TAXI
Jhora Pata:
What’s this new thing adorning your lips?
Megh Balok:
You should know better, you were the one who is
playing with it.
Jhora Pata:
Playing? I don’t like this sour metal thing in between
us.
Megh Balok:
As if I care!
Jhora Pata:
Remove it.
Megh Balok:
Wishful thinking!
Jhora Pata:
Won’t you do this much for me?
Megh Balok:
Stop opening the same old account of how much you did
for me, and how much I did not do for you.
Jhora Pata:
Stop cribbing!
Megh Balok:
Stop biting, it hurts.... and dare you make a mark!
Jhora Pata:
What scares you more, the biting or the mark?
Megh Balok:
Nothing scares me; getting hurt does not equate to
getting scared....
The driver is watching!
Jhora Pata:
And the bugger is also getting paid for it
Megh Balok:
Your humour sucks! Can I roll down the window? I need
a smoke....
Jhora Pata:
I get headache with smoke.
Megh Balok:
When did you last shave?
Jhora Pata:
Is this the first cigarette of the day?
Megh Balok:
How you know?
Jhora Pata:
You smelt unfamiliar before the smoke
Megh Balok:
Often I feel I don’t know you anymore, but your
Davidoff still feels the same way familiar.
Jhora Pata:
How are you Megh?
Perfumes are strange things; like songs and memories
they get etched in your mind. They travel in time and can make you feel strange
things at strange moments. Megh Balok wanted to start off from where he had
left; he saw himself standing on the cross road where he stopped three years
back.
A noisy silence intruded the rendezvous! Megh Balok
did not know how he smelt; but he knew for sure, that inside his head it was
all smoky, though he could not figure the exact source of fire anywhere. He
tried reading in between the lines, but inside his head it was all too hazy to
be deciphered. Pressing his head on Jhora Pata’s chest he inhaled the fragrance
deeply and wished that there wasn’t so much in between the lines. An unknown
darkness surrounded him. Even at those moments of excitement, those moments of
pleasure, his eyes remained void. Somewhere else, away from where it was to
be....
He looked outside the window, looked past the running
buildings, lamp-posts, trees, cars and people. He saw a man hanging from a 77
bus with a lunch box in his hand. He thought if the man was hanging on the foot
board merely for the adventure of it, or because he could not afford to travel
in a taxi. He thought of what would have
happened if the bus stopped with a sudden jerk; he also imagined him falling on
the side of the road with the lunch box slipping off his hand and another bus
smashing his head. He imagined the
man’s family weeping when they would come to know of his death by the
roadside, falling from the foot board.
The helplessness of the man’s family made him
vulnerable for a moment and the taxi stopped with a jolt at the speed breaker.
The world outside the taxi seemed so far away all of a sudden. Megh Balok
rolled the window up; as if he separated life and death with a thin line.
Megh Balok:
Do you still love me?
Jhora Pata:
What sort of a question is that?
Megh Balok:
Would you cry if I die?
Jhora Pata:
But why would you die?
Megh Balok:
That does not answer my question!
Jhora Pata:
You and your thousand questions
Megh Balok:
Ok I won’t die; if you promise to grow old with me
Jhora Pata:
Have you ever thought how would we look when we grow
old?
Megh Balok:
Hah hah hah! You are already half way there, with
puffed eyes and dark circles
Jhora Pata:
Why don’t you gift me some under eye cream?
Megh Balok:
And also
some wrinkle removing packs!
Jhora Pata:
Age is just a number, a mental block, a state of the
mind honey!
Megh Balok:
Yeah right! ....stop quoting me honey!
Jhora Pata:
Quite like virginity - another state of the mind; it’s
all in the head.
Megh Balok:
How are you Pata?
Jhora Pata broke into laughter at his own joke and
Megh Balok’s thoughts drifted somewhere else. Yes, it’s all in the head. There
were things about the Pagol which Megh Balok never understood. Even long after
Megh Balok left the Pagol; he could never stop speculating why he lied so
contemptibly when he did not need to. It must be all in the head.
Megh Balok tried smiling at Jhora Pata’s joke.
Amidst the mirth and laughter he thought of Real age,
while a faceless someone continued playing a sad tune in his head, he tried
seeing the face but he could not. He was 30 and for him life had been lived. He
had only one opportunity. He made a blunder; loved the wrong person. For him
there were no more chances. He could not afford to hurt himself any more.
He travelled from one place to the other, like a
nomadic, with projects that came his way and avoided those psychedelic corners
of the flamboyant city that had once so been his place. Away from his friends,
away from his family, away from his city, away from the glass walls of his air
conditioned office he tried disconnecting himself from the world. But that
adamant little boy in him; how would he console him? No, he needn’t worry,
because that little boy was no little anymore....
Everyone
endures the pain of growing up, and so would this boy, he was no exception; he
had no business to be an exception. The loss had softly spread in his life like
insects inside books. They had eaten up his words and nobody could read him
anymore!
Megh Balok’s thoughts froze like an invisible wall in
between the two of them. They looked away from each other and stared outside
their respective windows for a while, while the car speeded up and they reached
very soon before the air inside the car could get any more uncomfortable.
TABLE
Jhora Pata:
Come back
Megh Balok:
Where?
Jhora Pata:
Into the real world; you can make it I am sure.
Megh Balok:
Who decides what is real and what is unreal?
Jhora Pata:
Stop playing with words.
Megh Balok:
Sorry, you are the blessed one.
Jhora Pata:
You get away with words, you get away with
everything. Come back before it’s too
late.
Megh Balok:
How late is too late?
Jhora Pata:
Chobir desh, gaaner desh.... you can make it I am sure.
Megh Balok:
I have nothing to make, nothing to break.
The worst is over and I mean it.
Jhora Pata:
Escape.... Escape....
Megh Balok:
Purey jawa moner desh.... I have nowhere to go.
Jhora Pata:
Uff porar kotha bolish na, steak ta
khetey giye amar mukh purlo.
Megh Balok:
How many times do I tell you not to hog like this?
What's your hurry in life?
Jhora Pata:
Can I borrow the lip balm from your bag?
Megh Balok:
First send me an application and then I might
consider!
Jhora Pata:
Wow ! The Palace Of Illusions, Chitra Banerjee
Divakaruni; how is the book?
Megh Balok:
Not your types; will send you once I’m done with it.
Jhora Pata:
Why not my types?
Megh Balok:
Cause they never knew her well.
Jhora Pata:
Whom?
Megh Balok:
The lady who had five husbands but loved only one!
It’s been ages that they had gone out to eat together.
Megh Balok remembered how he loved to watch Jhora Pata eat, licking fingers,
chewing fish bones and blabbering; and wait on the table for Jhora Pata to
finish supper.
But how does that matter now? What is past is past; he
did not need to think about what was there three years back. It’s a long time
and he must not entertain such memories. He quietly muttered under his breath
all the better things he had to do in life.
Megh Balok:
When did you last shave?
Jhora Pata:
How drunk are you?
Megh Balok:
Hic! Vintage wine my Mr.Sober!
Jhora Pata:
Shei, vintage antique chara tor je
abar mon-e dhorey na!
Megh Balok:
Listen, would you take me out for a drive in that
vintage Cadillac of yours?
Jhora Pata:
Tell me where you want to go
Megh Balok:
Somewhere nearby. Princep Ghat maybe, it’s long that I
haven’t been to the river....
Jhora Pata:
The murmur of the river soothes the mind; your Robi
Babu used to say, that resting under trees brings peace to the soul.
Megh Balok:
Taholey aar ki, tuio amar jonnye
ekta chatim gach lagiye phyel!
Jhora Pata:
No, not chatim;
I shall plant polash for you
Megh Balok:
Hothath polash?
Jhora Pata:
Cause you are my Hothath
Bosonto!
Megh Balok:
“Stepping on a forbidden dream,
I am caught in the prison of spring”
Jhora Pata:
Incorrect semiotic.
Megh Balok:
I am not an evolved poet like you.
Jhora Pata:
Poets are ever evolving honey.
Megh Balok:
True.... You
know you would have been quiet a plain Jane without these lines of
yours.
Jhora Pata:
Is that a compliment?
Megh Balok:
Off course it is.
Jhora Pata:
Thank you!
Megh Balok:
Not working honey. Thank me like a Gentleman does
Jhora Pata:
Don’t trigger me, you might have to regret later.
May be Megh Balok wanted to regret! May be he knew
what he wanted. May be he did not know what he wanted. May be he hated himself
for not knowing what he wanted. He did not know what he wanted, but strangely
he knew what Jhara Pata wanted. And this was the problem, they both knew each
other too well, they threw words at each other like gun shots and hit each
other exactly where it would hurt.
Certain things are difficult to put into words, logic
or explanation. Enough of careless words and so now Megh Balok remained silent.
Not
boorish.
Not
courteous.
Just
silent.
TEXTS
Jhora Pata:
Silence can kill.
Megh Balok:
I am bereft of words.
Jhora Pata:
Kotha ki shottyi sesh hoye gechey?
Megh Balok:
Hoytoba kotha bolar ichchey ta sesh
hoye gechey!
Jhora Pata:
Why are you doing this?
Megh Balok:
I am not doing anything!
Jhora Pata:
Is this what you want?
Megh Balok:
How does it matter?
Jhora Pata:
What if it matters? Give me a chance and see.
Megh Balok:
I can’t give anyone anymore chances.
Jhora Pata:
Life would not give you a second chance!
Megh Balok:
I anyway do not accept any second rate life story!
Jhora Pata:
Stop sounding like a third grade film.
Megh Balok:
Wish life was easy like your films!
Jhora Pata:
Life itself is a film honey.
Megh Balok:
Yeah indeed! Black and white, running in slow motion!
The frames flash back on his mind while Megh Balok
closes his eyes. Memories come back, pouring like August rains. He can’t see
anything; his vision has become hazy, dark like a film hall. He does not want
to miss the bell; he presses his ears against the pillow and waits for the
interval....
