ADHURO (अधुरो)
Silence. Sweet and deathly silence. It was all he yearned for. The voices echoed in his mind; the sound emanating from numerous countenances which he faced all day and night. They were human, yet they seemed to be so detached, devoid of any inkling of empathy and compassion. Perhaps it was he who did not belong there. Standing in his blue and green uniform, summer sweat trickling down the back of his neck owing to the faulty air conditioners. A mosquito buzzed around in his ear, hoping to land on his flesh. He could not be bothered to swat it away, for he was in his own fabricated, idyllic utopia. One which resembled home, lush with oak, meadows and the fresh mountain air. Maybe he was thinking about home, but he could not dare to go back, the shame was just too unbearable. Only if things were different, maybe he would-
“Viraj? Hey, Viraj!” said a male voice. “What are you doing standing here?” he continued. Viraj turned to face the man. It was the retail manager, Ajit, a plump, dark-skinned, middle-aged man. He spoke with a gravelly voice, with words of Hindi sprinkled with a touch of his native tongue.
“Uh- I was, seeing if there are any customers that need assistance. Sir,” replied Viraj in Hindi. He stood before Ajit, hoping to see him convinced. Instead, a mild annoyance overtook the man’s face.
“I think you forgot. You aren’t on the roster today. Someone’s got to do the inventory for the children’s-wear. Didn’t Pallavi tell you?” said the manager, as Viraj saw that patience was slowly slipping away from the man.
“Sorry sir, I just thought that-”
“Well think no more, go and join her in storage, there’s a lot that needs to be done,” asserted Ajit.
Viraj hung his head low and continued on towards the storage. As he turned to walk away, he thought that he could hear the man say, “Goddamn immigrant.” It wasn’t the first time these words had been hurled at him. It had hurt initially, to not be recognised by one’s own country, the same country for whom his grandfather had paid the ultimate price. But now, he had grown to accept it with great reluctance, numbing himself.
He passed through the piles of clothes, neatly stacked and organized into different categories. Near these piles were his peers, eagerly awaiting the next family from the hills on vacation or some well-off local to waltz through the door. They would all loom around their prey, providing assistance even when it wasn’t required, not because it was a matter of kindness, but a matter of survival. Viraj had observed this ever since he had joined last year. This fierce competition that loomed about was quite overwhelming for him, but he managed to adapt, he had to.
He made his way past the piles of men’s jeans and shirts, entering the kid’s section, littered with mothers sifting through a variety of clothes, some accompanied by an impatient child or two. Before reaching the storage, he passed a poster stuck up on one of the walls. On it, was the picture of a European model in a bright, red dress, with words written in bold blue and green letters which read, “Alliance Clothing. Wear your Confidence!” Viraj wished everyday how he could do what the poster said. If only it was that easy to ‘wear’ your confidence, who knows what he would have done. However, he dismissed the thoughts as he had reached the storage room and stood before the grey door. He slowly turned the knob and entered to see Pallavi, surrounded by the stacks of cartons wrapped in thick plastic foil.
“Looks like you forgot,” said she, nonchalantly, as she turned to face him. She was a lot older than Viraj, in her early thirties, pale and slender with dark brown hair. Unlike him, she was a veteran store attendant, showing him the ropes every now and then. Where they stood together however, was that both of them were from the hill station of Darjeeling.
“I’m sorry di, I just got busy,” he replied, standing beside her while looking eager to help.
“Busy, huh? I’m assuming you printed the inventory list,” she asked, with her arms crossed.
Viraj was filled with uneasiness, as he replied with an uncertainty in his voice, “Oh, uh, I was actually going to go do that, I just wanted to check if-”
She interrupted him, “Don’t bother, I already have it.” She held up a checklist and waved it around.
“Oh, I’m sorry once again di,” said he, as he continued trying to get himself back to reality.
“Just leave it, we have stuff to do,” she said, signalling him to come closer. The only source of illumination in the storeroom was a dim tube light, which reflected off of the depressive white walls. Cartons of fresh clothes neatly stacked on top of one another filled the room, leaving only a diminutive area, barely enough to move around.
“You know the drill, let’s start,” said Pallavi, as Viraj got hold of a small step stool. One by one he removed the heavy cartons from the shelf and placed it on the ground, while she stated to write against her checklist after eyeing the boxes. It was tiring work, mostly for him. No choice was provided to him, it would be rude to make an elder lady work on his behalf.
“You heard that what management’s been saying?” said Pallavi, ticking a box on her checkboard.
“Nuh-uh,” muttered Viraj, as he placed a carton on his shoulder and slowly set it down on the ground.
“Company’s looking to ‘revitalise’ all the outlets across the country,” said she while inspecting the box fetched by him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Viraj, while gasping for air.
“What do you think?” she retorted.
With a clueless look on his face, Viraj said, “You have been here longer than me di. I’m stumped.”
“It could mean one of two things really. Either they are going to cut our pay, or well,” she paused, lowering her voice.
A troubled expression overtook Viraj’s face, as he said, “Well what?”
“They’re going to let some of us go,” said she, making sure to deliver the news with delicacy.
A kind of fear took hold of Viraj, like a child who found himself all alone in a dark room.
“W-what do you mean ‘let some of us go’? It doesn’t make any sense,” said Viraj, as he took a seat on the step-stool.
“The company hasn’t been doing so well this past year from what I’ve heard. They’re really going to weed out the stores that fail to deliver,” Pallavi said, as she inched closer towards him.
“But who exactly is going to be sacked? How are they going to decide?” he asked.
“Well actually, that jurisdiction is usually up to the retail manager. So, in our case- “
“It’s Ajit,” said Viraj, as he hung his head in worry. Viraj continued, “He Bhagwan! He despises me. He’s always after me, even when I’m just doing my job, he nitpicks away. Just this morning, he called me a bloody immigrant di! Now he gets to decide what my future holds?”
Pallavi squatted beside him, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and said, “Look, these kinds of things are normal over here. It has happened to almost each and every one of us. But then, you don’t see the others complaining, do you?”
“N-no,” replied Viraj with reluctance.
“And besides, you don’t have any other option, do you? Just be grateful that you have this job. Many aren’t as lucky. Now come, we still have a whole lot of boxes that need to be checked.”
Getting out of the store always felt like a challenge. One would always be greeted by a gust of hot wind when leaving, like having a thousand hot blow dryers pointed towards you all at once. Having stayed under the air conditioner the entire day (albeit faulty ones), Viraj always found it difficult to get used to the heat of the outside. Back home, the warmest he had ever experienced was a whopping 27 degrees during the month of June. It was only May in Siliguri, but to him, it felt like the world was on fire. It was late in the evening by the time Viraj’s shift got over. There were hardly any mall-goers around. The only people left were members from other stores closing up and the unassuming janitors, quietly mopping away. The City Centre Mall was always abuzz with an assortment of individuals, but at night, the same humdrum was replaced by deathly silence, echoing in one’s ear. Many found it unsettling, but for Viraj, it was a welcome break.
He made his way through the empty atrium, down the depowered escalators and into the basement parking. He was joined by the various other workers, all burnt out from the business of the day, looking to go back to their homes, to cold pillows and hot meals. However, Viraj was a part of a surprisingly large group of people, for whom home was around 70 kilometres away, hidden behind serpentine routes and forested hills.
Mounting his 6-year-old Honda Activa, he turned the ignition key and shot out of the mall. He rode past the shrub laden driveway of the mall, onto the highway and towards the main city. The warm night-time air of the city brushed against him, as he left the sparse area of Matigara and moving towards the main city. He swerved past the flashing lights, as the almost empty area of the outskirts was replaced by the sprawling life of the city. Varied souls were up and about. For some, the night was a challenge, a trial to determine whether they will survive another day on Earth. For others, it was a time of leisure and comfort, a time of drink, song and debauchery. All these people, regardless of their intentions, had a story of their own, their own private little wars. Viraj often wondered why he couldn’t experience the life of the latter, a life free of uncertainty and looming failure, one which didn’t involve working until ten at night, folding clothes and disingenuous gestures. He quickly dismissed the thought as he brushed past the Panchai River Bridge, making his way onto Hill Cart Road. Passing the assortment of stalls and roadside restaurants, all lit up to the brightest, he turned at the next intersection and headed towards Mallaguri. Carefully manoeuvring the cramped gullies, he finally reached stood before the five-storeyed apartment which he had given the false moniker of ‘home’ for the past year.
He parked his scooter alongside the various motorbikes of the other people of the society. It wasn’t the bikes themselves that bothered him, but the attitude of some of its owners, so puffed up with their fragile egos, scorning him for being an inferior motorist. It mattered little to him now, for like the prejudice against his people, seemingly tolerance was key.
Standing before the padlocked slider gate, he buzzed the doorbell of the caretakers’ quarters. After a minute or two, a stout old man, with a jolly expression wearing only his inner-wear greeted him in Bengali.
“Good evening babu,” said the caretaker, as he fished the right key from his pocket, unlocking the gate.
With what little Bengali he knew, Viraj replied, “Hello Kiran kaku.” Luckily, the caretaker knew of his plight, and switched to a crude form of Hindi.
“How’re things going?” he asked, ushering Viraj in.
“Good,” he lied.
“Viraj babu, I ought to warn you, that old bastard of a landlord is becoming more demonic every day! I overheard him chatting with some of the neighbours, this morning. He said that given the current state of the economy, he is going to start raising the rent from month,” whispered Kiran.
“Increase? But the current rate is already a crime! What is the problem with that frail piece of- “
“Shh! He may be listening!” said the caretaker, carefully eyeing his surroundings. After a momentary pause, he continued, “I just wanted to warn you in advance, just be one your toes. It’s better to prepare yourself in advance for what is to come. Anyways, good night, I best be off!”
Viraj bade him farewell, and slowly made his way up the stairs and to the third floor. He fished a set of keys from his pocket, and after picking the right one, he opened the wooded door to his room. It was a small area, with a tiny kitchenette in one corner, an attached bathroom strung up with dried laundry, a study table stacked with unfolded clothes and a bed with a 6-inch mattress in the corner.
He took off the green and blue uniform and threw it aside, letting himself fall backwards onto the sturdy bed. For once, he could finally get the silence he had so desired. He fished his almost dated phone out from his pocket, opening Instagram and mindlessly scrolling away at videos ranging from women dancing along to hit songs to instances of cheap humour mixed with obnoxious sound effects. He could also see people of his age and the lavish, luxurious life they were living. Even though one could not distinguish online between what was real and what wasn’t, Viraj still felt a sense of inadequacy and jealousy. While some even younger than him were visiting places like Ladakh and Kashmir, the farthest he had gotten was playing a game about Egypt at the mall’s arcade. That feeling of inadequacy was perhaps fuelled by all the unfulfilled promises that he had made, not just to others, but to himself as well.
As he lay against the mattress, his body shutting down on its own, a ring awoke him. Someone was calling. He checked to find that it was his sister Ranjana.
“Hello?” Viraj said, upon picking up the call.
“Hello dada,” replied Ranjana, her childlike voice always managing to melt his heart.
“Ranju, what are you doing staying up this late? Don’t you have school tomorrow?” asked he.
“How are you doing dada?” she asked, as Viraj could almost hear a quiver in her voice.
“I’m alright, why do you ask? Is everything alright?” asked he, as a sense of foreboding washed over him.
“How is work? H-how is-”
“Ranjana, what’s wrong?” Viraj asked firmly.
After a brief silence, he could hear sobbing from the other side. Before Viraj could say anything, she broke in, “Its, its Baba, he isn’t well Viraj dada, they took him to the hospital this morning.”
The smell of iodoform was waft in the air. Viraj had left for Darjeeling early in the morning, after hastily packing whatever clothes and toiletries that he could. He was not ready to go back, not yet anyway. He had wanted to wait a good long while before he showed his face to the people back home. However, the situation called for his arrival. Even if it wasn’t for his father, he had to go back for Ranjana. He sat in the waiting area of the Eden Hospital, surrounded by a variety of worried faces, as well as some of his own relatives.
“I had told him. “Abhiman Daju, please limit your physical activity.” But did he listen? Of course not,” said one distant aunt.
“That’s what. He still thinks that he’s the same young, energetic lad he was all those years ago. Now all he’ll have to go through are more medicines. Speaking of which, what medicines are you taking nowadays?” chimed the younger aunt.
“Oh, I’m taking things for thyroid, sugar and also for pressure.”
“Pressure also? I can only imagine the bill.”
“I’m telling you, it’s not cheap. Oh heavens! Thank goodness my son is present. By the way, did you know that he’s posted in Kolkata now? He is almost going to make the rank of Head Clerk now!”
“Oh, is it? My son is also appearing for the UPSC exam this year. I told him try for the State Services first, but you know him, he’s such a bright boy!”
The elder developed a small expression of distaste on her face. Hoping to divert the conversation, she took notice of Viraj and approached him. With a disingenuous expression, she said, “Viraj bhadai, what are you doing these days?”
“We haven’t seen you for quite a while you know?” the younger one commented.
Being gripped with a sudden jolt in his chest, Viraj tried to piece together an answer, “Oh, um, actually I-”
Before he could give some vague semblance of truth, he was interrupted by the arrival of his mother, carefully descending the stairs. Brushing his relatives off, he quickly made his way towards her, gently holding her arm, and helping her take a seat on one of the empty metal chairs in the waiting area.
Kamala looked at her son, her vision getting blurry with each passing second. She gently touched him on the cheek, getting a good feel of her son after what felt like eternity. She saw the change in him, how his features had transformed from a fit, healthy young man, to one transformed by a lack of good meals and weariness.
“Oh, my son! Why didn’t you come sooner?” she wailed.
Viraj remained quiet, refraining from speaking, for he knew that despite the answer, it would not make up for his absence. She sobbed, collapsing into her son’s embrace. He tried to remain detached, holding back each and every urge not to appear vulnerable. After a good long moment of quiet sobbing, Viraj calmly said, “Where is he?”
She pointed out the ward where he was kept. Before he left, Viraj was stopped by his mother, who said, “Don’t mind what he says, please.”
He shrugged off his mother’s words and silently climbed the stairs. As he made his way past the busy nurses dressed in black and white, a kind of uneasiness gripped Viraj. He remembered that time during his childhood, when he was playing cricket with some of the neighbourhood boys. One of the lads had managed to break the neighbour’s window, but it was Viraj whom the others put the blame on. When his father came back home that night, he beat him rather badly, unwilling to listen to any reason, saying “You have brought me great shame today.” As he stood before the entrance of the ward, Viraj wondered if he would say the same thing now, or maybe worse.
Old Abhiman Thapa lay on the rickety hospital bed of the General Ward, with balding grey hair, a worn-out wrinkled face and an IV tube hooked into him. Ranjana was kneeling beside him, with tears in her eyes. Upon seeing her brother, she quickly rushed to embrace him. Viraj wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her. She looked just the same before he left, brown eyes, a round face with a childlike essence. The only difference he could make out was that she had grown a tad bit taller.
Before Viraj could even address his sister, Abhiman interrupted.
“So, you came after all. I was under the impression that you were too busy,” he said, slowly sitting up on the bed.
“Baba please! Dada has had a long and tiring journey,” pleaded Ranjana.
Abhiman chuckled, and said, “You think Siliguri is far away? Even my spittle could reach there!” He broke into a violent cough, following which Ranjana immediately reached his side and gently laid him down.
Viraj came closer to him and asked, “What happened to you baba?
“What does it matter to you? Do you want money or what?” he retorted; the spite clear in his gruff voice.
“Don’t say that, please!” Ranjana said, her pleas falling on deaf ears.
Viraj looked down, unable to bear the scorn and distasteful look of his father. He knew that nothing that he would say would mend the current situation. He knew that he had to apologise for his absence, it was the right thing to do. However, the three words were lumped in his throat, unable to find a way out.
“It has been a year, one whole year since I last saw you. You didn’t come for Dashain, neither for Ranjana’s birthday. Did you know how many questions I was asked, how many times I was asked about you? I lied almost every, single time, just so that they could not bear to see the pitiful creature that the man I used to call a son has become!” said Abhiman, his voice trembling with vengeful anger.
Viraj could feel the lump in his throat die. Instead, he could now feel a flurry of uncontrolled words making their way out of his mouth.
“You know, it has always been about you. About your reputation, about how much of shame I bring you in front of those useless relatives. But not once, not even once in my whole life Baba, did I see you show me an ounce of kindness. Not once, did I see you try and see me as who I really was. Just a scared, frightened boy, who was afraid of each and every action of his father,” said Viraj, the fire of rage smouldering within him.
Abhiman looked him straight in the eye, with a demonic expression fuelled by his son’s words, and said, “You speak of kindness? When have I not shown you kindness? The roof over your head, the meals you ate at my house, the goddamn expensive college degree you got because of my money, that useless scooter of yours, you think that you would still have those if I didn’t show you ‘kindness’?
“Maybe not, but maybe there was a chance that I’d get to have a father,” said Viraj, storming out of the tiled white ward, with Ranjana closely on his tail.
The chirps of sparrows could be heard all around the place. Some monkeys were perched atop the branches of oak trees, safe from the attack of the territorial stray dogs. Tourists with expensive DSLRs and puffy feathered jackets were admiring the trail ahead of them, engulfed in the orange rays of the evening sun. Fitness enthusiasts up until the ripe age of 70 were out for their daily physical exercise, as old ladies quietly swept the fallen leaves and packets of Lays chips with their hard brooms and makeshift tin dustpans. Mall Road was the right place to be both in times of one’s greatest triumphs as well as overwhelming sorrows. Viraj knew this fact, and thought of how much he had missed his favourite place in town, as he stared at the mighty mount Kanchenjunga, with a mob of clouds headed towards it. He took a good long puff of his cigarette, and slowly let the smoke out of his nostrils, as he admired the giant before him.
“You shouldn’t do that you know? Its not good for your health,” said Ranjana, standing beside him, with a look full of disapproval.
“Who cares? You don’t see me doing it all the time, do you?” he replied bitterly, as he turned to face her.
“First of all, I care. Secondly, no, I haven’t seen you doing it. You know why?” she said, crossing her arms. “Its because I haven’t even seen you this past year, dada.”
Viraj looked at her, devoid of any words, as his expression turned from one of anger to one of discomfort. Without saying much, he tossed the cigarette to the ground and crushed it under the heel of his shoe.
“Ranju, you know that I love you, right?” said Viraj.
“I know. Yet why couldn’t you visit even once? Even if it wasn’t for baba, what about aama and me?” Ranjana said, as an eerily chill breeze washed over them, ruffling her jet-black hair.
“Look, you’re a child, you won’t understand,” he said.
“A child? Dada I’m going to give my HS next year. I’m not the same girl who used to sit on your lap anymore!” she retorted.
“I told you, its complicated, okay?” said he, trying his best to deflect her insistence.
Ranjana stared at him for a good, long while, before saying, “Fine! I guess I’ll just go and be a child then!” She turned around and stormed away, with Viraj in pursuit.
“Ranju, wait!” he said, as she pushed past some evening walkers.
“Go away!” she replied shrugging him off. He managed to grab a hold of her wrist and stopped her. She tried to break free, but then Viraj said, “Okay fine! You want to know why I didn’t come back? Its because I was ashamed, okay? Ashamed and scared of what will happen to me once I do come back here.”
He let go of her wrist, as a more passive look began to appear on her face. With utter bewilderment, she asked, “Ashamed? Of what?”
“Ashamed of who I am right now Ranju! Look at me, I am someone with a Bachelor’s degree and here I am working at a goddamn mall, in some retail store that sells Chinese clothes! What would people think of me?” said he, as tears began to trail down his cheeks.
Ranjana remained quiet, watching her brother unravel. He continued, “You know, I had dreamed of so many things in college. All the things that I would do, the money I would earn. I dreamt of going different places, dreamt of finally making that old bastard say in front of others, “This is my son, and he has brought me great pride!” I had boasted about this to all my friends and almost everyone I knew, promising them that I would make it big. Turns out, none of it was real, however. It was all just some twisted dreamworld that I was living in.”
He took a seat on the cold, cobblestoned floor, his back resting against a wall. Ranjana sat beside him, watching him break down with each passing second. He continued, “I did everything that old bastard asked me to. I tried to be the perfect son. I studied like there was no tomorrow, I focused, Ranju! Yet even after all the countless hours I spent, it wasn’t enough.”
Rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, he said, “Every place I went to, every interview I attended, every single time I wore the suit and tie, its either “Sorry, we are not hiring at the moment,” or “We will let you know soon.” That “soon” never came.”
The orange hue of the sky was slowly fading, and darkness was beginning to take hold. Viraj spoke, “How am I supposed to compete with people who have Grade A’s all around, know like 5 different languages and are basically human encyclopaedias?”
The salty water from his eyes began to roll down his cheek once again. Despite this, he continued, “I got rejected from one place. Then another one, and then the next. They weren’t even willing to take me in as clerk in a government office. So ultimately, a friend I knew said that he had worked in retailing for a month or so, before finally going for something better. It’s been more than a year now, and I still feel like better days are a distant prospect.”
Some passers-by couldn’t help but turn an eye towards them, doing their best not to make it look obvious. Ranjana noticed this and returned a scornful expression. Immediately, they felt uncomfortable and carried on with their evening. Viraj said, continually sobbing, “I feel so weak in that place. So alienated from everyone else. But that’s not what scares me the most. What does scare me is how I have let you down, Ranju. How I cannot give you the life that you should have. How will I bring you expensive gifts and clothes from the outside, when I have to worry about my next meal?”
His voice died down, as he said, “Maybe that’s why I didn’t come back. Because I could be spared from the shame of you seeing me for what I truly am. A failure.”
Viraj brought his knees closer to his chest, the air around him getting colder by the minute. All he wanted to do was to curl up into a ball and not be bothered by anyone or anything. This thought of his was interrupted when he felt a small weight on his shoulder. It was Ranjana who placed her arm around him, holding him in silence. He could not remember when was the last time someone had held him affectionately. Without saying much, he collapsed into her embrace, as the freezing, dark world around him suddenly seemed to be illuminated by some kind of warmth.
“You know what I think? I think that you can be everything, annoying, rude, cocky, whatever. But failure is not amongst them,” said she after a good long while.
He slowly looked up at her, as Ranjana fetched a handkerchief and slowly wiped his tears away. She said, “I know that Baba has always been harsh on you, and that bad things may have happened to you in the past dada, but what matters is today. You remember how we used to play Teen Patti during Dashain all those years ago?”
“Yeah, what of it?” said Viraj, trying to get a hold of himself.
“Remember how we used to always bet on the crown and lose? Well, that’s what you are doing right now dada. You are limiting yourself to that same old mindset that this will be your entire life. You have to maybe gamble a little, risk things you know? That’s where the money is at,” said she.
“So, what you’re saying is, I should risk it all?” asked Viraj.
“Yes, because sometimes the best option is to just ride out the waves and have faith that you’ll get through the storm. Besides, I know you will make it, do you know why?”
“Why?”
She grinned, trying her best to make Viraj replicate it, and said, “Because you’re MY brother, and everyone knows that I’m the best there ever is.”
Ranjana managed to get a small laugh out of him, as he said, “Oh Ranju, what would I do without you?”
Slowly getting up on her feet, she looked at him with eyes filled with goodness and said, “You couldn’t do anything at all! Now let’s go back home, I’ve learnt how to make some killer soup while you were gone!”
The pounding of the heavy rains against the plexiglass of the mall atrium was creating an almost demonic yet soothing sound, like an old sleeping dragon, unbothered by anyone or anything. Monsoon had set in Siliguri, and all of its residents could feel the constant wetness on their skins, combined with the effervescent heat that was constantly present in the air. Many welcomed it with open arms, allowing themselves to be liberated by the watery onslaught. Others found it irritating, uncomfortable and downright dreadful. For Viraj, it gave him some respite from the aridity of the summer months. This gave him a tiny reminder of how the monsoon is back in Darjeeling, of how he used to get completely drenched while coming home from school, and how his mother had a hot bowl of soupy noodles ready for him.
He thought of how it had been more than a month since the incident with his father. He stayed only for a single night, despite Ranjana’s protests, for he did not want to escalate things any further. It did feel comforting though, getting to sleep on his old bed, within the warmth of the walls of his own house, without worrying about any pesky landlord or the morning shift. However, Viraj knew that it was impossible for him to stay there, his own conscience did not allow it. These thoughts of his filled his mind, as his ears started to get accustomed to the hum of the monsoon.
“Excuse me? Hello?” said a male voice, as Viraj was snapped back to tedious reality. He found himself standing beside small stacks of graphically designed t-shirts, with one such t-shirt in his hand, grey in colour. Before him was a boy, few years older than Ranjana, impatiently waiting.
“I’m extremely sorry sir, what was it you said?” replied Viraj, trying to come to terms with the world around him.
“I said, “Can you get me a size XL for this?”” said the boy smugly.
Viraj immediately started to sift through the piles of clothes beside him. The largest size that he could find was a Large. He turned to the boy, and with a disingenuous smile on his face, he said, “I am extremely sorry, sir. I believe that we do not have any t-shirts for your size.”
The boy scorned at him, and muttered the word, “lata” under his breath and departed. Viraj found it funny how when he put on that blue and green jacket on, he immediately lost all semblance of any humanity. There were many who would see him as an object, a toy, a pet who would adhere to each and every command. Countless times was he sent to fetch things which were not required and expected to follow instructions to the letter. The blue and green stripped him of any humanity that he possessed, and compensated him with a pittance.
“Don’t mind that guy. I’ve encountered like 5 of those already today, and 2 of them were creeps hanging around in the women’s lingerie section,” said Pallavi, standing across him next to some ethnic clothes.
Viraj slowly headed towards the section and stood beside her. For over the past year, he was under the impression that she was always younger than she looked. However, it was at that moment when he realised how the years had taken a toll on her. Call it age, or maybe some other external factor, but she seemed worn out and tired.
“By the way, di. I wanted to ask you something,” said Viraj, leaning closer towards Pallavi.
“Go ahead,” she replied, while she hung kurtas onto some cloth hangers.
“Why did you not leave?” he asked.
“Leave what? I don’t get you,” she answered, as she tossed aside the orange piece of clothing in her hand.
“I meant all this, you know? You have been here for so many years. Maybe you could have been elsewhere,” said Viraj inquisitively.
Pallavi turned and faced him, and it was the first time he could see it. Her eyes, they felt heavy. They conveyed a sort of exhaustion and weariness that each and every fibre of her being was experienced. She tried almost everyday to relinquish this vulnerability, but even the mightiest have their bitter moments. Viraj could notice this because he experienced the same, albeit to some milder degree.
She took a deep breath as though she were bracing herself to the wave that was to come. She spoke calmly, in a voice that feigned acceptance and said, “I stayed because I got comfortable.”
Perplexed, Viraj asked, “Comfortable? How is any of this comfortable?”
“What’s not comfortable? I earn enough to get myself at least one hot meal a day, stay in a small but acceptable place and send money back home at times, even if it is just a little,” she replied.
“And doesn’t any of that make you feel ashamed?”
“What should I be ashamed of? I am an earning woman after all.”
“What can you not be ashamed of di? You and me, we fold clothes for a living! Everyday we spend in here, we can feel the leash tighten around our necks,” said Viraj.
“Viraj, calm down,” urged Pallavi.
“But I am calm. Every day for the past year I have been calm. And look where that has got me?” said Viraj, his words refusing to stay within him. He pinched his jacket and said, “Whenever we put this on, its like we lose a part of ourselves di! How many times have people used you as a punching bag? How many harsh words are you willing to face? How many fetch quests do you have to complete before they start seeing you as Pallavi again, and not some remote-controlled toy.”
Pallavi remained quiet, turning her gaze away from his. Viraj continued, “So let me ask you this di. How is any of this ‘comfortable’?”
There was a brief moment of silence between them, with the heavy clattering of the rain from outside the store filling the gaps of sound. After a while, she spoke, “And where else would you go? If you don’t find this comfortable, what other choice do you have?”
“I-, I could choose to go back home,” he blurted out.
“Oh really? Then why didn’t you go back even a single time this past year? Need I remind you of what happened the last time you went back?” she said while going on the offensive.
“Things can be different this time,” he replied with uncertainty.
“I really don’t think they will. Do you know why? Because you are afraid of accepting things the way they are, Viraj.”
He silenced himself. What Pallavi said was nothing but the whole truth, and he knew this. Following this, Pallavi spoke, “Enough of this nonsense now. Go back to your section, I see another customer in need of assistance.”
His ears had almost numbed themselves. His face was engulfed in flames, as he could feel the heat emanating from it, the paleness of it replaced by a red undertone. The room around him seemed to be get smaller by every passing minute, its walls constricting him, crushing every bone in his body. Before him stood a demonic figure, clad in suit and tie, his hands on the desk clustered with files and random sheets of paper.
“I have been looking at your performance these past few months,” Ajit said, eyeing Viraj’s mannerisms, “Sufficed to say, it hasn’t been quite satisfactory.”
The lad continued to look towards the ground, unable to bear sight of the demon. He could feel his gaze, so full of dominance, pierce his being. Ajit continued, “The higher-ups have told me, in fact to almost all the stores around the country, to do some “restructuring.””
Viraj continued to stare at the cold, cemented floor. He started to develop a kind of sensation, one where he could feel a sort of heaviness weighing down on him.
“So now I am left with two options. The first one seems to be the wisest one, which is to fire you,” said Ajit, as Viraj felt a sharp jolt of fear in his chest. With a smirk on his face, Ajit continued, “Or, there is the other option. I can choose to keep you, but then I will have to cut your pay for a month, no actually, make that two.”
He knew that the demon wanted him to beg, to get on his knees and completely submit himself to his will, in hopes of getting a lighter sentence. Ajit said, “So, Mr. Viraj, I’m guessing you should go back outside and attend to some very valuable customers.”
Viraj calculated what would happen in the next few minutes. The same old apathetic humans would greet him outside. In the years that followed, he would be stuck in his own demented version of “comfort,” one which meant living a sub-standard life, categorised by prejudice and servitude. He realised that he would become a part of a large demographic, young men and women held back by the same restrictions. It was at that moment, Viraj was gripped by an unspeakable force, one which allowed him to have an epiphany. The weight which had been weighing him down were chains, rooted to the ground. The same chains were binding Pallavi, and the countless other people like him, youths with unfulfilled promises, forced to compromise their own dignity for ‘stability.’
Ranjana’s voice echoed in his mind, telling him to take a leap, to take a gamble against fate. Viraj was now faced with two options. He could choose to accept ‘stability’ and all the harrowing struggles that came along with it. Alternatively, he could snip the chains that bound him, choosing to take on the uncertainty of freedom, and the harsh challenges that came along with it. He knew what needed to be done.
“I do not think that will be needed,” replied Viraj firmly. The room around started to loosen its grip around him.
“And why is that?” Ajit asked, suddenly sitting up in his chair.
Viraj replied calmly, making sure not to waver in his speech, “Because I quit.”
Ajit leaned forward and said, “What did you just say?”
“You heard me, I quit! Find someone else to dominate and manipulate, because I am done with you,” replied Viraj, a fiery passion taking hold of his body. He turned to leave the manager’s office, his handle of the knob of the door.
Ajit scoffed and said, “Good luck finding someone who will accept an immigrant like you!”
Viraj turned around and faced him, his heart wrought with intrepidness. Locking eyes with the demon that stood before him, he said, “I may have a different skin colour than you, my eyes may be different compared to yours and yes, I may look like I’m Chinese. But in no way am I an immigrant. One day, I will show you what this ‘immigrant’ can do. Besides, what’s so special about you anyways? Wearing a suit and a tie, and all you do is act like an old lady, nitpicking at other people.” Taking off his blue and green jacket, he slammed it on the ground. A tremendous weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and he saw the demon that stood before him for what he truly was, a mere mortal.
Ajit sprang up from his chair, his voice rising with temper, “Wait, you can’t speak to me like that! What you’re doing is foolishness!”
Composedly, Viraj replied, “Maybe it is, but at least I’m deciding for myself.” He stormed out of the manager’s room, and into the open. He brushed past the seemingly endless piles of clothes for the final time, vowing never to return. He saw Pallavi standing there, who stopped folding some clothes and looked at Viraj. He smiled, almost finding it difficult to get used to the action after quite a while. Pallavi stood there, perplexed, as Viraj made his way past the other attendants, all tethered to the store.
Moving the automated doors of the store, he found himself standing still amidst a constantly moving crowd. The pounding sound of the rain continued, and so did the humdrum of the various people around him. Strangely enough, Viraj found within himself the silence that he had longed for, a kind of peace which he relished. Foreboding thoughts of the future’s uncertainty did accompany the said silence. However, for Viraj, he was ready to face them with no hesitation, for it was on that day that he had shed his shame, being born anew. With the assurance of his conscience by his side, he walked away, ready to rebel against cruel fate.
