Chapter 10: The Marriage

She didn’t say ‘yes’, she said ‘okay’. It wasn’t a moment of jubilation – it was a moment of why-not-I’m-not-getting-any-younger.
On the bright side, though, I’m getting married to a girl who I have obsessed about for a year. That definitely counts for something.
Everything was finally supposed to come together now. I was going to marry Anita. I was going to have a better job and a way to provide for the both of us. I was going to be included in at least one legitimate society now that I had been baptised. And I had a few friends who didn’t mind my company either.
Things were coming together so quickly that I had to turn to my uncle to console me.
“Don’t worry Azad,” Deepu Chachu said, “Everything will turn out okay.”
I shrugged his arm off my shoulder. “That’s the problem – everything will be just okay. I’m getting married, Chachu. Marriage isn’t supposed to be ‘okay’. Marriage is supposed to be hooray and yahoo. What the heck is ‘okay’?”
Typical me. Even after I have achieved something I had desired so fervently, I have made room for depression in my achievement. This was just like the time I had finally mustered up the courage to confront Papa after Munchy’s death, and instead of celebrating my bravery of standing up to him, I tortured myself for days in guilt that I had raised my voice against my father.
Anita had finally settled for me. Her orthodoxy will be more than enough to ensure that she was never going to leave me. I had spent a year digging for this bag of treasure and now that I had found it, it was too heavy for my shoulders. And it was going to hang on my shoulders forever.
“Don’t worry Azad, it’s natural to be nervous,” Deepu Chachu’s words were clearly patronizing yet still effectively comforting, “Why, even I was scared before I married your Chachi. And you saw how happy we were before she…”
Deepu Chachu turned silent and looked away.
No way – this was my moment of quasi-depression “But this will be it, Chachu,” I brought him back to me, “The end-all decision of my life. Is this how it was meant to be for me? I’m now closing up all the other paths in life and going down just one Anita-directed gullie.”
Deepu Chachu sighed and shook his head in the manner he always did before excavating the deepest thoughts of his mind. I knew him well enough to predict what he was going to say before he said it.
“It was meant to be, Azad,” he said, “Anita was written in your fate.”
Fate. Due to some inexplicable retarded reason, people in our society have always found it consoling to have fate decide their destiny. All my life, I had grown up watching people be utterly comfortable with not having the free will to make any choices, instead blaming everything on their kismet.
So when a school-girl gets top marks in her board exams, God must have always planned for her to do so, and regardless of her study schedules, she would’ve still ended up as number one. She and the rest of her family happily take any credit away from themselves and praise her stars instead of praising the flickering yellow bulb under which she studied all those nights and the cups of coffee that kept her awake.
And with fate being a double-edged sword, it ends up with all the blame too. So if Mr. X gambles away his month’s earnings on a game of cards, he holds his luck responsible instead of accepting that he was a reckless fool.
The same could be said about me, except that I seem to have gambled away my whole life.
This ‘fatality’ has been this city’s weakness, Achilles’ heal, kryptonite… The truest Banarasi walks fearlessly through life, blissfully believing that he has no control over anything. This is the city of Shiv, and for as long as Shiv is here to take care of it, Banaras is safe. A Banarasi is optimistic that, no matter what, there is a plan and a reason for every thing that ever takes place.
But Deepu Chachu was not a man of God. Instead, he had blind faith in science and logic, shedding away the gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke for those of Hawking, Penrose, and Dawkins. He scrimmaged through his book-shelves and finally landed his hands on one of his holy scriptures.
“It is just how it was determined, Azad,” Chachu put on the pair of glasses that were supported by a chord around his neck, “It is not just a matter of the future being fixed by the past; the entire history of the universe is fixed according to some precise mathematical scheme, for all time.”
He took his glasses off again and looked at me. “So, you see?”
I laughed. “No, of course I don’t, Chachu. Where did you steal that from?”
“I quoted that from Roger Pensore,” He said, “It’s one of my favourite passages – you have to realize that when the universe was first created, something happened at the Big Bang, and every event that has ever happened in space and time has since been determined by that first event. From the instant the universe came into being, it was decided that man would invent the wheel, that terrorists would attack the World Trade Centre in September, and that you will marry Anita in a few days.”
I rubbed my hair and bobbed gently on my chair, “Heavy stuff, Chachu. So my only way out is moving out to a different universe, right?”
He smiled, “Yes, maybe in that one you will realize and cherish what a wonderful woman Anita is.”
“So what happens next?” I asked him, “Where does St. Penrose think I will go from here. Will Anita and I be happy forever? Will we have a cricket team full of children? Or will I wake up slightly unhinged one morning and decide to slit her throat?”

Before potentially slitting my fiancé’s throat, I was supposed to marry her first. Three days later, that is exactly what I found myself doing.
All the eyes were on her. The specialness of a wedding ceremony is supposed to be shared equally between the bride and groom – both have a 50 percent stake in the event in the present and the opportunities in the future. But today, it felt like I wasn’t even a part of this. Anita was the centre of attention and I looked on at my own marriage as if watching a documentary on Indian Church weddings.
The guests on her side were much larger in number than mine. Bubbles stood next to her, carrying the share of three bridesmaids by her lone wide body. I stood alone and played my own Best Man.
Deepu Chachu was amongst the few seated on the benches on my side, and he genuinely looked happy. Rakesh and Shubham sat at the back with their eyes gleaming like they were watching a stand-up comedian. A few other cousins and friends of Deepu Chachu were there, and so was Arora.
I hadn’t informed any of my older friends about the marriage – I can admit that I was too embarrassed to do that – although it would have been nice if they had somehow found their way there anyways. I did send an invitation card to Kalpana in Mumbai, but she obviously didn’t show up.
“Do you, Anita Neoline Lawrence, take this man as your lawfully wedded husband?” the priest propounded her as I stared down on the ground and all around. He asked many more things which I didn’t pay any particular attention to.
“Okay,” she sighed when he finally finished.
The priest hesitated. “Okay?”
“I mean, Yes, sure, I do.”
How did I ever get here? I’m getting married! And I’m also a Christian! Papa was probably looking up from hell and having a hearty laugh about this. “What kind of Christian name is Azad, anyways?” he would say, “You’re better off still being called Pinky!”
The sanctity of the church was overbearing. The dozens of candles that lay around the alter area were making me sweat and the colourful mosaics of Jesus and his compatriots stared down at me in contempt. The priest’s pure white robes made me feel dirty and the crowd’s eyes watching our every move made me dizzy.
This is the same place I first met her – I was a drunken tatterdemalion then, and I haven’t really done much better for myself the second time around.
Now I have to worry about her and the job. The staff had been disgruntled for the past few weeks anyways, and I was sure that Prabhu had been spreading false rumours about me. I had even slacked a little in overlooking the monthly accounts, and will probably have to get to that the moment this is over.
How did I ever get here? I retraced my steps. I could have stayed sitting when she was brought in her, looking all white and glowy and lovely. I could have taken another turn and gone down to the riverside instead. I could have not stalked her in stupid cupidity for six months.
But I did, and now I’m here shrieking at the opportunity of stalking her forever. As Deepu Chachu said, there was never another option for me. You are not free, Azad. Now, the chain of cause and effect will cause the priest to ask me the same questions he asked her and I will have no choice because of bloody history than to say ‘Yes, I do’. It was perhaps several billion years too late to ask the Big Bang to bang a little differently, so we all have to take the next best option and settle for the Anitas in our life.
“Do you, Azad Shanker, take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife?” the priest asked, again followed by a short lecture of how much I’m supposed to love and protect her and what not.
“Yes,” I exhaled a sigh of relief when I was finally given a chance to speak, “I do.”
It was over. I could finally focus on BTV again instead of wasting time meticulously worrying about invitation cards and wedding rings. The channel was still struggling to make profits, and the over-preparation time spent for just this one day had distracted me from figuring out a plan for success.
But now it was over. Anita will finally stop annoying me about how this was supposed to be the biggest and most perfect day of her life. Well, now it is done and dusted and there was nothing else I can do to make the marriage process itself any better.
The priest said some other things that went over my head, and soon declared us married and made us sign a large register. There was no kissing.

You know what is really funny? I think I had begun to obsess more about my work than about my fiancé/wife, a fact especially ironic since I had started working on BTV just to impress Anita in the first place.
It wasn’t all gloomy though. By the time the reception, the dinner, and the drinks rolled along, I was feeling fairly satisfied about the proceedings. After all, I had succeeded in marrying a good looking, well educated, conservative girl, straight out of the five-star section of the weekly matrimonial. Not many men can claim to that.
“Mr. and Mrs. Shanker!” Rakesh ran up to greet the two of us, “Sala, you’re finally done for, eh?”
Anita quietly stepped back, probably revolted by the smell of pungent booze from his breath. “I’m going to get some food, Azad,” she said, “Would you like something?”
“Sure, sure,” I smiled congenially between her and Rakesh, “I’ll just share off your plate.”
“Azad Shanker sharing food?” Rakesh gawked as she left – the high pitch drunkenness in his voice reminded me of the infinite dinner table humiliations that Papa made me go through whenever he caught me reaching for another helping of Muttar Paneer. “Things are really going to change around here, aren’t they?” Rakesh laughed.
Shubham’s voice called out from afar, “Hey, hey, Azad,” he crept from behind, “How does it feel to finally be married my friend?”
“How do you think he feels, yaar?” Rakesh interjected, “The man is fucking scared!”
“Hey, Rakesh, let’s go have a drink yaar,” Shubham nudged him before I could respond to either of them, “Azad do you want one?”
“Oh, no no, I’m fine, thanks, Shubham.”
They looked at each other and smiled. “See, this is what happens when you get married,” Rakesh giggled, “You have to change your ways to suit your wife, eh?”
They laughed some more and then trotted away towards the bar. I was in no mood today to prove to them that marriage wasn’t going to change me. But as Anita came back with a plate full of food – none of which was paneer – I decided that I would have to assert myself pretty soon.
Anita had to know that I wasn’t going to quit seeing my friends now that I’d married her, and my friends had to believe that I was still the same old, free, Azad.

The apartment at Mehmoorganj had been ready a month ago, but Deepu Chachu said that it would only be appropriate if I waited until after the marriage to cut the red ribbon.
With the first ever conversation we had in that house, Anita cut straight into my suppressed consciousness.
“Tell me about your parents,” she said.
I laughed, like I always did whenever Papa and Mummy were brought up. “Some other time, Princess,” I stroked her hair.
“No, no, tell me now,” she pleaded, “Why don’t you ever talk about your father?”
I brushed the back of my hand against her soft, fair cheek, “Because I hate him.”
She was clearly taken aback and shifted a step away from me. “And your mother?”
I briefly rummaged through my memory. “Mummy brought me a dog once, whom I loved.”
Anita grew pleasantly quiet. In the later years of our marriage, I finally did reveal more titbits about my childhood, but none of the horrific stuff.
“Well, let’s set up this place, shall we,” she looked around at the furniture-deprived large white rooms of the house, “This is the beginning of our new life, Azzu...”
Later that evening I did get to kiss her. And the more I did, the more I realized that marrying the next best thing to Kalpana was not that bad of an idea after all.

The second time that I ever had sex in my life wasn’t on the day of my wedding, because according to Anita, we were too tired that day.
The second time that I had sex in my life was a day later, in the afternoon. The third time was the same evening, and the fourth time later that night.
Fifth, sixth, and seventh happened over the course of the following week, but there was a long break before eighth.
After that, Anita was really stingy with ninth and tenth, and then I stopped counting because it barely happened anymore.
Now that I was married, and was probably going to remain so forever, I tried to look at the positives. I now had a sure-fire tonic of self-esteem every time I was to feel a little down on myself. I was able to remind myself forevermore that no matter how worthless the world may make me feel, there was at least one person who had decided to spend their life with me. If this is what they call marital bliss, then I guess I’m happy now.

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.

Chapter 8: Business Edge

Anita welcomed the new day by returning to her characteristic pleasantness.
“Can you ask Ramu to make me a cup of tea?” I requested her.
“Sure, darling” she said, “You stay right there.”
Watching her walk into the kitchen, I stretched my legs out and placed them on the glass table in front. This is what a home should be like. A caring wife and a nice cup of Ramu’s tea. Anita was always nicer the morning after a big argument.
Anita came back and sat next to me on the sofa and began to run her fingers through my hair. I pecked her arm as she cuddled even closer. Last night’s conflict was now remembered as a mere miscommunication.
“Feeling better today, baby?” she whispered.
“Oh yes, yes, much better.”
“Really..? So you want to talk about last night?”
God no, I didn’t.
But I talked. “I was just frustrated, you know? I took all my anger out on you. I’m sorry about that, Princess…”
She squeezed my hand tightly, and then softly ran her index finger around mine. “It’s okay, darling. Go on, you can tell me what was on your mind.”
I hesitated at first. Telling someone what was on your mind immediately gave your thoughts undue importance and legitimacy. When you think something, you can later convince yourself otherwise if you wished so. But when you tell it to someone, you’re unfortunately obliged to act on in.
Normally, I would’ve just swept away such frustrations and dealt with them only when they got out of hand. But I was a little hung-over and heavy-headed from last night, and Anita was sitting close enough to sniff out any reluctance in my story.
“Those guys,” I said, “It was fun going out with them again… But I don’t think I can do that anymore.”
“Do what?”
“Be out with them. They are so… middle class,” the contempt in my voice surprised me, “The longer I stay with them, the more they will keep me from rising above. The same old bars, the same old dhabas, the same old drives listening to the same old music. They have no ambition, you know?”
She didn’t answer, and instead, began to hum an upbeat tune.
“I don’t want to be stuck like them, Anita,” I turned to her, “I don’t want to be sitting in a small shop like Shubham all my life. I don’t want to drink away my problems like Rakesh.” When her body language didn’t suggest a response to my growing irritation, I shrugged her arm off me and stood up, “I have to be better, you know?” I shouted, “I have to make something of my life.”
“Don’t raise your voice at me, Azad,” she raised her voice.
“I wasn’t raising my voice at you. I was just raising it to myself, and you happened to be around.”
Neither of us had the energy for another argument. “Your friends,” she scoffed disgustedly at the ‘f’ word, “I always told you they were good for nothing, didn’t I? What happened last night?”
“Oh,” it was all coming back to me now. But if I told her that a dead dog was going to change the direction of my life again, she was bound to go pseudo-psycho on me, “Nothing major,” I said, “It’s just time for me to move forward, instead of hopping around in the same place with them.”
They’re dogs, and I have become one too. If only I had actually gained something from college! I could have left behind a legacy – Instead, I’m probably going to be lying dead next to them and that dog in Sonarpura.
Ramu walked in the living room carrying a cup of tea. I held on to it and sat silently while watching Anita play with her hair. I took a sip.
Aaaah! Ramu, you are a hero. My head immediately felt lighter. I had another sip.
“I have time,” I told her, “I still have time. Business is going to boom, Anita. The channel is doing okay, but it will be better. Just watch.”
“You’ve been saying that for months, Azad. You have always been hungry for more success. How is it any different today?”
By now I was only speaking to myself, lost in my thoughts and fuelled by my beverage, “You just watch…” I mumbled.

I went over the list again. The other local channels still held a massive advantage in audiences and advertisers.
“They have just been around longer, sir,” said Arora, “Give it seven, eight years, and BTV will have the same success.”
“Yes, but then they will improve too, Arora,” I countered, “By then, they will still be miles ahead of us. We have to take some risks. I can’t keep lagging behind City Buzz and Kashi Now forever.” No amount of entertainment quality was a match for good old brand building. And those other channels had been around for long enough to get a response without even trying hard anymore.
“Oh, sir, did you watch that new fashion programme they have on City Buzz,” Arora jumped, “It was great sir, so many lovely looking ladies are on it.”
“Arora: shut up.” It was late and I shouldn’t even be here at the office. And if I am, I’m certainly not going to waste my time listening to him babble on. “We have to take some serious steps. I don’t want to end up like Channel 19. They have zero advertisers. We need a viewer puller…”
“Sir, but that fashion programme was really good. I’m sure many people watched it.”
This was the problem with brainstorming with Arora. His brain didn’t storm – it was more like an orgy between a hurricane, a cyclone, and a blizzard. He flies around in 360 different directions in seconds and never really gets anywhere.
But it had to be Arora. I didn’t want to admit to the rest of the staff of my insecurities yet. If you don’t show your weakness, you don’t have a weakness – that was Ackmann’s third step.
I don’t have a weakness. I don’t have a weakness.
“How about… ” I scribbled half-shaded circles on the piece of paper in front of me, “… How about we start movie exit polls? We put a cameraman outside cinemas, after every new movie’s first show, and then ask for viewers to rate it on camera right after it finishes. People would tune in to watch that… right?”
“Sir, I still think more people will want to watch the fashion programme on City Buzz?”
“What the f…” I caught my tongue before any other sounds followed the ‘f’, “Wait, wait wait…” I got up and snapped my fingers together.
“Sir?” he asked; but by then I was already away into a different televisual dimension.
“Fashion!”
Arora rubbed his eyes, “Are you planning to do fashion programmes on BTV, too?”
“Sex!”
“What?”
“Adult themes, Arora!” I could barely stop myself from lifting off my feet, “People like adult themes! Just replace the midnight horoscope shows with uncensored movies. I have tons of them. With adult themes!”
“But sir, what about the children? What if they watch it?”
“Fuck the children!” I swore. Shit – I’m glad Anita didn’t hear that.
“What?”
“No, no,” I slowed down, “I mean, let the children watch. They will hide from their parents and watch. That’s what I always did.”
This was a good idea. It was a great idea. Ackmann was going to be proud of me. Deepu Chachu wouldn’t. He would frown at my immorality; but last I checked, he never wrote a bestseller, did he? Well, Ackmann did – and he always preached the fine art of turning a questionable situation into a successful one.

And so we got to it. I started off offending people slowly, of course. We couldn’t just have them switch on one day into a world without probity, where all they see is a bunch of children being tortured at concentration camps. This had to be done slowly: I kept my films at the store room at home instead of at work, simply so my employees could fight off the temptation to show my collection of questionable cinema constantly.
We started off with intense frights. The least objectionable of all objectionable content. The films began to have surprising, flashing, temerarious, horrific, or overly dramatic content. Some of the Hindi movies had dramatized rape scenes, where you didn’t really see more than the woman’s feet struggling below the man. But it was still enough to give any child a mildly disturbing idea of what was going on, and that was an appropriate start.
A month later, I showed a movie where the villain said ‘bullshit’ a lot. And then, the foul language train choo-chooed in. It was an easy transition, because nobody but Anita got truly worked up over foul language. And for as long as I wasn’t cursing in front of her, she didn’t really mind if a gun-slinging hero called someone an asshole.
Next was the tricky bit – clear, visible violence. So far, the only type of violence I had shown was Bollywood violence, which meant loads of punches with loud sound effects or guns going off and accurately killing minor characters without any actual bloodshed. I was itching to introduce some realistic gore to our impressionable youth.
It had to be done. There had been good response to the foul language, and I knew that violence would just blow the ratings out the window. The first time I showed Rambo, throngs of people tuned in to watch. So for Rambo II, I had twice as many advertisers for the 10 o’ clock movie slot.
It’s a funny thing in life, because when things are good, they are fantastic. I obviously had no time to slow down and enjoy this fantasticness, but my euphoric energy at work told me that I was probably really happy. My ego was back after being ruthlessly snatched away by marital bliss.
“You’re looking bright today, sir,” said Atty one day.
I began to take compliments when they weren’t exactly given. Atty’s young, politely friendly eyes were a daily morale boost to the apparent return of my sexiness.
And the money kept on pouring in. Every month was a ‘highest ever’ in terms of profit. Arora, for his part, was brilliant. When he wasn’t talking about the latest brand of scooters or the future of Indian cinema, he was busy keeping me efficient. And more money poured in.
I was living proof that there was definitely no worldwide conspiracy against left-handedness. The American president is left-handed. So is Amitabh Bachan. As a matter of fact, I was beginning to believe that us lefties secretly ran the world.
Then one day, Rakesh called, months after I had last seen him or partied with the rest of my friends.
“Azad!” he exclaimed, “Saley, where the hell have you been?”
“Oh, Rakesh, hi, man,” I immediately regretted not sounding busier.
“Hey just been watching the channel, yaar! You are finally showing your movies, eh?”
I was suddenly too lazy to broach about my success. “Yes, yes, it has been good. Been very busy also.”
“Okay, okay, sounds good. Are you coming over tonight? Long time, friend; need to catch up over a few pegs,” he sounded drunk already, “What do you say?”
Ackman’s rule number seven: If your friend comes between you and victory, then your friend is the enemy. I had an answer ready. “No, no, I’m busy tonight Rakesh. Need to meet some advertisers.”
“At night?”
“Yes, at night. Hey listen, Rakesh, I will call you when I get free okay? We’ll catch up then.”
I hung up and sighed. This was the right move. There is only one way to go, and that is forward. A few days later, Shubham called, and then Rakesh a few more times, but I was never there. Soon enough, they stopped pestering me with their comity.
By then, the next step had arrived: drugs! No matter how graphically disturbing, I was sure everyone loved movies about drug overindulgence, because nearly every single one of those movies ended up showing the downfall of the drug user. Translated to Banarasi viewership: young men liked watching these movies because the drug users always taught them what was cool, and cautious mothers secretly liked these movies because it showed their young children how bad drugs can be. Everybody wins, sort of.
The response to movies with heavy drugs and heavier violence was like a rush of its own. I was being taken to ecstatic heights even while sober. The number of questionable movies increased from twice a week, to four times, to every single night. The channel had by now reached a disguised icon – most people never admitted to watch it, and most tuned in before bed every day. If I showed a normal, family movie on one day, then the office phones would be ringing off the hook with anonymous complaints the next. The entire city was addicted.
And the office became friendlier too. The afternoon show writers finally began to answer my questions. The guard’s salary went up, so he stood up and saluted me every time I walked in. Atty’s v-neck shirts began to have a wider ‘v’.
“Oh, I’m tired,” I grounded myself opposite her at the reception after work one day.
She didn’t answer. She wasn’t looking well that day, although her chest still was.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“No, no, nothing sir,” she replied in soft, meek voice which confirmed that something was definitely wrong. She stood up and began to gather her belongings in her little purse.
“No, tell me Atty,” I tried to sound patient, “What is it?”
Atty left her purse and sat back down. “Papa got a call from a man who said he worked for Rajju Bhai...”
“Really?” The real Rajju Bhai? I thought. It can’t be – he was a myth. The only people who ever got calls from Rajju Bhai were other criminals, politicians, or the super-rich. I honestly knew as little about him as I did about Yeti. But the one thing I knew about the both of them was to stay the fuck out of their respective ways.
She gulped, “Yes, the real Rajju Bhai. Someone called saying they worked for him...”
“They could just be saying that…”
“… And they threatened Papa… ” she added.
This didn’t make any sense. What interest could this mythical mafia lord have in Atty’s father?
She continued, “That man – the one who called Papa – came to the bank the other day. Papa must have been busy, so he ignored him and the man had to wait for some time before being served. They began arguing, and the man was thrown out… Only when he called the next day did Papa find out that he worked for Rajju Bhai. It was very scary, sir. He gave scary threats to Papa… I’m scared, sir.”
This was my cue to creep closer to her, in hope that she would choose my shoulder to cry on.
“Don’t worry, Atty,” I nudged her arm, “Nothing is going to happen. You know how people are? That man in the bank probably met Rajju Bhai one time, and now goes around bossing people around with threats about the entire mafia. Don’t worry…”
She sniffed, “I don’t know… I hope you’re right, sir…”
Of course I’m right. I had to be. “I’m not even sure if Rajju Bhai actually exists,” I said.
But he did. In the days that followed, I began to hear his name spring up more and more often. Rumours about him began to circulate around town and around my head. Some nights before sleep, all I could hear were echoes of people dishing out Rajju Bhai forewarnings.
“I heard that they once built a VVIP cell for him in the central jail,” said Prabhu the office electrician, “He was provided with an A/C, a refrigerator, and a CD player. I don’t know if he got to keep it, though…”
“Oh, he got to keep it,” added Dubey, the office computer programmer, “He was only in jail for a week, and he took home the A/C, the refrigerator, the CD player, and the television...”
Atty’s father irrupted into the conversation, “He’s above the law, that man. Do you know that his wife is stolen?”
“What?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, yes,” said Dubey, “Everyone has heard that story. He liked this farm girl, so he rode in her village in his jeep one day, and took her away at gunpoint. Her father and brothers didn’t hear from her weeks, and the police never looked for her either. Then, a month later, they were all invited to Rajju Bhai’s and her wedding.
“I heard someone was murdered at that wedding,” said Atty’s father.
“No, no,” Arora corrected him, “That was at his first wedding. Rajju Bhai’s first fiancé was murdered. I don’t think he liked her too much.”
I didn’t like these supererogatory stories and didn’t wish to believe in any of them. I had other plans brewing in my head, such as breaking the final and most important censorship barrier: sex!
Nothing sells like sex. It was a scientifically and historically proven fact. Everywhere in the world was better with bigger breasts and longer legs.
So far, my uncensored telecasts had gone unnoticed by the eyes of the authorities. And even if they did see it, a few harmless murders or drug kingpins didn’t seem to bother them. But sex definitely would, so I had to tread carefully. Just a few slips here and there at first – a nipple here, an ass there. Only then did I plan to move on to movies with full fledged sex scenes.
“You are showing porn, Azad!” Anita smacked me with a pillow. I used to love it when she did that, but it had become less adorable and more annoying by the day.
“It’s not porn,” I grabbed the pillow and threw it off the bed, “It’s adult entertainment, Anita. Nobody associates Hugh Hefner with porn, do they?”
“Yes they do!” she screamed, “Is that your role model? Hugh Hefner?”
I got up and stormed out. We slept on different beds that night: Lying in the guest room, I realized that it was the first time it had happened in our marriage. That very night I dreamt that Rajju Bhai was setting fire to my office. Even though I had never seen him, I had a surprisingly good image of him in my dream, although I couldn’t recall it the next morning. That dream soon morphed into me sitting in the office with Atty, who was sobbing delightfully and serving me a cup of tea. It was unbelievably realistic, except that her jeans were much tighter and her waist much slimmer than in real life.
I woke up with a mixture of guilt and fear. Guilt that I had near-erotic dream about another woman, and fear that my workplace may be in danger. When I got over those silly feelings a cup of tea later, I got back to work and remembered that I was now rich.
Money! Like everything that we crave for, it has a unique relationship with the human psyche. Before I had a lot of money, I felt that the only sole purpose in my life was simply to earn more. But ever since I grew rich, I had convinced myself that it really wasn’t that important after all.
Very much like Anita, actually. Before I got her, my entire existence revolved simply around her noticing me. I used to dream that she would touch me or that I could take her holidaying to the palm beaches in Kerela. Now that she’s married me, her love and cuddles are an expectation instead of a luxury.
Success was supposed to keep her happier, but she was happy only when she saw the fruits of my success, not its seeds. She continued to fight me out the bedroom every time BTV showed a questionable romantic scene, but she would kiss me passionately when all the shiny new money from the shiny rich advertisers helped me buy her shiny new clothes.
And as if I already didn’t have enough stress balancing Anita’s mood swings, my Atty fantasies, and the demands of keeping my success constant, I got a notice at work one day.
“It’s from the censor board,” said Dubey as he handed it to me, “Someone called Vinay Sahni.”

Sahni. It is hard to describe my reaction for when I first heard from him and the censor board. Imagine if you’re having your favourite dream, a dream so realistic that you become entirely convinced that that particular dream is reality. You smile your way through the five minutes which in your dream feels like an entire month. And then someone pinches you and reminds you that life, with all its brief glimpses of hope, is actually pretty shit. Sahni was that pinch.
“What the fuck do I do now?” I threw the notice at Arora.
“This is really bad sir,” his thoughts blended with mine, “Bad things are happening.”
I wasn’t going to stop. It was cringing to now even think of showing family-friendly movies all day again. Why do that, when there is a whole city of viewers waiting to watch something else?
Nothing else bothered me anymore. I wasn’t worried that I was losing my friendships. I wasn’t worried that I was already losing the passion in my married life. I wasn’t even worried that I was losing my mind.
The world went on, revolving with its peaks and troughs, but I only saw the channel. I didn’t respond to the censor board’s warning, but I couldn’t let it go off my mind either.
“Sir, did you hear about what happened in Gujrat?” Arora asked a few days later.
“What happened?”
“You don’t watch the news, sir? Hindus and Muslims are rioting against each other in Gujrat. There have been massacres, sir! Terrible sir, terrible.”
“I don’t care,” I lost my desire to sound warm-blooded, “Let Hindus and Muslims kill each other. My wife is Christian, so that’s what I’m supposed to be. I have the censors to worry about.”
A day later, Deepu Chachu told me that the price of tomato was skyrocketing. Or was it the price of potato? I didn’t bother, because the only thing I had to worry about was the nettlesome price of primetime nudity.

Anita and I had gone out to dinner at a five-star hotel. Because that’s what we did now, since we were rich.
“One note,” I chomped on my Paneer Lababdar, “Just one warning note. And it has messed everything up.”
“I told you,” she said, “But you wouldn’t listen. You never listen, Azad. This is what happens when you do immoral things.”
“I wasn’t being immoral,” I had to check her before she makes it into a bigger deal, “And anyways, it’s not such a big deal. I will just show some cat and mouse family movies for a week, and then slowly re-introduce the cash cow…”
Anita wasn’t eating. I only noticed it after I had finished.
“Now what is wrong with you?” I asked.
“I can’t believe what you’ve become,” she scoffed, “You didn’t come to church on Friday. You’re showing porn, mostly to teenagers…”
“It’s not fucking porn, okay?”
We fell quiet once again. I didn’t really mind Anita’s silent treatment, just as long as it didn’t last too long. But this time, it did.

Bubbles was over the following evening looking plumper than ever. She and Anita spent the entire time gossiping and munching away in the kitchen.
I marched in, still feeding off the adrenaline of another busy day at work. “Oh, Hi Bubbles,” I said, ignoring Anita, who was probably still ignoring me, “You’re only looking a little bigger than I last saw you.”
This was the sure shot way to get Anita speaking again, and she complied, “Don’t you dare talk to my sister like that, you pervert.”
“I’ll talk to whoever I want, however I want, and whenever I want,” I took a circle around the kitchen, reclaiming my kingdom.”
“God, you’re so rude, Azad.”
“Rude? It’s funny – you weren’t worrying about my rudeness when I bought you that cell phone.”
Anita grimaced and turned to her sister, “Just ignore him Bubbles; there is no point in talking to a foul-mouthed ungodly man like him.”
“Foul-mouthed?” I bellowed, “I said ‘fuck’ once yesterday. Once. How about giving me some credit for all that time I actually listened to you and watched my language?”
“There, you just said it again,” she screamed, “Get out of the kitchen Azad.”
“Why don’t you and your fat-ass sister both get the fuck out of my house?”
Oooh. I think I went too far right there. Nevertheless, Anita ushered Bubbles out. Bubbles, who had been quiet throughout, finally sent me a parting shot.
“You are an indecent man, Azad Shanker.”
I closed the door behind them. Decency. People are only as decent as they think they are.

I was working late with Arora when someone knocked at the office door.
“Who could be here right now?” I asked, looking over at Atty’s empty desk, in futile hope that she had forgotten something.
Before I could get up, a group of men let themselves in, adorned in matching white kurtas and carrying matching black machine guns.
“What the fuck?”
Leading them was a bald, moustached, giant of a man, “Azad Shanker?” he asked in an unsurprisingly heavy voice.
Do I want to be me right now? “Yes,” I quivered.
“Good,” he said, before motioning to the men behind him. Two of them stepped forward and grabbed me.
My brain couldn’t put together new sentences, “What the fuck?” it told me to repeat.
“Rajju Bhai has called for you,” he said, “You’re rich now, Shanker. You need his protection.” Then he peeked over at Arora, who was rubbing his nails together nervously. “Take him too.”
Yeti is most definitely real.