Casper Flip.

It was limitless cuteness when his cherubic cheeks smiled. It was simply adorable when they puffed in disagreement and his lips pouted in frown. His round, butter face tilted left and hazel nut eyes narrowed when curious. Rather sharp for his age, this eight-year-old was a wise cookie. Dressed in orange jump suit, a white T- shirt, a blue cap and squeaky shoes which lit while walking; he was easily the most colorful exhibit around. As he walked his miniature back pack swayed sideways on his tiny tushy. A hand on his nape maneuvered him like a steering wheel dodging the crowd. The little tug on his shoulder was momentarily lost and Casper drifted a bit.

Like thousands of ants crawling towards the sugar cube; thousands of people were hurrying towards their destinations. After all it was Victoria Terminus the busiest rail station of down town Mumbai. Among them was this father- son duo. There was a little tug of war between them. The junior would pull his father towards all the possible attractions and the senior would pull him back saying ‘we need to catch the train.’

When Casper drifted there was a hole in Joel’s stomach.

The boy was lured to the sound of ‘trrriiing ting….trrriiing ting trrriiing trrriiinnngggg…..!

 The boy stood with his hands folded and a curious look. The ‘cold- drinkwalla’ was moving the metallic opener on the glass bottles in the crate, in an infatuating rhythm. Joel spotted Casper in no time. With a gentle knuckle on Casper’s head Joel lovingly said “Don’t you wander like this.” Casper was unperturbed in his observation. Joel gestured for a cola. A shabby hand fished a cold drink from the bucket filled with half melted ice. The boy’s aerated thirst was quenched.

 It was S-8. After a fair amount of pulling and pushing, the faint reservation list stuck out next to the door of the blue boogie was in Joel’s eye reach. He found his name on the torn list and moved towards the door. Keeping his luggage inside, he picked up Casper and entered the train. Inside of the train was smellier and more humid and so many more people. Four were seated on the bench of three. The continuous pestering of hawkers and end to end loitering of the ticket less so as to elude the TC. The place was clogged. They finally reached their reserved seats only to find two men already sitting there. One of them got up, other only pretended to move. Joel kept the luggage on the overhead carrier and sat taking Casper on his lap. There was a loud honk of the engine and the entire train jerked back. The engine was attached to the first compartment; the journey was about to begin.

The air in the coupe was indifferent. The commuters were aloof and detached. They simply saw through Joel and Casper. Joel was happy though; as the usual fiasco of someone pinching Casper’s cheeks and Casper crying in dislike was avoided. When the train jolted back a brown bag from the overhead carrier slipped down. Joel reflexively got up and caught it mid-air; his antics went unnoticed. He arranged the luggage and sat back on his seat fetching for Casper’s hand. They say that eyes are the best conductor of the human emotions. Here Joel’s eyes reflected fear, Casper was not to be seen around; now there was a crater in Joel’s stomach.

Joel couldn’t utter a word. Some incomprehensible sound is all he could manage initially. This was followed by a weak mumble, then a whisper and finally a wail of sorrow. With shaken voice he called for Casper. He frantically glanced around. He could see all the colors except for orange. In the surrounding dissonance Casper’s squeaking shoes were not to be heard. He asked his fellow passengers but they reflected empty. As if all this while Joel was non- existent to them. Like the lifeless corpses they continued their being. Joel noted some discrepancies. Like the fellow sitting next to the window, was eating rice pudding morsel after morsel yet the amount in the tiffin remained unchanged. The one with the newspaper never changed the trajectory of his glance, nor did he change the page. One at a distant seat kept on waving outside and outside it was only the thin air. Many just stared….without blinking. Repetitive gestures and repetitive conversations were all over the place. As if the train was in some loop and Joel and his kid were imperceptible.

Joel got up and rushed towards the door. He penetrated, intruded, pushed and climbed. He pierced and perforated the blocked passage. He kept on moving ahead. He drilled through one mob after the other but the door was still afar. He elbowed and shouldered the crowd to squeeze forward. But the rabble kept on coming and the door remained ajar but distant. He realized that he was jostling the same set of living dead people every time. This realization sent chillers through his spine. His throat went dry and bitter. The heart plunged in the depths of qualm. However, worry for his boy kept him from passing out. He swiftly turned towards the window and stumbling he keeked outside. All he could see was vast, vacant platform. Even the ‘cold drinkwalla’ had disappeared.

Tripping and almost falling, stomping on feet of people around, he reached the window on the other side. He could see a red train layered with travel muck and dirt on the adjacent track. He went on his knees and screamed for help but his screams of agony never sounded. Tears rolled out of his eyes leaving the tear tracks on his muddy cheeks. His sight was obscured. He wiped his tears with his palms and focused again. There he could see Casper sitting at the window of other train. Casper was sipping from the water bottle hung around his neck. There was a small girl in a yellow frock next to him. Joel was relieved a bit. His upper lip flickered a smile. But then his eyes became heavy and the body became light. He fainted with one had stuck at the grill of the window. The train moved.

 

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The wobble in his head was splitting it into two. There was a frown on his forehead. The eyes had Brownian movements behind the shut eyelids. The smell of the LPG was burning his nostrils. The ‘tik-tik’ of the kitchen lighter was hitting on his ear drums like a loud thud. He wanted to move but he couldn’t; as if each and every muscle fiber of his was paralyzed. Little spittle drooled from his mouth. Some saliva slipped back into the wind pipe causing severe bout of cough. Joel sat up clenching his chest, retching and coughing.

The reality sunk in as the stench whirled up. Blitz- Krieg he got up and ran towards the kitchen. The knobs of the gas burner were horizontal and the gush of the liquid petroleum oozing out of the multiple nozzles made him cover his nose. He switched them off and opened the windows. He ran towards the sound of the ticking lighter. Casper was sitting in the hall crossed legged. Staring out of the window, he was clicking the lighter; as if he was sending some Morse code. Joel snatched it from Casper’s hand and threw it away. The disaster was just averted.

Joel went to the kitchen window and stared at the concrete jungle at the backdrop of clear sky. There was continuous haggling and squabbling in his crowded mind. His muddled thoughts were unable to decipher the reality from dream. On the window pane he could however see the tear tracks on his muddy cheeks. Then, when only the residual taint of that obnoxious gas lingered, Joel checked on Casper and went to take a bath.

Disrobing himself he stood naked in front of the mirror. He admired his thin muscular physique and the appendectomy scar from yester years. The hot tap water was gurgling and splashing in the bath tub. The vapors evaporated the clear mirror image and made it hazy. Joel entered the water which was little more than lukewarm, displacing it as per the Archimedes principle. The snug water dilated his peripheral blood pipes and soon his skin was flushed like a cherry. He slipped under the water and couple of bubbles rose from his nostrils. He soon slipped into the merry drowse.

The casted curses and deputed dreams are difficult to get rid of. The girl in yellow frock kept on coming back to him; each time the vision was clearer. The angular jawline, blue marble eyes and pointed nose. She had some resemblance but to whom? Joel was at the brink of recognition but his lungs were out of air. He had to resurface but could he; he couldn’t. The surface water had morphed into frosted ice slab and the water beneath had turned so cold so grave. His flushed red cherry skin turned blue berry blue now. Devoid of air his lungs were burning. He stroked his hands and legs in vigor. His howl was locked in his chest. He just wanted to break the ice and gasp for air. The water filled lungs of his were running out of time. The numbness was creeping over his desire but he kept on hitting the shelf ice; each jab weaker than the previous. His heart was plunging to die. Embracing the last breath, he wanted to be gone but his instincts didn’t allow him to succumb that easily. He kept on trying but the ice door seemed shatterproof.

When he was almost gone, all alone and forlorn he could see little Casper with a sledge hammer. Casper barely managed to lift it and bang it on the ice slab. No effect. Casper did it two, three times more and the ice piece finally gave away; more so because of the weight of the hammer than the force. The glacier melted to mere a verglas. Joel hurriedly sat up. His lungs sucking each and every ounce of air around. With each breath his ribs protruded and became more conspicuous. The sharp edges of leftover melting ice cut through his pruney skin leaving him scarred. Neither Casper nor the sledge hammer was around; what remained were the gashes which ached.

Something was wrong, strange and freakish. Joel mustered all his courage and got up in the tub. He could see the reddish water draining down the pop drain. Haphazardly he dried himself and got out of the bathroom still drenched and dripping.

 Frenzied he went to Casper’s room and hugging him asked “Are you OK …. ?”

Terrified Casper only nodded in negation and pointed under his bed and said “She did the mess papa. She did it.”

The room was in litter and clutter. The clothes were thrown all over the place. The books were toppled down. The water was splashed on the curtains and the mirror was broken. The neat room was in shambles now. The pillow had multiple stab marks and it bled cotton. Though skeptical Joel bent down to check below the bed. His pupils dilated when he saw the girl sobbing and crying incessantly. Whimpering she said “He did the mess papa. He did it.” A hollow, maniacal laugh followed.

Joel recoiled like the blowback of the rifle and banged his head on the side board. Dizzy, he got up. His gawk ricocheted in the entire room but never met Casper’s eyes. He picked a set of clothes from the lying mess.

 “Get ready Casper, quickly get ready We are going to your Aunt’s place.” Ordered Joel sternly.

The clothes were colourful; an orange jump suit, a white T- shirt and a blue cap….!

 

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Casper was sitting next to his father, seat belt right across his chest. His feet barely touched the floor but he emulated his father. When his father accelerated, Casper pressed his right foot and when the gear box shifted the gear; Casper pressed his left foot. When the speed of the car decreased, he thumbed his right foot in the middle. Each time the shoe squeaked and sparked. Joel was in perpetual right incline, spiraling down the merry-go-round corridor of the parking lot. With moist palms Joel controlled the steering. Circumference after circumference they hovered but the only exit tangential was 2B. Fear gripped Joel’s heart. Bend after bend, kink after kink only exit, he could see was 2B. The frustrated mind and tired body gave up latter; the overheated engine yanked and pushed first, forcing Joel to take the exit.

Joel vaguely sensed what would ensue next. He looked at his left. Casper was gone. He wailed and cried in sorrow. “Why me?….ahhhh!….what have I done?....Why Casper?” He shouted. With head hung down he sobbed inconsolably. His shouts of peril never escaped the closed window shield. Sadness throttled him. No ray of hope or silver lining but a beaming headlight bashed through his windshield. He shadowed his eyes with the palms to get a better glimpse. There was a red car right in front of his. Casper was sitting on the back-seat sipping from the water bottle hung around his neck. The girl in the yellow frock was sitting on the front passenger seat. Annie was behind the wheel scowling at him. The girl had uncanny resemblance to Annie; angular jawline, blue marble eyes and pointed nose. Their eyes met and a silent glance spoke thousands of words.

’Bright exterior, dark interior. I fell for your rugged roughness but little did I knew that it was nothing but shallow macho-ism. Others got flowers, I got bruises and aches. In pain I cried when you were in the arms of the lust. The happiest moment in my life was then, when I got Casper but you snatched it too. You snatched motherhood from me and reduced me to a mere breast-feeding nurse. Today was the day 6 years ago when I was half dead half alive wriggling in agony. I was 22 weeks pregnant, only this time you knew it was a girl and it was well ahead of legal age for termination. Under the pretense of aid, you brought a quack. He manipulated my womb and I started bleeding. Bed- sheets, blankets all soaked red but you didn’t budge. You despised women as for you they were only a container for your ejaculate. Pale and wilted I lied on the bed looking at you; still searching for some compassion in your eyes. There was none. Then, when you were sure that I would succumb, you lifted me and took me to hospital. I fought for my life for two days and alas I gave up. You would pay for your sins Mr. Joel. I curse you.’ These were the words unspoken but not unheard.

Life is the biggest patron of arrogance, but under the shadow of an adversity like death very few excel. Those diabolic and demonic perish.

Joel fumingly said “If I have killed you once then I might as well kill you twice, this time with my bare hands.”

Saying this he unbuckled the seat belt and opened the door. He tried to get out of the car but he couldn’t. Molten thick tar started rising from the floor fixing his feet firmly. Joel couldn’t move. The fumes of toxic tar started asphyxiating him and the hot vapors scalded his body. The wildness in his eyes was now humbled down and domesticated. With each inch of rising tar, the suffering and hurt increased exponentially. The face scalded and water bubbles appeared on his skin due to heat. The rising gob busted the bubbles and Joel was excoriated. Neck deep in the tar yet his hands fling-ed in the air, trying to grasp at whatever he could so as to pull himself up. Joel yelled until his voice was hoarse and then mute when the black lava burnt his tongue. The same tongue which only knew how to abuse was now charred. The black devil stopped escalating leaving the eyes open to witness the horror. Joel stared at Annie. He had fright in his eyes. His hands fluttered like a flag does on a windy night. Annie stared back remorselessly. The flapping of the hands eventually ceased.

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The scene was sealed with yellow police ribbons. The melting tar dribbled on the floor drop by drop admixed with the gore. Casper sat on the pavement at a distance, broken forever. Beside him sat his childless aunt. She knew she would fix him right.

 

Reverse..

Her melancholic eyes had so many questions. The questions were known but answers unknown. With brittle heart and fragile hopes, she remained seated in the doctor’s chamber. Crumpled in her hand was the list of all the queries she had to ask about her ailing father. The poem which she had read in the red book when she was studying literature a decade ago kept on coming back to her. The gel pen got paralyzed in her hand and the ink blot swelled and left a halo.

‘She was dressed in white

And she had tears in her eyes.

He didn’t want to hurt anyone.

But this happens when someone dies.’

She kept on consoling her. He is still there and he was.

“If a man has lived his life with dignity and if at all it is his time to go, then so be it with dignity.”

“Is there any chance to help him? This is so excruciating.” She asked with a lump in her throat.

“He is critically placed and his prognosis is extremely guarded. Something can happen as and when we are talking or this might just linger awhile before the untoward event occurs. He is in a limbo right now.” Said the face behind the mask.

“You have to save him come what may.” Demanded she.

“We do not have a magic wand. We can try and we will. It is his response that matters. His body has to kick in.” said the medico with a grin.

“When will he show any signs of improvement”?

“We have to talk about him in sessions. How is he right now. How he is after 4 hours so on and so forth. Unfortunately, we do not have the liberty to talk about what we would be doing tomorrow or day after.” be done tomorrow or day- after."

“Why is he requiring so much support? When will he get better?” asked the impatient.

“We have to give time. If you get your hand fractured. You have to keep it in plaster for at least 6 weeks. If you don’t give it rest it would pain. The house of cards crumble even if couple of cards slip away.” Said the healer.

“He is just 65, 65 is no age to be that serious. Also, if he has a problem in his heart then why the other organ systems are getting affected.” Reasoned she.

“Well he has been extremely sick since early morning today. Since then the routine of the entire family has gone for a toss. So, if this can happen to us when a family member gets sick, you can imagine if one organ system gets affected in the body then all others will get affected in some or the other way. We are at the mercy of time.” For the first time ever the doctor showed a hint of compassion; so far he had feigned the straight face well.

“But he was all fine yesterday!” explained she still in disbelief.

“Yes, his biological age is 65, that is as per the documentation, but his physiological age due to wear and tear of the various life processes might be more than that. Like if I have bought a car 2 years ago but if I have drove it for lakhs of kilometres; you can understand the effect on the motor.” Explained the man.

“What do you mean?”

“Our body tries to keep everything in equilibrium. When the things go beyond one sees flurry of symptoms. It is like suddenly half of your staff leaves and the remaining half is compensating. They will compensate but only up till a certain extent. Finally, they would give up and everything will tumble upon.” Explained he.

“How come suddenly the tables turn?” asked she lisping for the first time in the conversation.

“Unfortunately subversion takes less time than conservation. It is easy to destroy than to build. The wind changes the direction at its own whim. But we will try to turn the waves.”

“You will try everything possible right?” she pleaded with fingers interlaced into one another.

Yes, we will try everything possible. We are optimist while treating but pessimistic while prognosticating. It is a steep walk ahead and we need to understand the unfortunate situation on the table.” He explained with a barb of pain which he himself felt within.

“Painfully he will leave us now? Not much of a fight left I guess.” she suddenly felt like creeping towards the doom’s day. She asked exasperatedly.

“It is not like that. Whatever has to be done as per the protocols, we have meticulously followed.”

“But it is painful to see him like this. like a howl stacked in the chest.”

“He is beyond pain, that much I can assure you.”

“Is there anything more? He is so much in pain.” she helplessly inquired.

“If a man has lived his life with dignity and if at all it is his time to go, then so be it with dignity.”

Her melancholic eyes had so many questions. The questions were known but answers unknown. With brittle heart and fragile hopes, she was sitting in the doctor’s chamber making the list of all the queries she had to ask about her ailing father. The poem which she had read in the red book when she was studying literature a decade ago kept on coming back to her. The gel pen got paralyzed in her hand and the ink blot swelled and left a halo.

‘She was dressed in white

And she had tears in her eyes.

He didn’t want to hurt anyone.

But this happens when someone dies.’

She kept on consoling her. He is still there and he was.

LIFE AND DEATH ARE THE AMBIGRAMS OF OUR VERY EXISTENCE. 
DO READ THE ARTICLE IN THE REVERSE ORDER FOR AMBIGRAM EFFECT. 

White ping pong ball with blue dots.

He kept on mumbling

“white ping pong ball with blue dots….white ping pong ball with blue dots.”

Seated on a tripod stool with his arms folded on his beer belly; rocking back and forth to the rhythm of the tinnitus in his ears, he continued muttering

“white ping pong ball with blue dots….white ping pong ball with blue dots.”

The jargon continued and when the tune submerged or the rhythm slurred, a voice whispered in his ears “faster moron and a little louder.”

And it continued again “white ping pong ball with blue dots….white ping pong ball with blue dots.”

  

While rocking on the stool his eyes were fixed at the pixelated big TV screen which was divided into eight grids. Two grids showed the entrance of the provisional general store. The one with grilled shutter was in front, guarded by a motionless snoring scarecrow. The other one was unattended doubly latched door at hind. One showed the little corridor in front of the main entrance. The next three grids showed the sections of bunk shelves stacked with commodities. Another one featured check out counter with the cash vault. The last one stared at the small staircase which led to the small, dim lit security room where Charlie continued his chant.

Charlie was in his early fifties. Freckled face, panda eyes due to insomnia. Stubby, stout built with thick abundance of grey on the scalp. He had dubious eyes, tentative movements, ambivalent behavior and indecisive, naive demeanor. He was afraid of both, his memory and imagination as he always clang to worst of his memories and imagined worst of the outcomes. More so the luck was not his forte as such. His fate was like the sections of provisional general store at that point of time; ill lit and gloomy. He had his own share of rubble and boulders in his life which was reflected well on his tired face.

The monologue continued and he rarely blinked; but then something happened and the back and forth juggernaut was halted. He squinted towards one of the grids showing bunk shelves. He leaned forward narrowing his eyes while gently biting his inner cheek with the canine. He saw some shadow sliding from behind the big refrigerator of dairy products. His heart raced fast. He rubbed his eyes and peered again. The shadow played hide and seek but was nonetheless visible. The silhouette was that of a tall thin man.  He got weakened in his knees but soon his fight and flight responses took over. He stretched his arm and got hold of the receiver and dialed a number still gaping at the screen un- blinked.

“Hey Freddy! It’s me. I think there is some one in the store.” Said a low hoarse tone.

“Hello” replied a droopy, yawning voice.

“I said there is someone at the store” slightly irate Charlie said to his partner who had called in sick for the shift.

“Listen Charlie, and listen to me very carefully, there is no one. Like there was no one yesterday and the day before yesterday and the couple of nights prior to that or for that matter even a fortnight ago. It’s all in your thoughts buddy.” Said his partner.

“But I can see him right now.” Charlie protested.

“Yes, sure you do… in your head.” Freddy replied in a shrill sarcasm.

He continued “Charlie its 2 am. I am having fever and I am running out of my casual leaves. I need to rest so that I can fill in tomorrow. Please don’t call and bother me. Your life is a pig sty and a mess. If you continue entertaining these imaginary friends of yours, I need to report it to the management. So shut the fuck up and deal with your problems like an adult.” 

In frustration Freddy tossed his mobile on the sofa, it bounced on it and fell down; the battery popped out. All Charlie could hear was a long beep.

  

There was a flurry of emotions that the Charlie experienced within a split second, but then the shadow was on the move. Black synthetic jacket and a monkey cap. There was a limp in his walk. The metal plate on his heels glowed alternately. Charlie got up and grabbed the baton in one hand and his coffee mug in other. Lot many things were happening but real or unreal, that was the question.

Charlie climbed down the stairs half callously and half cautiously. He followed the thin man from an adjacent section. The tall man was casual. He was pushing the steel trolley and was picking stuffs from the shelves. The shopping cart contained a pack of razors, a spatula, few dried canned tunas, a hammer, a cleansing lotion and a laxative. Charlie still couldn’t see his face, but when the man turned around to get some bread Charlie could see his face covered with black balaclava cap. It had various shapes on it inked in light blue and red. The shapes of bat, caterpillar, moth, human heads, worms and what not. He remembered the flash cards which he was compelled to decipher in the rehabilitative center. The sheer dis- trust in their eyes ached his heart. Those obnoxious looks had alienated him from himself and now he was losing his nickel to reality. The euphoria, anxiety, anger, elation, fear, sourness, sadness all came to him at once and pulled him in the depths of his past. Somehow, he jolted back to reality. The masked man had proceeded a handful of steps ahead.

He knew he had to intervene now and confront his greatest fear, truth or false. He kept his baton and his coffee mug down. He opened his bolster and removed the stun gun. Stealthily he moved forward and intercepted the man at the check out counters. The man had somehow managed to open the cash vault by now.

Taking him at the gun point he shouted “raise your hands and show yourself.” The man raised his hands and turned around.

Pivoting towards the left still pointing the gun at stranger Charlie mumbled “Don’t be ridiculous. Put the gun down. He is non-existent. You are looking like a fool pointing the gun at Kelloggs.”

He pivoted  towards right to the sound of the whisper “He is real; as real as this undertone. Hit the buzzer and alert everyone.”

“NO…NO! don’t do that. Hey you, talk to me.” The capped man said with bit of concern.

“Who are you?” Charlie asked.

“You don’t know? That’s odd. After all am I not the figment of your imagination?” the man played along.

“Prove it to me.” Charlie ordered with authority.

“Usually people fight to prove the existence and supremacy of their creators, their gods. But strangely here its other way around.” The stranger smirked.

Swaying towards the left Charlie said “The man is correct. He is a puppet of your brain.”

Swaying towards the right he murmured “Don’t be an idiot Charlie. He is a thief. Ask him to show his face.”

And then while tilting the head to left he questioned “Who knows, who is under that mask....huh? May be the warden of your hostel, or your ex-wife who stomped your heart to molasses. Or could it be your kid who abandoned you? Don’t be stupid Charlie, just ask him how to get rid of him.”

The situation forced Charlie to his knees. He shouted “Please stop, both of you.”  

Looking towards the man he shouted “What would you take to just fuck off?”

The man replied in calm and composure “Just let me out then.”

“Then go…go…please go.” Charlie begged.

“Then drive me out. Let us see who wins.” The man poked.

Charlie was now infuriated. He got up. His bulky hands got hold of the stranger’s collar and with all his might he pulled him through rows of the store. As he approached towards the latched door at the back; he pushed the man on the wall adjacent. Glaring viciously at him Charlie removed the bunch of keys from the pocket. He unlatched the door. A whiff of cool and fresh breeze touched his face. He pushed the other man out and quickly locked the door behind. He felt liberated.

The walk back was easy and light. He started whistling a lullaby. He pushed the cart in tranquil and placed all the items at their respective places. He picked up his baton and coffee mug. To his surprise the coffee was still lukewarm. He slowly climbed up the stairs and locked himself in the room. He sat on the tripod stool and started staring and mumbling “White ping pong ball with blue dots….white ping pong ball with blue dots.” Only, this time his head bobbed merrily.

Freddy got up at around 3 pm the next day. After a wholesome sleep, He was feeling healthy. He got out of the bed and he noticed the dismantled cell phone. He picked it up and fixed it on the way to the kitchen.  He poured a glass of water for himself and gulped some of it. Now the glass was half filled and half empty. His mobile caught the range and started buzzing. Back to back he received four notifications of Charlie’s missed calls and eight messages from Charlie. He opened each and every message hurriedly.

They all said only one thing “white ping pong ball with blue dots….white ping pong balls with blue dots….white ping pong ball with blue dots.”

In a scare and worry he called Charlie. First time the ringer went unnoticed, but second time around it got answered.

“Hello Charlie….!” Freddy asked.

A harsh uninterested voice answered “This is not Charlie. He has been booked for being an accomplice for stealing the stash of cash from the store.”

Freddy almost chocked on his saliva. He just couldn’t utter a word or frame a sentence. He felt as if his health had vanished and he had become sicker. He remembered their conversation. So, it was true after all; Charlie was not hallucinating. His mouth went dry. He was filled with guilt and remorse. He wanted to shout and yell and tell that it was his stupidity, his mistake. He wanted to tell that Charlie was not well. He was ill. He is not a thief but just a simple, troubled man. However all his cracked lips and barren tongue could mumble was….

“White ping pong ball with red dots….white ping pong ball with red dots.”

Labyrinth

“Don’t you, white coats have any moiety of compassion left; or is it that your moss-grown heart has been robbed out of it completely? Is it so that the Hippocratic oath has been simply reduced to hypocritic way of life now? Unfazed, unopposed superlative being of self. The false verbatim of care and concern while the truth is you all are vultures, scavengers. Commercially driven and emotionally inert. The imputations are serious over here….. so, I ask again....at…what ….time… you saw….the patient?”

Like the wind whirls the dust around, the questions reverberated and then the tornado was struck. The centripetal swirls and the centrifugal whirls were incapacitating Mr. Jackal; an eponym he had earned over the years of shrewd law practice. His surroundings were spinning around as a whirlpool and within he gyrated like the spokes of potter’s wheel. His brain rattled inside the skull and the fugitive eyeballs wandered from one corner of the eye socket to another. He groaned but it was too feeble for his attendant to hear who was sitting affront a television two rooms apart. For many moments he suffered silently; but nonetheless those seemed like eternity for him. Now gradually he gathered his senses, it was a dream after all, which he relived many times since it had occurred in reality a long time ago. Now, however his reality was bed bound due to severe vertigo.

It is said that a lot can be told about the man from the color of the walls of his room. The walls were olive green and the curtains were maroon red. The windows were shut tight that not even a sun ray could barge in. The gloom suggested that many secrets lay within. There on the bed laid a gnarled, grey silhouette which once had a dynamic and intimidating personality. His face was ashen and furrowed. Each crevice had a story of cunning legal victory. His ears were saggy and almost deaf. Holding his head with both the hands he slowly sat up. He fished his phone from the side drawer and scrolled down for a number. The screen light flashed on his cataractous eyes; a number was dialed.

“Hello..Dr. Ray….?...The wooziness is back.”

“OK I will drop by” answered the doctor.

The care- taker’s bottoms were still glued in front of the idiot box, engrossed in the antics of curvaceous vamps of daily soap operas. The shouts of peril were obviously unheard. Mr. Jackal again slipped in his blanket. The fastest of the three hands of the clock moved swiftly in circles yet the time was unmoved. It was still some time for supper. Mr. Jackal closed his eyes and thought of that day.

“At what time you saw the patient?”

“At 11 pm.” Answered the perplexed doctor, already belittled by the humongous office of Mr. Jackal.

Sun beams fell on Mr. Jackal’s face through the tinted glass of his office. The tinted glass only decreased the intensity of rays from hot to lukewarm but it made Mr. Jackal’s eyes to shine. His face glowed with confidence as he was as a matter of fact at that time he was a young and escalating solicitor. Seated on the leather boss chair behind the lavish mahogany table he took a deep puff from his slender cigar and said.

“So, if at all you had seen the patient earlier, you would have put him on ventilator earlier and may be just may be would have saved his life?” followed a hard, intangible look.

“The patient was seen as soon as the patient was shifted to ICU.” Protested the doctor.

“But the patient was put on ventilator at 2:20 am, about three and half hours later.” came the rebuttal.

“That’s because the patient deteriorated at that time.” Answered the doctor.

“But your hospital’s primary evaluation said that the patient was hypoxic as in the oxygen requirement was very high and the patient was evidently in respiratory distress as he was using all the neck, chest and abdominal muscles….. His air hunger was starved, isn’t it true doctor?” said Mr Jackal patting the butt of the cigar into the ashtray.

Snapping his fingers enjoying his pincer grasp on the doctor he continued “How many patients were there that day?”

“You really expect me to remember that?” argued the doctor.

“Oh…! Sarcasm….! I wish you remembered doctor; for your own good. There were five other patients you saw that day and the interesting part is you saw all of them at 11 pm.” A sheaf of documents was thrown on the table as a sumptuous evidence.

The doctor’s temples became moist. He had never thought that his habit of blanketing the timing of his rounds could come back and bite him like this.

“All the other patients were eventually wheeled out of the ICU except for that young boy suffering from swine flu. None can be omnipresent doctor; it means that the boy was suffocated almost up till the point of no return. Spit it out doctor or else I can shove my fingers in your throat and make you puke the truth. Wasn’t there a delay in attending that patient?” Asked the lawyer.

“No…No!” shouted a tremulous voice. “It is not true. The patient was treated by faith for so many days prior; its only when the things got bad, he was brought to the hospital. There was further delay as the relatives never gave the consents on time. Don’t make a scapegoat out of me. I beg. Whatever had to be done was done meticulously as per the protocols.” Pleaded the tearful healer.

“I know that. I trust you doctor but your documentation says otherwise. The spoken words and the unseen acts get absorbed in the thin air. The ink on the paper stays and stands shoulder to shoulder so that your reputation is not smudged.” Said the jackal straightening the crease of his sleeves.

“But we did everything possible. You can ask the relatives how much we tried.”

“You think if the relatives were convinced you would be sitting here?” said the lawyer cuttingly.

“When I am confined to my space, I am still calm but in the humid, dusty court rooms I am vicious. I can rip apart you and your reputation. You will have to look for an alternative career if that happens……..unless…?” Mr Jackal left the question hanging.

“Unless …. What?” Inquired the doctor.

“Unless 30 lakhs in cash.” Was the reply.

The sound of the leaking tap echoed from the bathroom. Mr. Jackal so much wanted to get up and fix it but he was scared that even a minute movement could bring back the wooziness. He wondered how the time had withered his macho ism. How in yesteryears he had overpowered many by his wit and eloquence. How he had chewed that doctor’s bones and milked him dry.  Mr. Jackal knew that the justice was not done that day but then the law was abided; after all justice is an abstract, he thought.

The attendant came with the colorless, odorless and tasteless thick tepid water called soup. It was supper time. Mr. Jackal grimaced at the site of it. The attendant helped him sit and started feeding him in haste. He didn’t bother to wait even when Mr. Jackal was coughing and aspirating. The attorney’s gut churned and he was nauseated and uneasy. He was sick and tired of an imbecile company but then that’s what the lawyer was left with; his family had long abandoned the selfish man.

A soothing voice called from across the main door. “Open up. Its me…Dr. Ray.”

The attendant opened the door and got conjoint with the television.

Dr. Roy entered the ill lit room and with a warm smile asked “How are you sir?”

“Some days are good; some days are bad. At times I am able to go up till the veranda without any swing and at times I have to pee in the plastic pot. Today is that day.” Mr Jackal answered with a sigh.

  

“I will fix it, don’t worry.” Said the caring eyes.

A tourniquet was tied on his right arm. He was asked to open and close his fist several times. The spirit drenched cotton was rubbed hard at the elbow pit. The bluish veins showed themselves. Bevelled syringe pierced the shiny, skinny skin like the hot knife cuts through the slab of butter. Couple of transparent vials were injected. The nausea, and the dizziness now settled. The old man felt much better. The doctor was paid with his due share. Mr. Jackal wanted the doctor to stay a bit longer. He wanted to share the story but then there were other patients waiting. The doctor left. Over the years the cunning jackal had been reduced to be a docile, dependent sheep. He grieved over his blind greed of the past but it was only too late.

Dr. Roy braked his car at the junction. The signal was glittering red and it was supposed to glow red for eighty-seven more seconds. He had a smile of content and pleasure on his face….a sadistic pleasure. He remembered how Mr. Jackal had walked in his OPD with a simple earache about a year ago. It was a simple ear wax which he had treated but with ear toxic and auditory fatal injections. He could envision the ear- drum seen through his otoscope. He clearly remembered how his tremulous hands injected the toxicant though the ear membrane for the first time; gradually misbalancing Mr. Jackal’s gait. How in latter days it became a trained con. His fine set of ears were damaged gradually. The signal was blinking fifty-four and counting down.

He remembered his father’s words of caution.

“The spoken words and the unseen acts of kindness get absorbed in the thin air. The ink on the paper stays and stands shoulder to shoulder so that your reputation is not smudged.”

He had kept his documentation clean. He knew that he the justice was not done neither on that day nor today but then the law was abided; after all justice was just an abstract, he thought. 

The old man continued to suffer with vertigo, tinnitus. Mr. Jackal was any which ways hard of understanding the emotions; now he was hard of hearing too. The red count down was up to last four now. He turned on the engine and drove off at the sight of green.