Chai at Midnight

By Vibhakar Kotak

Chai at Midnight is a fictional abstraction of thoughts ruffling though a young mans mind as he is caught up in frenzied encounters after meeting an appealing woman during a monsoon midnight. This happens at a small and remote railway station while he waits for another train and yearns for a cup of chai. What follows is a concoction of drama played out for a few seemingly endless hours in the middle of somewhere, nowhere. The theme portrays the contrasting and raw emotions of thrill, unspoken humor, defiance, desire, and valor that travel back and forth through his mind with supersonic speed despite the grave circumstances. In a philosophical sense, the book may inspire readers to explore the restorative potential of their cherished memories and face any crisis with constantly self-engaging lightheartedness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781496950062

Vibhakar Kotak

Dr. Vibhakar Kotak is a research professor in neuroscience at New York University and has lived with his wife and two daughters in New Jersey for more than twenty years. He did his early schooling in East Africa and later earned his PhD in India. In addition to many scientific papers, reviews, and book chapters, he has published a set of poems: Chameleon (Outskirts Press). These poems—illustrated with his hand-drawn color cartoons of nature, animals, and musical instruments—are aimed at introspecting human energies associated with violence, pomp, success, racism, war, fear, and guilt. In this fictional Chai story, the author aims to discover how the potential and speed of human thought is heightened in parallel with life-threatening situations, which create a window of positive balance for his mind.

Book preview

© 2015 Vibhakar Kotak. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  01/28/2015

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5005-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5006-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015900827

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

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.

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1 Monsoon at Midnight

Chapter 2 Connection in Wilderness

Chapter 3 An Encounter

Chapter 4 Splendor In the Jungle

Chapter 5 Nostalgic Therapy

Chapter 6 Rumble In the Jungle

Chapter 7 Mayhem

Chapter 8 Persona Paradox

Chapter 9 Fight or Flight

Chapter 10 Tranquil

Chapter 11 Chai

Chapter 12 Eternal

About the Author

To my entire family and creative minds all over.

Acknowledgments

The author greatly appreciates the feedback and support from family members, friends, and colleagues at New York University. He wishes to acknowledge Wikipedia for the many precise definitions and meanings, and the AuthorHouse editorial team for their review and countless suggestions.

Chapter 1

Monsoon at Midnight

The train reached Ahva Junction at 12:11 a.m. It was the first week of July, and the southwest monsoon was in its full bloom, satiating the lust of baked earth, which was suffering several weeks of insult from high temperatures hovering over forty-four degrees Celsius. The college was off for the monsoon break, and it was time to hit home, hang around with old buddies, and catch up with the missed fun playing cricket on streets and small playgrounds. It was also time to savor some real, simple, spicy homemade food to break the monotony of lackluster hostel food.

Although he had been at this rail junction many times, he detested the uncivilized arrival time because it disrupted his sleep, which was reinforced by the motion and rhythmic acoustic cocktail of train tracks and steam engines heard through the open windows. The tempo was nostalgic because it made him revisit his early childhood and revive the synchrony generated by the river rapids in which he had swum and fished, the soft ticktock of an antique desk clock by his bedside that his father had gifted him, and the flashing lights emanating from fireflies at much slower but regular intervals. He found the symphonic sound and associated memories intriguingly calming.

He knew the much-promised conversion to broad-gauge tracks was going to be implemented because the construction was already underway, and by the time he made his next trip, he definitely would not have to change trains at such a late hour. As a matter of fact, this station was going to be upgraded five miles away at a picturesque site. The arrival time was going to be dawn. The other travel option was a far longer daytime bus ride; however, his experience of the combination of rough roads and the smell of the drivers’ bidis¹ and the burning diesel triggered miniature typhoons in his gastric contents and bile that defied normal physiological principles. This made him so overpoweringly nauseous that he did not give the bus ride a second thought. That night, though, he felt like a sluggish toad waking after months of winter dormancy, albeit in a hot and humid niche. Darkness made the discomfort of the wet summer only slightly less than that of the daytime heat with humidity, he mused. So he forced himself to get up, grabbed his small bag, vigorously massaged his dream-soaked eyes, and gingerly stepped out onto the slippery platform.

Just then, the monsoon rains chose to perform an arduous duet with the darkness by pouring down with additional passion, as if the raindrops wished to tear apart the space, transforming into tiny needles. He wondered why he enjoyed rain during the day and not during the night unless he was tucked under the cover in his bed, listening to the muffled, soothing raindrops in his protected room and Bollywood pop melodies on an old radio.

He quickly sheltered on the platform, which was scantily covered by leaky tin roof doctored with some patchy tar, and wished the cart that served chai within the shed was open. On an immediate second thought, he realized he did not particularly like the chai here because it tasted more salty than sweet; notwithstanding, the venture helped shake off some lethargy and