Whispering Storm

By Sujoy Sen

Rehman leaves his sweetheart and his home town, promising to come back only if he strikes it rich. In his journey nothing of what he imagines ever happen. Instead, he meets different characters who are also quite lost as to what they want to do.

What emerges are incredibly funny situations that touch on life’s different moments: from intense beauty, intense darkness, to intense resolve. It is like an assortment of magical candies in a cookie store. Each situation more alluring than the other.

The story ultimately sees the characters decide on what they want to do: from opening up a jeans shop, to a travel agency, and even a flower shop with cellophane.

Woven in are soft currents of love, but none of the love sees two coming together. They all seem to go their own ways discovering new limits of life. Each of them are set free to take life to the next exciting plane!

Rehman after winding in and out of these different situations which are like lanes buzzing with colourful imagination finally makes it back to his town. Not rich as he fantasized. But richer in experience, discovering true love in the eyes of his sweetheart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: Jan 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781543706444

Sujoy Sen

Sujoy Sen has the ability to bring together a unique cast of characters that talk and act in ways we often imagine ourselves to be. These characters also end up in situations which appeals to the readers’ sense of poetic beauty, the dark side, and even the funny side.

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Copyright © 2020 by Sujoy Sen.

ISBN:                Softcover                    978-1-5437-0645-1

                          eBook                        978-1-5437-0644-4

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 author 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.

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1 Journey into the blue

Chapter 2 From no town to Meghna’s town

Chapter 3 Sunlight, traffic light and other happenings in the upper atmosphere

Chapter 4 Perfume, water, mercury and no silver lining

Chapter 5 Minus other planets earth will be different

Chapter 6 Darting love between man and woman

Chapter 7 Flashing cycle and somewhere down the line a blow torch and whose nature park is it anyway?

Chapter 8 Freshness of flowers blooming and the roundness of the sun

Chapter 9 Night and day in a merry play

Chapter 10 Parking signs and signs of poetry

Chapter 11 Dolls in the light

Chapter 12 Singsong story of metal buttons

Chapter 13 Poster boys make you feel strange

Chapter 14 Half man, wolf man or rocking mankind?

Chapter 15 Hot star cold star

Chapter 16 Love is a dust storm

Chapter 17 Why fly when fluids float?

Chapter 18 Dry pool salted and with a bit of music

Chapter 19 Promises in colour and white

Chapter 20 Soft cotton oozing chocolate

Chapter 21 Lightning, air and leaves

Chapter 22 Whisper soft wings of flying moon beams

Chapter 23 Adventure blowing over the gang looks for new directions

Chapter 24 Travel and tourism coloured with sun shade umbrellas

Chapter 25 Beautiful eyes of the storm when hope flickered blue

Chapter 26 A flowering sky

1

JOURNEY INTO THE BLUE

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She Whispered, I love you. The black street stretched ahead. The few dry grasses rustled on the side of the tar. The sun was beating them into darker shades. Rehman looked around and said: Don’t hope too much. The bus will take me to a new town. If I make a fortune. I will come back. If I don’t I will disappear.

Her face turned crimson. Rehman often wondered if Uma’s face was carved from the drops of the sun. It could blaze. Anytime. Now he didn’t know if this was a tinge of anger, or the fire of love. You do as you please. You go anywhere. Uma’s silent gaze said it all. The wind picked up speed and her dark hair performing a dark wavy dance. The dust lifted from the burning brown grass and brushed against her face.

Rehman suddenly saw sand paper. The ones he used to rub surfaces to reveal to strip the surface to start anew. Uma’s voice broke into his thoughts. Come back to my place. I will wait. I have no fight with time. I can weave it into endless patterns. I look up from my roof top and look into the endless maize of lane running into, and out of one another. One of the lanes will get you back to me.

If I don’t make it……. Rehman shouted above the wind. The green bus now screeched to a halt. Rehman clambered up with his single heavy bag and landed on the black seat. The seat warm from the long running engine, and from the sun broke the tears in his eyes. When he looked out, the tar and the dry grass shimmered. Uma was a mirage. He waved and he waved. Love pulsed inside him, and he desperately tried to move all the space in front of him to hold her once.

The bus picked up speed.

Never in my life have I seen such a bunch of idiots. You tell me that four of you have been scrubbing this car for an hour, and what do I see: RUST. The man barked out his words with a vengeance. The team of young boys looked at him dazed. One of them in his nervousness fingered the match sticks to light a beedi. His fumbling fingers gave way. The match box dropped to the floor. The match sticks splayed out.

The barking man looked at the match sticks. Looked down and cried in bewilderment. Wow! You little dirty UN should go into the business of making Japanese fans. The boy who dropped the match box looked up.

The man shouted, "You have any idea what a Japanese fan is?

The little boy suddenly held his eyes and pulled them wide and started blowing frantically. Do I look like a Japanese, now Sir. He chinked his eyes as far as he could and blew harder. He started running around the workshop blowing at everything. Shouting all the while. Look at me I am a Japanese fan. I am a Japanese fan!

Rehman made his entry into the workshop at that moment. He was tired from the long bus journey. He got down. The first thing he did was let out warm golden pee on a desolate wall. He looked at the wet mountain shaping up, and felt relieved, and a little happy with his newly formed art work.

Walking aimlessly for another twenty minutes, he came across this SIGN: BALWANT AUTO WORKS.

He walks in, and the first thing he sees is this boy in a dirty tattered T shirt shouting: I am a Japanese fan. Rehman could see on his T Shirt a slice of pink watermelon, and the words, SLICE OF LIFE. LICK IT OR GET LICKED.

In the storm, no one noticed Rehman. The man held the dirty UN’s T Shirt. Gripped it in anger. Pulled him. Pushed him with a greater force. He pulled to muster the greatest force of the push. The little UN got ejected out of the workshop. The man had a scrap of torn T Shirt in his hand. It was the upper part along with the washing instructions: SOFT FIBRE. HANDLE WITH CARE.

Rehman knew this was no good moment and followed the UN into the street. A few barking dogs gave voice to an otherwise dull afternoon. He caught up a little breathlessly with the UN. "I am sorry you got thrown out of your job.

The UN measured Rehman up and down, and asked, Who you may be?. Rehman explained his entry into the workshop, and his bus ride into the town.

Looking at his beard, and his spotlessly white fez cap, he inquired, You a Muslim.

Yes replied Rehman.

The UN seemed to have ignored Rehman’s earlier introduction, and said, "can I become a Muslim like you? You know I have calendars of lots of Gods hanging in my room. There is this blue Shiva. He is closest to my table fan. When the fan turns full swing, the picture swings madly, and I feel good that Shiva is experiencing gales like his original home in the Himalayas!

I like your white cap, the UN carried on. Your beard too. I think this style kind of suits me.

Rehman looked at the UN curiously.

Then he said, Do you know of any place I can stay for a few days in this town?

The UN’s eyes suddenly shone, and he said, You can stay in my room. Just pay me a 500 Rs a month. He said it so nonchalantly, like he was the king of Morocco, doing his subject a favour.

Rehman felt as if a king has bestowed his wish.

He agreed.

Everywhere blue sea. The waves rise. The surf rises higher. The drops touch the ceiling. The drops fall one by one. And people descend. Not people, Gods. Of different colour and valour.

Are you there with me? the UN cried out to Rehman. You are one hell of a dreamer boy. He slapped Rehman on the back in a joltish friendly way.

That broke Rehman’s stupor, and he actually focused into the room. True lots of pictures hung, heaven knows why.

But his eyes got drawn to a calendar with a very all out stark revealing goddess. And in one of the months below, the year dated 1999, there was a circle around a date. And in pencil around that date is written: MUST VISIT HER.

Rehman’s intrigue knew no bounds.

He looked at the circle again. He saw through it. A peacock feather emerged. The eye of the blue feather, a misty white suddenly faded into a water fall. The little UN was there beside the water fall. Eyes closed. Nobody came near him. His closed eyes had something otherworldly about it. It put him a little higher than the waterfall, in the eyes of men.

As the water cascaded, the air was rent aside by a sharp voice. A voice swallowing a beautiful knife.

The little UN’s eyes opened, and he spat out a cascading stream of red.

Immediately a blue tint was placed over the whole scene.

Sorry it was another young dude watching the whole scene through blue tinted dark blue glasses.

You like paan, the dude said.

The little UN, spat once again the red liquid, and said, Can’t you see!

Then he lovingly brought out a packing from his pocket with the most divine lady in no saree, and fondled it lovingly. A crackling noise followed.

And then again that sharp voice.

That’s my woman singing, the little UN whispered to the dude.

She left me because I spit this red stuff.

But she still sings for me.

I just have to sit still, and I hear her voice.

She will never leave me.

Rehman looked away from the circle. The little UN was nowhere to be seen.

Rehman looked around. A green curtain fluttered. It lifted to reveal no windows. The curtain fell back softly caressing the walls.

Rehman saw all around him blue walls.

He sat on the only spring weather beaten cot in the room, and he started to cry.

A lady appeared, hefty in stride, and heavy enough to carry the whole room with her. She was carrying a fat velvet hanky with her.

She threw it to Rehman, and said, "Anybody who comes into this room, cries!

That dirty little UN, makes such a shame of this room, that only tears flow.

Now tell me are you his new guest? And how much is he charging?

She went to the fluttering green curtain. Tore it into two halves and made a cross with it. A green cross.

She spun the cross on her fingers, and the blurred rectangles, became a green deep dot.

She pointed to the green dot, and said, that’s where my heart lies.

The more you have, you let it come crashing on to the floor with huge mansions, gateways that stretch from one orchard to another orchard, and stretch marks that cover every Rolls Royce seat mark on your skin.

"The less you have you have this room.

Where nothing ever works.

Nothing not even love.

Look at that dirty UN. And you will understand."

"But I will tell you of my love. In the biggest banana field this side of the west. Everywhere you see is green. If you stare too long the greens become waves lulling, you to sleep. And if you stare too long you see a man, a barrel thicker than the base of any of the banana tree. And black as sin. You can’t miss him in the green.

I saw him when I was 19 years. My mother had asked me to get inside the grove, spot a small palm thatch, under which a man lies sitting or sleeping. The caretaker of the grove. I walked into this sea of green, and then darkness roared into my senses. My blood became hot. It boiled over pulsating two colours, green and black. The first sight of this man sent a very different message inside me.

What was the message, quipped Rehman.

A man who had inside him an elephant waiting to get out and trample the whole green into slushy oozing mud.

"I fell for that. Other things touched me about this man. His intensity of staring into a painting, for hours inside his hot tinned room. He called it Mughal. But I knew of his penchant at gazing at fair women, perched high up, in the Mughal courts. He told me in one of his weak moments that the higher they were perched the deeper his love ran.

And where do I stand in your love? I asked him, after I got to know him better. Beyond Mughal paintings he had deep love for undulating things. He was particularly fond of heat waves. That he gave to me in abundance. And his fondness for tin undulating sheets. He covered everything with it.

Nothing deterred him. No dish antenna. No government schemes. He went about with such abundance that the glare of it all caught the larger public eye.

Then my love did run like the larger elephant I saw in him. He ran after people’s mandates with crushing sincerity, only to crush it at a later date.

One day while making love he rolled over in such ecstasy that he himself became a wave. A shining wave.

That was the day the cyclone hit the plantation.

That was the day I lost him.

And I lost all my dreams of that fair mansion where darker maids would flow like milk and honey all around me and him lifting us in one unadulterated orgy.

The cars didn’t come.

Only the rains did.

The warm black earth sighed with the water seeping in. The smell of madness hung around. Nature breaking into her best. The green of the plantains glistened.

Losing him made me sink into the banana plantation. And as the rains lifted, my stomach swelled out with the fruits. Of the man gone. I only felt heaviness all around. In my body. Every day I was swinging out of balance. That was then this little UN happened. It was as if all the wretched slime washed into the river has been conduited into my womb.

He happened. I let it happen in my pain and confusion. From landing on this earth, he always flew. Flew nowhere. As a small UN, I couldn’t give him much. Now bigger he is a flash of dirt in torn clothing. Dark as his father. Wily as his father. Only thinner. He can move between banana trees like a snake sometimes I think."

A single road ran through the town. Mostly car workshops. Table selling fuel. And carts selling fried food. Rehman wondered, why no fruits? He had stepped out of his room for a walk. He took 40 steps, and a glare in the distance caught his eyes. He looked ahead. The glare became stronger. He had to shade his eyes. In a whizz a motorbike laden with fruits passed him by. A driver at the wheel, and the little UN riding behind.

Rehman watched the scene, and more than the fruits what caught his eye was the little UN seated on the back occasionally rising from his seated position and twisting his hips and wildly gesticulating in the air. He saw him doing this, then again getting back to his seated position.

The bike whizzed past ruffling Rehman’s locks hanging out of his fez.

Rehman looked ahead. The land rose. It gesticulated wildly gyrating with the hip movement of UN. He expected the bike to disappear into the horizon, but the land went into waves. It swelled, fell, and rose. The motorbike appeared like a bobbing ship. The fruits all floated in gay abandon. A banana went flying into the sky, throwing off its yellow peal in delight. It did a wild naked dance of swinging white. The rest of the fruits started skinning their colourful skins and threw them into the air.

Rehman looked up and it was a fruit market in the sky. All the fruit sellers dressed in the colourful skins of fruits opening their wares of what looked like fruits, but actually paper boats. Paper boats all white. They streamed forth in a blank colourless march. The fruits all around sucked their colours even more to the hilt. The skins became doubly vibrantly colourful, and the paper boats white on white on white disappearing into flat light, into a daze of nothing.

In the speed of the wave falling, the bike braked and UN went flying into the sky and started to argue with the fruit sellers. The fruit sellers danced all around him, reciting loudly the price of the fruits, one by one. UN heard all the prices and his argument broke into a flood of desperate tears, and he was washed along with every skin, fruit and seller into the ground, a torrent faster than the bike, and flowed past Rehman.

Rehman ran to try and stop the torrent. He ran faster than the torrent and stood head on to meet it. The torrent banged against him, and un jolted on to his stomach. Rehman held on. The UN hit his stomach. The speed got broken.

Everywhere was ashen. A carbon paper placed across the complete scenario. Rehman walked on. One Xerox shop after another. Young girls and boys flauntered by. They held a sheaf of paper under their arm. Bright lip sticks gashed across the lips of the girls. The boys slender and dark like proactive sun sticks dipping into romances with the girl. They kissed. Repeated. Kissed. The whole life looked like a Xerox print. The letters on the papers carried by the young crowds danced in the sun. Waving out promises of a regular job, if regular studies are completed. One of the girls smirked at the regular lines and threw the paper into the air. It all went flying and slowly alighting on land, did a little dance.

One of the papers brushed against Rehman’s cheeks. He blushed. In the ashen carbon surroundings, that became the only spot of colour.

The girl who got rid of the regular lines, noticed Rehman’s face, and saw it changed like a sky waking up to the first song of birds. She sauntered across to Rehman, and said, Hi! I am Meghna!

She stuck out her tongue and let the wind play with it. The breeze rolled her saliva into a bubble and it rose above into the blue. Rehman looked up to see the bubble disappearing into the sky. He heard a POP! He imagined the bubble burst.

A POP sound again. This time behind him. He saw UN, with a huge bubble wrap, bursting bubbles, one by one. Rehman looked at UN and said, what are you doing here? Un replied, I have been trying to woo Meghna with my symphony of sounds, this huge bubble wrap claps all my feelings in front of her like a proper presentation sheet. And all she does is throw away all my advances. She just throws them away.

Rehman suddenly stepped forward, and said, But I like Meghna! The lipstick on Megna’s lips suddenly fired. It became an exhaust of a motorbike emitting flames. She let Rehman ride her lips, and they both disappeared into the horizon.

The drummer banged the skin hard. It tore off. Everything got ripped. The notes. The keyboards. The keys jumping wildly performing the dance of a life time. The band marched with fanfare. The trombonist was busy swallowing air, puffing out. The boy behind him trying to follow beats, got so enamored by the puffed-up cheek of the trombonist that he flew and kissed him on his cheeks.

That deflated the whole gusto, and a commotion ensued. Tremendous flashes happened. The trombonist dropped all pretense of playing. The whole band expressed glee in a flash.

This is what I wanted out of my band, all this while, this is what I wanted. Now you understand the joy of sheer harmony. He swished his hands in a flourish, and it hit Rehman on the face, busy looking at the music along with Meghna.

Nothing doing, screamed Meghna and broke into a husky song. The boy who kissed the trombonist started clapping. And the whole band moved to his claps, and a rhythm arose and swept everybody high.

The trombonist couldn’t manage it and got swept away. The band master flourished his hands, and was careful to caress Rehman’s cheeks, too.

Dark clouds appeared from nowhere and swept the sky. The whole ensemble got drenched to their skin. Rehman looked around, Meghna was gone. The band became slow dragged into the mud. The notes sunk into pools of water. Rehman tried to catch the notes, they dissolved into the water whirled into the mud and carried away into a very wide-open field.

Rehman stood at the edge of the field and saw the sad march of the band away. He looked to heaven for a sign. There was none. It was another march of dark clouds.

Rehman returned to his room. He was greeted with mild commotion. The UN was now lying down on the ground, that spread before the room. A mixture of dust and brown earth. Lying down, UN was shaking his hips, and trying to heave his body above the ground. Shaking his hips and trying to heave his body off the ground. The same he was trying at the back of the motorcycle when the fruit in the sky episode happened.

Rehman stepped forward and looked curiously at UN. UN in between breaths huffed out, "I am practicing dying. Meghna ditched me. My previous girl who opposes my spitting habit has recently got engaged to my previous employer Balwant. Thinking about her was heavenly. Now I think the act of imagining to be dying will be truly heavenly. Every time I am at the back