure you would recognize all these faces, people who commanded quite a following. Celebrated and revered figures. They have been abducted by a militant atheistic organization that calls itself – The Legion. Reymerg tried to stifle a mocking smile.

Rakesh with ceremonial slowness pulled out another photograph and placed it on the table. It was a grotesque face; a mutilated nose to begin with, followed by extensive burns that had devoured the left eyebrow and the left eye.

"He is Ahmedullah Ali, one of the oldest members of The Legion; all of religion is their sworn enemy. He was seen exiting a van and entering ReyMerg Heights! "

Rakesh shot at Reymerg the same crooked smile he had flashed moments back. But Reymerg remained phlegmatic.

The Legion has openly acknowledged the abduction of these spiritual leaders, and even murder, in some of the cases. Rakesh unblinkingly stared into his eyes, We believe we have evidence suggesting your connection to The Legion.

Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Reymerg broke into a ferocious laughter, and it continued for several seconds. The senior official too tried to join the laughter for a moment, but stopped as he received a disapproving stare from Rakesh.

I don’t believe that I cracked a joke here, Mr Reymerg!

Can I light my cigar?

Both officials looked at each other quizzically and nodded.

Forgive my laughter…but I can’t believe you spent almost half an hour trying to state the obvious.

Excuse me, what?

If it was up to me, I would have shot down every living soul on this planet who believes in a higher power… To purge the world, cleanse it from religion... Man is not that aware of himself anymore, religion has crippled him in ways he is not even capable of fathoming... The Legion is a noble organization, devoted to this singular purpose.

So I was right... Rakesh gave his senior official a winning smile and gently thumped the table.

The question is... what can you prove in a court of law…you have nothing on me! Reymerg quickly managed to wipe off the smile from Rakesh’s face.

In the eyes of law, I am merely a citizen who avidly believes in the cause that The Legion is fighting for, freedom from religion is also an inalienable right, but then it stops there…anything further would be pure conjecture…and what was that piece of evidence anyway that made you want to suspect my association with The Legion? He exhaled a puff of smoke with a sense of royal authority from his cigar.

This is on you now…you should answer this. The senior official threw a blameful look at Rakesh and left the room.

Rakesh followed his senior official out of the room, but not before he gave an exasperated glance at Reymerg chortling restrainedly.

Right outside the door was a team of anxious officers waiting in great anticipation to know how the interrogation went.

What happened? Did he crack? One of the officers gathered around impatiently asked Abhishek.

"This was a very bad idea from the beginning…to bring him in…we were pressurised, no doubt, by the opposition and those darn religious associations. But now, I think we could have survived that, only if we weren’t for a moment lured by your preposterous hunch. Rakesh, to link him with the Legion, just because he is a celebrated atheist…that too based on a weak piece of evidence…an unclear mobile camera footage of what we are not able to completely ascertain is the Legion’s van, parked for close to half an hour within 750 meters radius of ReyMerg Heights, which happens to be Reymerg’s den…what were you thinking…what were we thinking!"

I thought for a moment, he hinted…the links, Rakesh expressed desperation now.

You thought! He made a fool of us there…he is a very powerful man, and capable of dismantling this entire department with a couple of phone calls…

Sir, if you could just give me another chance to question him.

Aren’t you listening young man, his army of lawyers is soon going to harass us, the phone calls must have already started ringing in the SP’s office. Soon an inquiry may be set up and if it comes to that, someone will have to face the axe, and it won’t be me, Rakesh! Abhishek stormed into the SP’s cabin, after ending what seemed like a brief lashing out in the open that had brought about squishy whispers amongst the other officers gathered around out of sheer curiosity.

A bad day at office had forced Rakesh to retire early for the day. However, the day worsened with his phone crashing, followed by the struggle to get a taxi. As Abhishek had rightly prognosticated, it hadn’t taken long for Reymerg’s army of lawyers to get him out of there. Rakesh was extremely vexed by the sight of Reymerg’s expression that deemed the interrogation more as a recreational activity as he walked past him. When he reached home, he had this sudden craving for a stone-cold beer. Hoping he would find one, he opened the refrigerator; a beer pint was lying at the bottom. And just when he thought the day couldn’t get any worse, he realized that the beer pint far from being cold was rather lukewarm. He discovered that his perfectly functioning refrigerator without a warning had stopped functioning. It was that kind of a day; he consoled himself and gulped down the lukewarm beer.

The severe reprimand from his superior in front of other officers had little effect on him, neither did the possibility of a suspension looming over frighten him, but it was that devilish cackle of Reymerg during the interview that continued to disturb him. The sheer incapacitation that he experienced while Reymerg laughed his way out hurt him the most. Resting on his rocking chair, he gazed at the tiny portrait of a leaner and much younger self, grinning in an ice-skating outfit with his younger brother, Rahul, shrouded in snow. This hatred and the drive to have Reymerg convicted had not taken birth solely because of a devotion for justice. It had to do with a personal loss he suffered, which he believed had everything to do with that God-hating scoundrel. Rakesh did not just have a hunch that made him link Reymerg with the Legion, but there was a history, a time he didn’t enjoy remembering. And a strong reason why he was convinced about Reymerg’s connection with The Legion. Rahul had left home since several years and a glittering career in the medical profession to join the Legion.

What started as a fleeting interest in the subject of atheism that sprung inside Rahul, after he had read a couple of books on atheism, was soon transformed into a matter of consuming passion. During this period, he began attending some of Reymerg’s public lectures. In no time, he got deeply fascinated towards his atheistic philosophies, and that fascination in a matter of months turned into a form of self-proclaimed discipleship. From leaving the hospital early to bunking an entire day, he began following Reymerg everywhere he lectured or made a public appearance. Rakesh still vividly recounts the expression on Rahul’s face the day he had returned home late in the night after finally having managed to meet Reymerg – it was that of mad ecstasy. The next morning when Rakesh entered his bedroom – Rahul was missing – all he found was a note that read, I am off to a journey whose destination I am not at the liberty of revealing. Religion has truly outlived its utility. All it is capable of doing now is harm; we know that more than anyone does. We were too young when the riots took our parents… we couldn’t do anything or maybe we didn’t do anything…not anymore. The Legion has shown me a path. I hope to be back someday, brother. But only after I have done my part in this war to end religion. Please don’t look for me. Loads of love – Rahul.

It was five years to date, and he had never heard from him ever since. With every passing day, not only had Rakesh’s hatred and anger for Reymerg grown immeasurably, but also so had his determination to demolish him.

CHAPTER 2

1992

Masher was busy adjusting the knot of his tie peering into the wardrobe mirror. The name badge bearing his full name: Masher P Bhaskar seemed to be dangling out of place. But it didn’t bother him as much as the tie knot, which was always something he never really enjoyed getting his hands on; it was clearly one of the most arduous tasks of his life. Masher never fancied uniforms; he constantly detested the entire idea of formal dressing. He wondered if the demeanour had to be truly formal rather than the choice of apparel.

Now that he had managed to somehow make the granny knot bigger, he examined his five feet tall body structure through the mirror. He wished that his cadaverous shoulders could have been brawny and broad, if his embarrassingly skinny arms could somehow transmogrify into something bulging and sinewy, and hoped for the mirror to fix his grotesquely oval-shaped face. He ran his fingers across the mirror that reflected his unappealing, swarthy complexion; his recessed chin and a bulbous nose he considered as an excrescence. His forehead had prematurely begun to show few traces of wrinkles; he tried to cover them with his incredibly dense and bushy hair. He was manifestly not in love with his appearance and features, yet, like all human beings, in front of the mirror, he found himself for that moment, reasonably less hideous than otherwise. But deep inside his heart, he dreamt of a day when he would look different, unrecognizably different.

He was once again going to be tardy to school today, and he could once again hear his mother screaming.

Masher…can you run to Banu’s house and call him. We need to get the shower knob fixed.

Masher ambled across to his gallery that ran contiguous to his bedroom, the only and incommodious bedroom of their cramped flat situated on the top floor of the three-storied structure that was verging on dilapidation. The building had almost peeled off its several layers of paint coating, exposing its crumbling skeleton. There were serious cracks that had spread all across the corners. The battered state of the building had attracted the Municipal Corporation’s attention and drawn its unrivaled top spot on the list of the most dangerous buildings in town.

Masher from his gallery, with his slightly myopic vision, tried to locate the plumber, Banu, who stood close to a tiny makeshift hut, cautiously sipping a cutting chai down the street. He had the choice of either screaming Banu’s name at the top of his voice, or merit him the respect of going down and inviting him personally. Was it laziness, or an attempt to test his vocal cords, with great hesitancy, Masher dared shouting his name, and like always, he failed miserably; the voice didn’t even travel out of the house, let alone reach Banu’s ears. His best option was to resort to the rickety flights of stairs.

Masher’s speech was characterized by involuntary repetitions and hesitations. He was incapable of raising his voice beyond his naturally hushed tone. It wasn’t entirely due to some kind of a physical deformity in his vocal cords as his mother chose to believe, but it was also faintly psychosomatic, a kind of fear that had resided in his mind since birth. This fear had its origin in its mysterious relation to the speech disorder that bedeviled Masher. It had transformed into a mental barrier that inhibited him from raising his voice while speaking, making him speak mostly in an inaudibly low, falling tone. This had largely contributed to him becoming diffident, especially in his speech. He never really enjoyed seeing new faces in his house, he always felt intruded, and whenever he was forced to meet new faces, he flashed his characteristic constrained smile, where only his left cheek raised partly. He failed miserably when it came to acting or behaving in an unrestrained manner. The only time he could succeed at that was perhaps in the confines of a bathroom; the very feeling of an unfettered mental ecstasy empowered his mind for those incredibly brief moments.

Holy Agnels School was a venerable edifice situated at Marine lines, closing in on its semi-centennial this year, founded by the Christian missionaries in the early 1940’s. The years hadn’t done much to debilitate the structure for it was regularly maintained. The building wasn’t towering in its appearance unlike the high-rises that stood around menacingly, yet it had a peculiar draw because of its Victorian architectural design, making it a kind of a cynosure of all eyes. Back then, Holy Agnels was probably the only school in the whole of Bombay that was so close to the sea that it almost overlooked it with banks of sand dunes sprawling across its massive campus. The school was close to three kilometres from Nawab Masjid road, the lane that ran to Masher’s building. Although, the school provided its students the bus service, Masher always avoided the bus ride; he preferred scampering his way to the school. The bus ride for him was equivalent to gifting away an opportunity for his classmates to badger him.

He reached school at half-past ten, late by half an hour. The classes of tenth-grade students commenced earlier than the rest, the history period had already begun. He was scared and tensed as usual, worried about how the teacher may react. He was right outside his classroom, and the teacher was writing on the ginormous blackboard, oblivious to Masher lingering right outside the classroom door.

Ma’am…mmmay I come in? The word ‘may’ for him was a nightmare pronouncing, so were all the words starting with ‘m’and ‘w’.

All the students shifted their collective stares from the blackboard to Masher, but the teacher couldn’t quite hear. She was busy writing. A perspiring Masher repeated himself, but simply failed to be audibly loud, which drew the giggles from the last rows. Ten minutes passed; his forehead was bathed in sweat. A cat that sped past the classroom door yowled and came to Masher’s rescue, drawing the teacher’s attention to him. Flashing that awkward looking constrained smile, he entered and sat in the only available vacant region in the second row.

I hope everyone has come prepared with their respective topics. You will be presenting in this hour. The teacher announced with great expectations.

Students turned anxious as hens, some acting ritualistically forgetful, and a handful of them reading out of tiny chits and slipping it inside the socks. Masher remained unperturbed. He had it all memorized, confident that he didn’t require any revision. Yet, there was that one intractable problem he perpetually faced, and they all knew what it was!

Masher, since you are late, why don’t we start with you! The teacher pinned hopes on him. She was a new entrant and had little idea about Masher’s speech disorder.

The entire class had their eyes transfixed on Masher; they knew that they were in for some fun. Masher arose with great petrification and his nervous countenance creased into a constrained smile.

CHAPTER 3

Present-2017, Mumbai

He could hear the unpleasant voices from the kitchen turning into a furious, shrilly one. Initially, it sounded quite indistinct, since his scrupulous attention was focussed on dragging that weary comb through his rusty brown dishevelled locks, trying to side part them with great meticulosity. Raem had turned forty-six last week; the wrinkles on his forehead had grown more prominent, nearly having a kind of design to it. Concomitantly in the kitchen, Rheya, his wife, gripped by an intemperate rage, hurled the crockery against the wall that kept splintering, accompanied by the ranting of expletives. Raem was utterly oblivious to what had transpired in the kitchen, sporting an undemonstrative countenance. He was far too engrossed in disentangling his hair. Abruptly, a splinter flew off the kitchen wall crashing on to his furrowed forehead, forming an indelible scar on his clean-shaven face. The blood trickling down awakened him. The indistinct voices suddenly turned crystal clear.

Have you now even turned deaf, Mr Raem Andrew? Have you even heard a single word I have been uttering for the last half an hour? Rheya was at her furious best, a rage as deadly as of a violent fire, Are you listening...you trickster...you charlatan!

Raem was equally enraged; one could see the fury erupting in his oceanic blue eyes. Yet, he attempted to contain his anger with the blood dripping past his bald eyebrows. He tried to deflect by trying to find a piece of cloth to wipe off the blood.

Raem was an equanimous personality, who seldom lost his composure unless driven to the manic hilt, which Rheya had often succeeded at, and she couldn’t be blamed entirely for it. Rheya noticed that the trickle had now turned into an unstoppable rush. She grabbed a rag lying on the stove and wrapped it around his forehead with a forceful, deadly knot.

For the last seven years, you know this; we have barely managed to keep the wolf from the door. I can’t take this anymore; whatever pittance I draw from the classes is lost in the rent. Shreya’s kindergarten fee…God knows how is that going to be arranged!

And whatever you earn, that’s not even sufficient for the groceries, Rheya cried with a snigger.

Raem attempted to push her away, You think I am not trying… Before he could complete, Rheya interrupted, I don’t know you anymore. You aren’t the man I was in love with. You aren’t him anymore. In the last seven years, I have rarely managed to get a glimpse of him. You just do not have that spark; you were different back then. You were so bold; your moves had that unexplainable charm, when you used to hold me I used to feel so overwhelmed by some deep emotion I couldn’t fully understand. It was as if you were possessed by an irrepressible spirit. And now you have degenerated into something…

Raem cut her off, Have you not told me this a thousand times in the last seven years? It is like an endless loop, I am tired of this… and of you!

Rheya couldn’t help her tears, I gave up my career for you while the entire world laughed at me, but I thought I knew...I believed in you, that you were special, only to face this day. IIDT was my ticket to Paris...Rheya Sharma was a sensation then...and now...now she has disappeared into a state of anonymity, no one recognizes her. I wish I had listened to Dad.

Raem spread his hand and theatrically shouted, There is nothing wrong about what we did, and there are no regrets. We are not here by chance but by choice...I have made a choice...I am still the Raem I was. He was clearly in denial and tried to conceal it with a smirk of indifference.

You know what Raem, her eyes could no longer hold the tears wanting to burst out, No matter how much you may pretend of everything being perfect with you, the truth is staring you in the face. And it is soon going to tear off this mask you have been hiding behind...like the first day of your dance class, you couldn’t make the moves then, you can’t make the life’s ones now. Initially, I thought it was just the dance, but then I realised it wasn’t just that; it was everything, the way you behaved, the way you looked at me, it was all different. You had become a shadow of your true self or was it the shadow I fell in love with… I don’t know, Raem; I don’t know what it is, but whatever it may be… it will be the reason why I will have left you.

Her voice had acquired an echoing effect, as she glided like an angel, phantasmally, into the only room of what was a semi-detached house, with the door closing on its own. Raem couldn’t quite recover from the shock that he so skilfully managed to disguise with the apathy that was starting to vanish from his face.

He drew a low-tar cigarette from a pack hiding under the Sunday’s edition of The Times, which apparently had its front-page story on Reymerg D’souza’s rise from oblivion to the top media baron in the country.

Lighting the low-tar cigarette, he raced out of his house, deciding to perambulate across the vacant street that ran adjacent to his modest house. He was barefooted and blithely strolled across the uneven surface of the unpaved streets. Deep down in his mind, he knew there wasn’t even a modicum of inveracity in those lines Rheya uttered, they weren’t just things spoken out of blind rage, that there was the shadow of truth buried in somewhere. His unemotional countenance was as Rheya rightly pointed out, a facade, a facade that allowed him to somehow escape the gravity of the moment. His mind reproduced a grotesque image of an extremely young Raem who looked diffident with an unerect posture and a hideous gait to top it.

The saunter wasn’t entirely aimless, he had reached the end of the street; he clapped eyes on to what was a solitary swing set and a few creaky wooden benches. The dead grass covering the ground was pervaded with a multitude of bare spots. The scrubby bushes had grown to the point that it swaddled the benches; this meant that they hadn’t been manicured for a long time; it was an abandoned playground.

Raem didn’t dare to sit upon the derelict benches; instead, he placed his hands on to the rusty metallic chain and perched on to one of the torn swing seats. He tried hard to swat a dragonfly buzzing past his nose from the bushes. It finally eluded him with ease after Raem made a few exasperating attempts to put it to rest.

It had turned a tad overcast; he could hear the rumble of distant thunder. Raem ritualistically sucked on to his cigarette that had reached the tip of its filter. He unblinkingly stared into the firmaments and expelled a pall of smoke that he watched billowing unto the sky. His mind journeyed along with the puff of smoke into his past, into the day when he had laid his eyes on Rheya for the first time, the very day when he had fallen hopelessly in love with her.

1992, Bombay

The train whizzed past various stations without halting, it was a fast local to Bandra. Raem was almost dangling onto the footboard; the gust of wind gathered had inflated his shirt as he comfortably floated inside the oversized black Tactel shirt swaddling his rather slender physique. The compartment was packed beyond capacity. Raem was trying hard as always to not grab attention. No matter how mediocre was his personality, how unremarkable the demeanour and how ungainly the gait; his Caucasian eye colour and his remarkably unique skin complexion always drew eyeballs. It granted him that bit of unwanted attention and made his presence many a time unwelcomingly conspicuous.

Raem was endowed with oceanic blue eyes, foreign in its descendance. Whenever the corners of his scabby lips turned up, the exceptionality of the colour of his iris made it scintillate at times or so it tricked the mind to believe due its stupendous rarity, almost mesmerising. However, the loveliness of his oculus was slightly diminished by the crooked nose and patchy eyebrows that had been receding right from his birth.

Raem got off the train, sprinting his way out of the station, but he was suddenly congregated by a number of indigents.

Sir, money...money, sir...paisa…paisa.

They just maundered the word ‘money’ in English, not resorting to Hindi, begging for alms, hoping for something handsome.

"Haton yahan se," he shouted and pushed them away, as he stormed out of the railway platform, drawing a bellow of laughter from the onlookers.

The beggars had mistaken him to be a foreigner, courtesy was his superiorly fair skin tone that had a non-native origin. This wasn’t happening to him for the first time, but occurred on numerous occasions in the past, and by now, he had taught himself to stay unperturbed.

Raem’s distinguished skin was white as snow that used to turn pearly pink under the wrath of the sun. The Caucasian eyes and the peculiar, occidental skin tone wasn’t some kind of a genetic anomaly since his parents were pure natives, rather it was the inheritance of some rare foreign genes, which could be traced back to the pre-independence age. Raem’s great-great-grandfather was a British Army officer, John Andrew, who was enamoured by the comeliness of a North Indian Brahmin woman, Kausalya Kashyap, Raem’s great-great-grandmother. They were deeply in love in spite of the language barrier, and it inevitably led to their marriage, which faced a great many remonstrations during that era. However, the marital life was short-lived, as John died