Chapter 9: The Dead Dog, Part 5

I loved it when she broke into one of her cute angry rants – complaining about something or the other in her ‘little girl’ voice, waiting for me to kiss her cheek in mock sympathy. This time, it was about the mosquitoes.
“Azaaaaad!” Anita smiled and wailed, “Tell them to go! Boo-hooooo!!”
I laughed back and reached my hands across the table to hold hers.
Wow! I was still finding it difficult to believe that I was married to the girl of my dreams. After all those years of hopelessness that there could never be anyone exactly right for me, I had not only found her, but I had made her right for me forever. I stared into her eyes first, and then looked around the restaurant to see if anyone else was noticing how happy we were.
“Is Princess hungry?” I whispered.
“I’ll eat anything but these mosquitoes,” she sulked, “Why do we have to come to this Dosa place every week Azad? Can’t you take me to some nice, air-conditioned restaurants every once in a while?”
I snickered back uncomfortably to neither confirm nor deny her request. The waiter brought the food just in time.
“Is that all you’re going to eat?” I looked at the lone little idli that sat on her plate.
“Yes,” she grabbed her stomach animatedly, “Oh, God, my stomach has been hurting so bad all day.”
Ah, my lovely, sick wife – always complaining about some ailment or the other – she looked so pretty when she threw her tantrums. I looked around the restaurant to make sure no one else was staring at her.
Anita was so particular; it was fantastic. Every thing had to be right for her to be happy. Kalpana would’ve never bothered about what she ate. I bet she’s over in Mumbai torturing her husband with her bland low-maintenance right now
The techno ringtone of my brand new cell phone brought me back to Varanasi. It was Atty.
“What is it?”
“Hello sir,” she said, “Sir, I’m sorry I won’t be able to come in tomorrow.”
I looked up to see Anita frown at my attention being diverted. “Why, what’s wrong?” I asked Atty.
“Sir, my mother is sick sir, and Papa isn’t home,” her meek voice pleaded, “I want to take her to see the doctor tomorrow.”
Why not, I thought. She was too young, innocent, and pretty for me to be mean to her, “Sure, sure, go ahead.”
“Thank you sir, Thank you,” she said and hung up.
Anita spoke immediately, “Who was that?”
“Nothing Princess, just someone from work,” I looked at her dreamily, “How is your idli?”
“I bet it was that sassy little receptionist you hired,” Anita said, “She calls you all the time now, doesn’t she?”
“Anita! She’s just a kid – why are you getting worried?”
“I’m not worried, I’m just saying – ever since you got that new phone, she can’t stop calling you.”
My dreamy moment was replaced with a shot of high ego. “She’s new here, Anita. She just needs help, that’s all.”
“Hmpf! Too much help I think… “
This was brilliant. My lovely new wife was jealous of my lovely new 19-year-old secretary. I had never made a woman jealous before – it was definitely worth the hype. “Forget it,” I said, “How’s your idli?”
“It’s fine,” she said, her voice not cute and childish anymore.
We sat and ate in silence. As the minutes passed, I itched to say something just to break the awkward realization of knowing that I suddenly didn’t actually have anything to say.
Thankfully, Anita did it before me, “I also want my own cell phone,” she said, eyeing up mine, “How long am I going to share yours?”
“Two cell phones?” I asked and giggled, “I’m not Bill Gates, you know!”
“Hmpf!”
Ah, my lovely, jealous, demanding wife. She looked so cute when she frowned.
When we got into the bedroom that night, Anita wasn’t in the mood to touch me.
“What’s wrong?” I stroked her hair.
“Nothing,” she pushed away.
“No, what is it, Princess?”
Anita paused, “It’s Sunday, Azad – you know we shouldn’t do it on a Sunday.”
“What?” I sat up, “Why?”
“Azzzzuuuu,” she went back to her ‘tantrum’ voice, “God rests on Sunday.”
God. Why the hell did you need a break? “Well,” I looked up at the clock, “We can wait for another hour, and it will be Monday. Then…”
“No dear, get to sleep. Goodnight.”
I gave up and turned away. Right then, my brand new cell phone rang again. Its loud, techno ringtone made Anita jump.
“Who could that be?” she nudged me, “I swear to God if it’s that receptionist of yours again…”
When I heard the voice on the other line, it was only Rakesh. Probably intoxicated Rakesh.
“Hi, yaar, were you sleeping?” he said.
“Trying to,” I yawned.
“Oh, sorrry,” he giggled, “Was just making some plans for tomorrow; thought you might want to join us.”
I turned to see Anita’s red face glowing in the dark. “Rakesh, you can’t call me this late anymore – I’m married, remember?”
He howled with laughter. “Yes, yes, I know yaar. Sorry – just out of habit, you know? But anyways, time to breakk your shackless my friend,” his drunken voice skidded some more.
“What shackles?”
“Marriage shackles,” he laughed, “Anita is like a pair of handcuffs, yaar! We have barely seen you in the last few months. Party at mine tomorrow, okay? Shubham and Mohit will be there.”
“Who’s Mohit?”
“See you tomorrow!” he hung up.
I lay back and tried to sleep, fully aware of the watchful eye of the Handcuffs staring me down contemptuously.
“Your friends!” was the last thing I heard that night.

A supernova exploded, sending ruptures of sparks and shocks all around me. The Twin Towers fell atop each other and burst into flames. Machine gun fire whooshed by my ear, and I felt all these forces together.
Wow – it’s been so long since I’ve been properly drunk. Shubham turned the volume up louder, and with his eyes closed, he strummed on an imaginary guitar.
“You gotta sleep on your toes, and when you're on the street,
You gotta be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes closed.”
“Shit, I’m so fucking wastedddd, yaaarr,” Rakesh danced around the room.
Shubham, with his eyes still closed, began to sing along to the music, “You have to, be trusted, by the people, that you lie toooo…”
Is this fun? Am I having a good time? Such nights are supposed to be the ultimate breather for married men, and I had felt so choked for the past month that a breath of fresh male-camaraderie is exactly what I’ve needed.
But this isn’t fun. Fun is supposed to be cricket in the 80s and gangsta rap music. Hanging out with the twins and listening to Kalpana giggle. Was all of that really fun?
This definitely isn’t. I don’t particularly enjoy the music, the company, or the alcohol – I have settled for all of them because they bring me the least amount of chagrin compared to everything else I have to go through.
“Ay, why are you so quiet, Azad?” Rakesh reached for the bottle of Royal Stag, “Thinking about the wife?”
“Oh, no no no,” I quickly replied, “Make me another drink, will you?”
Unfortunately, this is the expected norm now that I’m married. Newly married men are supposed to still enjoy wasteful and irresponsible immaturity just to prove to other men that we haven’t changed. But how could you possibly not change when there is the watchful eye of a demanding and dominating woman waiting for you back home.
Rakesh handed me another drink. Mohit, who had only spoken when spoken to, suddenly jumped up, making his tummy bounce.
“Let’s go for a drive guys!” he clapped.
Oh, no no no. Bad, bad idea. I had suddenly fallen in love with Rakesh’s uncomfortable little pad. Who was this Mohit, anyways?
. “That’s a great idea,” Rakesh danced even more, “What do you say – Shubham, Azad: we can’t sit in here all night.”
“Umm, I’m not so sure,” I jittered, “I have a long day tomorrow. Plus Anita will be getting worried.”
“Ahhh.. Come on, Mr. BTV,” Mohit spoke directly to me for the first time, “It will be fun – get up.”
“No, no,” Rakesh laughed and interjected, “I think Mrs. Shanker will be really angry, won’t she? I think she won’t let Azad sleep in the bed, will she?”
They laughed heartily, except for Shubham, who was lost in his own, psychedelic rock-infused trip. “Okay, let’s go,” he said, without looking up.
That song was still playing:
“Deaf, dumb, and blind, you just keep on pretending,
That everyone's expendable and no one has a real friend.”
Damn you, peer pressure.
A few minutes later, we were sat in Mohit’s car, with me in the passenger seat up front next to Mohit on the wheel. The car swerved drunkenly in accordance with Mohit’s voice.
“Weeee, arreee, soooo, waaaiiiisssteeeed,” I saw a loud and talkative side to him that hadn’t existed an hour ago. The car bounced inside a ditch as I bounced on my seat. Mohit responded by speeding up.
“Are you sure you can drive in this state?” I asked him.
“Drive? Of course I can drive,” he stared at me while I stared at the road, “I can drive this with my left hand. Look, I’m doing it – just my left hand.”
I tightened my cheeks and lowered my eyes. So the world still thinks that it’s a handicap to perform with your left?
“By the way, where are we going?” Shubham asked from the back.
“Wherever the road takes us!” Mohit announced.
“Fuck yeah!” came Rakesh’s encouragement.
I closed my eyes. If I can’t see the perils of the road ahead, they won’t happen.
Shubam slapped my shoulder, “Oye, Azad, are you meditating or what?”
Rakesh laughed, “Om, Hari Om, Ram Ram Jaya Om!” he said in a robotic monotone
This definitely wasn’t fun. I opened my eyes and smiled back diplomatically.
“Yes yes, our friend is doing his Pranayam yoga,” Rakesh continued laughing, “Searching for the hidden secrets and answers to life.”
They broke into hysterics and they bawled. They clutched their stomachs because they were laughing so hard, and they took their hands off the wheel.
“I know my answer,” said Mohit, “It lies between a woman’s legs, eh?” he turned around to look at the others, and then pointed at me, “But I guess our married friend here is stuck with just one answer to all his questions!”
All three laughed a little more. Since when has Mohit been allowed to make jokes at my expense? I didn’t even know this guy.
“I have my answer right here with me,” Rakesh said loudly, trying to shout over the other voices. When I turned to look, he had dug into his pocket and brought out a small, half-empty bottle of Royal Stag.
“Yeaaa!!” Shubam and Mohit cried in unison.
“Nice,” I felt obliged to say.
Rakesh took a big gulp and wiped his mouth. He passed it on to Shubham, who took a sip and gave it to me.
Straight shots from the bottle used to be much easier in my younger days. I never liked whiskey before and I like it even less today.
“Hurry up and stop hogging the bottle Mr. BTV,” Mohit snatched the Royal Stag. We were now in Sonarpura, and the old part of city here was still very much awake. The car swerved dangerously again.
The answer. Why have I always felt a need for an all-encompassing definition for life? Why did Einstein try to bring everything together for his grand theory? Why do we look for one source to explain everything, whether it be God, science, or the stock market?
We all had different explanations. We had different solutions to explain different experiences of our lives. It was Jesus Christ for Anita and Royal Stag for Rakesh.
And what about me? Different voices whispered different answers in my ear.
“The first and most important step,” Ackmann’s voice, which I had never actually heard, always had a strong English accent in my head, “Is to be confident. If you’re confident, you’re right.”
“No one’s perfect, Azad,” said Deepu Chachu, “But everyone deserves a chance.”
“We played like winners,” Kapil Dev sounded enlightened, “Everybody fight… fight for their lives… and they said that ‘We will do it!’”
I heard a long, comforting laugh, which I recognized unmistakably as Uncle Scholar’s after he finished talking about the tragedies of his life.
“I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord,” Anita quoted her favourite book, “Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
“Woof!” Munchy wagged his tail as I snatched my slipper out of his teeth.
“We don’t looove them hoes…” Snoop Doggy Dogg crooned.
“I love you,” Kalpana lied to me as I kissed her neck.
“I’m so fucking drunk!” Rakesh screamed in my ear and broke my trance. I was back in Mohit’s car. Another voice in my head reminded me that I was really drunk too, and it was going to be difficult to remember any of my thoughts the next morning.
Mohit rummaged through his cassette collection to fetch out the old ‘Baazigar’ soundtrack. When he played it, the familiar tune of my favourite song from the movie came booming out.
“Yeh kali kali ankhen, tu ru ru, tu ru ru…”
The speaker bumped loudly, and Mohit pulled down the window on his side. Shubham lit a cigarette and Rakesh took another swig of the bottle.
“Yeh gore gore gaal, tu ru ru, tu ru ru…”
I ignored them and stared out the window into the nothingness of rusty old buildings and rustier old homeless people that lay dangerously next to the thin roads. The song transported me out the car again and away to that house party in Delhi. After trying to catch her eyes for the longest time, Monica finally looked at me when the song reached its chorus. We mouthed the words together and she took one step towards me. I took two towards her.
“Yeh teekhi teekhi nazren, tu ru ru, tu ru ru…”
The rest, of course, was the true beginning of my sexual history.
What happened to me? I used to be hard on myself. I used to be so stubborn that I never changed my principals for anything. I used to have high standards and strong beliefs.
And there I was, taking home the first girl that looked back at me. I’m pretty sure that was how it all began. Soon enough, I had occupied myself in a style of work that caused me the least amount of discomfort instead of the most amount of satisfaction. And then there I was, drinking the first drink that eased my mind. And here I am, out with the first people I could find who didn’t completely hate me.
And whatever happened to my spirituality? Where did the nihilist go? Where did the agnostic go? Where is that curious young man who challenged everything and settled for nothing?
I know where he is, said the other voice in my head. He’s earning money. His spirituality is his occupation and his religion is whatever his wife says it is. He doesn’t have the energy to be any different.
I don’t want to settle for a sub-par little channel. I don’t want to sit around in a shop selling sarees like Shubham. I don’t want my answer to be Anita’s God or Rakesh’s whiskey.
“Watch out!!!” Shubham screamed suddenly. I looked over to see that Mohit could barely open his eyes as he recklessly drove on. A dead dog in the middle of the road made him push down his breaks hard.
“Papa, slow down!” I shouted at Mohit, and for the briefest of moments, I felt the exactly how Mummy felt. I didn’t have the seatbelt on, as I lunged forward and my head smashed into the dashboard.
“Tu ru ru, tu ru ru…”
I rubbed my head and shrugged off the searing pain. No Papa and no Mummy. When I opened the door, I got a good look at the dog
“Munchy?” I wondered aloud and walked towards the fresh corpse.
Rakesh was still laughing. “Hey Azad, it’s just a dog man, let’s go.”
No it wasn’t Munchy. But it was yet another dead dog.
Mohit punched his horns down loudly, waking up everyone in the neighbourhood who had chosen to fall asleep at a civilized hour. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” he screamed at me.
The dog again. It was a sign. It was definitely a sign.
This might be the Answer. Is this how I’m going to end up? A dead dog lying somewhere it doesn’t belong. A man who’s lived his life unceremoniously and was going to die the same way, and the only people who will remember him will have memories as short as a morning after a stupid drunken night.
Why was I even here? I wouldn’t even have been out tonight if I wasn’t forced to prove to the guys that marriage hadn’t changed me. Damn you, holy matrimony.
I don’t remember how I got home that night. After the dog, everything else turned into a hazy potpourri of loud noises, rash driving, foul whiskey, and Rakesh’s puke.

Anita was lying in bed, awake. She sat up as I stumbled into the dark bedroom.
“Do you know what time it is, or has your watch dissolved in that pool of alcohol you just swam in?”
Nice line. I bet she has been practicing that for a while. I ignored her and fell on the bed. I thought about changing my clothes, but Royal Stag told me to change my mind.
Anita wasn’t finished – she must’ve build up her energy all night for an argument, “You are a stranger to me, tonight. Go away and bring back my husband.”
“Shut the hell up and let me sleep,” I shouted, “I have had a rough night.”
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Azad Shanker! Do you realize how long I’ve waited alone in this house for you?”
“I’m not in the mood to argue, Anita,” I shouted even louder.
We ended up arguing until I was too drunk to keep my consciousness awake anymore. Somewhere between the “I hate your friends” and “God will punish you”, I was dreaming.
I dreamt that I was a child again, and Munchy was still alive. We raced across the large park behind the house in the old city.
Then Munchy disappeared, and I grew up. I felt my hand being touched by another soft hand. I caressed that other hand, because its cool comfort told me that it belonged to Kalpana. I never looked up to see her face, but our hands played together, until I finally circled mine around hers to bind her in a loving, tight grip.
“I love you,” I told her.
When I opened my eyes to see, I noticed that the hand only belonged to Anita. I clutched it tighter and went back to the dream.