1. westland ltd 61, Silverline Building, Alapakkam Main Road, Maduravoyal, Chennai 600 095 No. 38/10 (New No.5), Raghava Nagar, New Timber Yard Layout, Bangalore 560026 93, 1st Floor, Sham Lal Road, Daryaganj, New Delhi 110 002 First published by westland ltd 2014 Copyright Arnab Ray 2014 All rights reserved 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 ISBN: Typeset: PrePSol Enterprise Pvt. Ltd. Printed at This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and inci- dents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any actual person living or dead, events and locales is entirely coincidental. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, circu- lated, and no reproduction in any form, in whole or in part (except for brief quotations in critical articles or reviews) may be made without written permission of the publishers.

2. To Anahita 3. Contents Acknowledgements vi the empty highway 1 the game 12 eighty-eight short 26 Sir 48 the maths paper 59 the dump 66 the hero 87 hotel lovers bliss 102 the way back 119 more recollections 127 the dancing bunny 142 Poonam 154 politics 171 her father 196 the nal decision 211 YoLo 219 the realization 229 the road 232 the letter 235 yatrik 249 4. Acknowledgements I would like to express gratitude to my grand- parents and my parents, my wife without whom I would have neither the time nor the energy to write, and my daughter who makes every moment worth it. I would also like to thank the team at Westland and specially my editor, Meera Krishnan. 5. the empty highway He pulled himself up from the ground and lurched forward unsteadily into the darkness. Where am I? He looked around and up above to nd himself alone under a dark, moonless sky, stars sprinkled like diamond dust. A dense clump of trees stood to his left.To his right, about hundred yards away, a road lay still, like a black python in repose. Silent, empty and ominous. Why the hell am I here, wherever this is? He had no idea. Absolutely none. So he asked himself an easier question. Whats my name? The answer snapped promptly back. My name isAnushtup Chatterjee.I am thirty-two years old and I fold trousers for a living. He felt better already. Because the last time he had a blackout, Anushtup had forgotten who he was. He had then found himself hundreds of miles 6. 2 Yatrik away from home, lying on a bed of straw in a Santhal hut, with no recollection of how he got there. His vision blurred, hearing off, words choked and memory shot, he had tossed and turned for days, knees drawn up, curled into a fetal ball, burning with fever and damp with sweat, piss and fear. Then it had come back to him slowly, in little sips. His name, his address, his life. And the way back. The only things that refused to return were those few days, in which he had somehow gone from Calcutta to that godforsaken village on the edge of nowhere. And so it had remained, a huge crater of discomting emptiness, widening the little cracks and ssures that had, over the years, opened up in his mind. You dont mix booze and the stuff man.You do, you get a bad trip. Baaaaddddd. Thats what Yannick had said when Anushtup had nally come home. Yannick was either from Cameroon or Nigeria, where exactly Anustup could never quite remember. He had come to Calcutta to play in one of its football clubs, but had never really made it big. Then at the end of his second season, a hard tackle had shattered his knee, ending his career for good. Instead of taking 7. the empty highway 3 the ight back home, Yannick cut off his dread- locks, learned a few words in Bengali and started dealing in powder and pills. He was a big man, with a big voice and a bigger laugh, complemented by a hearty appetite for Nepali women, Chicken 65 and thick gold chains. Anushtup considered him a friend, to the extent a dealer can be one, in that he promptly returned calls, delivered goods on time, and dispensed good advice in short, clean, rhythmic sentences. And so Anushtup had listened to Yannick. No mixing drugs and drinks. That had been a year ago, and he had never had such an incident since then. Some minor blackouts here and there, mostly from drinking local liquor on an empty stomach. Nothing that those in the third decade of their lives cannot deal with. But now this. Once again. Anushtup stopped. He had been following the road, facing the same direction that he had gotten up in. I wont fall off the edge of the earth, he voiced aloud to himself,there will be something ahead. Only there wasnt.But he kept pressing forward. He looked around once again. Nothing stirred. No rumbling of a distant motor. No chirping of crickets. No whistle of the wind rus- tling through the leaves. Almost like someone 8. 4 Yatrik had reached forward from the couch and muted the audio. He wondered now if he had lost his hearing. Anushtup screamed. Loudly. He heard himself crystal clear. But just his voice. Nothing else. Where am I... he asked himself again. He wasnt anywhere near Calcutta, and of that he was sure. No trafc, no large lighted signs hawking televi- sions and washing machines, no overpowering smell of urban decay. As a matter of fact, that was the other thing. There was no smell. Just like there was no sound. No, I am denitely not in Calcutta, he thought. If he was, he gured, he would know what time of the year it was. Because it was not sweaty hot, like being in a defective sauna, which was the city in May. Nor was it muggy and ominous, which was Calcutta during the monsoons. Nor was there the nip in the air of a winter night, that makes the old boys reach for their thermos asks full of coffee and their brown monkey caps. As a matter of fact,the temperature and humidity was perfect, like being in a pricey movie theater with perfect climate control. When you neither felt the need to loosen your shirt buttons nor wished you had brought along a sweater. So once again Where am I? When am I? Why am I? 9. the empty highway 5 Many questions. No answers. It was then that he remembered that he had a phone. Call Yannick. Why had he not thought of it before? Anushtup reached for his belt where the Nokia could usually be found clipped. To nd that the phone was gone. The belt clip was empty. He touched the chest pocket of his shirt. No, nothing there either. Instinctively, he patted his hip pocket. There was no wallet. He was sure now. He had been robbed. He tried to remember what had been in the wallet. A few crinkled fty and hundred rupee notes, some old receipts, and random phone num- bers scribbled on frayed scraps of paper. Nothing there that he could not live without, except that black-and-white picture yellowed at the sides, which always stayed snug in the inside ap. A picture taken of him and his father, all those years ago on the beach, of Baba tossing him in the air and his arms outstretched, as if ying. Anushtup loved pictures. For him, they were a soft lens into the past,smoothing down the bumps and the ridges, freezing time down to happy faces and nice places. Memories, he always told him- self, were different, they carried the bad as well as the good, though mostly the bad. But pictures, no one ever took pictures of themselves ghting 10. 6 Yatrik or weeping or throwing stuff or lying down in the dark, looking out through the window. They just didnt. But now that picture in his wallet had itself become a memory. And the realization made the nerve at the side of his forehead throb with pul- sating violence. Hello. Anushtup turned to his left, drawn towards the source of the sound. There was a man standing there,a few feet away. Anushtup had seen him before. Well, not this particular individual, but his type. The everyday man. Hanging off the footboards of buses, standing at the pharmacy buying Crocin, sitting at his ofce desk, noisily sipping tea off a saucer, bargaining for sh at the market, a face in the crowd around store windows watching cricket on the display TVs. The background noise of Calcutta life.There but not there. Ones mind is trained to tune them out, so as to concentrate on the more interesting notes. As a matter of fact, Anushtup would have missed him totally had he not been the only per- son blotting the landscape. Hello there. The man called out again and took a step towards Anushtup. And then another. Anushtup replied,Hey. 11. the empty highway 7 Five feet and a few. Mostly bald, with a few apologetic tufts of white-and-black. A humble moustache. Beady eyes with little bags under them. Cotton checked shirt with fourth button undone. Brown grandpa trousers. Pigeon chest aring out to a modest pot-belly, the kind you get from years of having rice for lunch at two in the afternoon. Do you know where we are?asked Anushtup. The man kept looking at him, with an expres- sion of mild bemusement. Anushtup realized that he needed to explain himself.You see, I have these memorylapses. I wake up in strange places, and I cant remember how I got there. The man said nothing, just pursed his lips. I would have called someone but my cell phone was stolen and Your cell phone wont work here. Exactly. Whats the here? Thats my question. It was then that it hit him. This man had taken his wallet. Because he knew something. He could see it in his eyes. The only problem, Anushtup thought, was that this kindly-looking gentleman didnt quite look like the blow-to-the-head-and-take-it-all gunda. Those types didnt wear cotton shirts and ofce trousers. The most this man could ever do was 12. 8 Yatrik ask for a bribe if he was sitting behind a table and you needed a le moved.That, Anushtup gured, would be the limit of his malfeasance. So he wondered if he was part of a highway gang. But then again, gangs used pretty ladies to ag down cars. This man would be the most horrible bait. He would make people speed away. Have you taken my phone?Anushtup asked, almost politely. He walked slowly towards the man, careful not to appear threatening. He was condent that if the need arose, he could take him on. After all he was six feet tall, weighed ninety kilos and was still in decent shape. And this man was not much. The strangers voice was very clear, almost as if coming from a high-end sound system. No, I havent taken your phone. And before you ask, I havent taken your wallet either. Give them back. I know you took them, Anushtup yelled, for emphasis and for menace, Now. The man did not seem the least bit perturbed. Since I didnt take them, I also cant give them back to you. Then how do you know my wallet is missing? Because thats just the way things are here. You keep the things you need. Nothing more. 13. the empty highway 9 Nothing less. Suddenly remembering, Anushtups eyes fell to his wrist.The stainless steel HMT watch, heavy and ancient, which used to be his fathers and his grandfathers before that, was gone. What place is this? The gentleman pointed to a spot right next to Anushtup.Why dont we sit down? I have always found it to be better than standing. For the knees. Anushtup followed his nger. There was a wooden bench there. Now this was very odd because he could swear it had not been there a second ago. I asked you a simple question. To which I ex- pect a simple answer.Anushtup raised his voice again and asked,What place is this? The gentleman calmly sat down on the bench. Of course, I will give you the answer. But sit down rst, please. It might help. Anushtup remained standing. Screw the sitting down.Tell me what you have to say,Anushtup, now standing right in front of the man, held his shoulder rmly.And I want my stuff back. The only thing that was holding Anushtup back from pinning the man to the ground and go- ing through his pockets was how non-threaten- ing, almost to the point of being empathetic, this 14. 10 Yatrik gentleman looked. Just hear me out, please,he said. Anushtup was silent for a while, thinking furiously. Who, he wondered, but the criminal, the drunk or the insane would walk down a deserted highway at this hour of the night. And since this man neither smelled of drink, nor particularly looked like what the Calcutta police would describe as a gunda, there was only one option left. He was not totally there. Mentally. Anushtup stepped back. The best way to deal with people who have lost their mind, Anushtup knew, was to humor them. As a child, he had seen his grandfather at close quarters, and towards the end, he would have to address him asColoneland do a salute with a click of the heels before he would take his medication. Anushtup sat down next to the stranger, keeping a certain distance. Yes.You were saying Silence again. Now that they had both spoken, the absolute absence of all sound seemed to weigh on Anushtup even more, in the same way that darkness feels darker when you come in from the light. The stranger seemed to be struggling with something. He moved his lips in an attempt to 15. the empty highway 11 speak. Then he shook his head and was quiet again. Anushtup felt sure now. There was something not entirely right with this man. The stranger made uneasy eye contact. His Adams apple throbbed from the effort of articu- lating the exact words. He took a deep breath and then said it. Anushtup Chatterjee, I am really sorry to have to tell you this. But you have died.