Story 5: The Alphabet Soup

She called him at three-fifteen in the morning. He did not know what the time was. Her voice had a sense of undying urgency to it. His was just sleepy, but he did recognize her. The woman who had moaned in the closet, the woman who had almost borne the fruit of his seed, the woman who was falling for Ajay but never will - The woman who Ajay had sworn off along with all the other things he had sworn off lately. But as soon as he heard her voice, he craved for more of the same things he had vowed to never touch again.

A man's best friends are his vices, till he chooses to abandon them. They return as twins in the circus of the twenty-four hour periods called days. They return as uneasy sweats and tremors, as angst and fury, as grinding teeth and the plucking of every hair on the head and everywhere else - they return as painful reminders of the pain that they drowned. All Ajay wanted was a sip of Vodka to warm his chest, a puff of nicotine to ease is head and a taste of Purple Haze to forget where he was. The phone rang some more and he realized that hanging up never stopped a person from calling back. He picked up this time.

Hello he whispered.

Hi she said.

How are you ?

I am good. You ?

I am good as well.

I'm sorry for calling you at this hour.

I don't know what the time is.

Even better.

What did you want ?

I have a confession to make -

Go ahead..

Can we meet over coffee tomorrow ?

Can't we just do this on the phone ?

I have to see you..over coffee. Its important.

I don't even know your name..

I know yours, Ajay. Tomorrow, I'll wait at 5:30 at The Sundae Place..

I may not show..

I'll wait.

Okay..

Bye, Ajay.

She did not wait for him to say bye. Ajay's mind raced all night. Nobody had ever even offered to wait for him. The woman he waited for - Meena - was gone. The only woman he ever wanted was gone. He wanted to make it to the coffee shop to tell her off - this unnamed woman. But he did want to see her. Seeing her could lead to the very vagaries that he wished to leave behind - the vagaries of one night stands, the icy nature of another casual relationship, the cold stare of a non-lover after having sex with her. Ajay had left that behind him as soon as his eyes met Meena's on a gloomy Wednesday.

Meena had brought sunshine to Ajay's loneliness. She had brought him hope. The spark he had carried in his heart for so long had come to flame only to be doused by cold and cruel waters of the abyss of time. Ajay did not want to go to The Sundae Place, he wanted Meena, not the Unnamed Woman.

At three-twenty two, Ajay lay awake in his bed. Thinking of his childhood with Meena, his rezendevous with women he could hardly remember names of, The Sundae Place. It then dawned to Ajay that he had never been in a relationship. He had never told a woman that he loved her. He had never fallen into the trappings of a lifestyle dictated by the co-dominant nature of personalities. He had never woken up next to a woman he wished to hold close to him all his life. In fact, all he ever wanted to do after having sex with a woman was to pack up and leave, only to call her again if he ever wanted some much needed intimacy. Such was his life.

Ajay had been careful to never become an Ex or a Why in the alphabet soup of relationships. Yet
he was in one at Three Twenty Five in the morning. Between The Sundae Place, pursuing Meena and letting it all go to start afresh, Ajay liked the third one the best. He wanted to start afresh - fresh like the twinkle in a lover's eyes right before kissing her, fresh like her warm breath on his neck, fresh like playing with her hair on a starry night - all the tales of romance that filled up pages in classical writings, in movies around the world and in glorified history, Ajay wanted to feel them all. He would dream about them and smile. He would see Meena's face and smile. He would see the stars and smile.

At Three-Thirty One Ajay lets out a slight snore that disappears in the drone of all the sounds an old house makes right before dawn.

Story 4: Wednesday.

Between the pen and paper lies a graveyard of thoughts. A medical school application, a cover letter to an entry level clerical job, an application to volunteer as a geriatric care-giver, a pledge to support Ethiopian AIDS orphans, a letter to mom, an apology, a letter professing his undying love for Meena - All had found a quiet death in the vast fields of molecular gaps between electrons and their nuclei.

Ajay rarely mourned his dead thoughts, except on gloomy days. Today is a gloomy day. Clouds hang like body bags, mourning the impending death of more thoughts. More good work, more potential, more, more, more would find itself in the vast expanses of the universe. That's the thing about thoughts, they rarely find their way back to the paper - they just disappear.

Ajay Ramaswamy had peaked when he was twelve. He loved to doodle constructively, wrote a book full of poetry and was actually in love with someone.

Today though was a gloomy Wednesday. Ajay had never given it much thought, but today he realized he ate less than his everyday quota when there was no one sitting across from him. It made him sad to hear himself chew on some leaves. Loneliness followed him even into his stomach through his food. He looked around him - young lovers - girl sleeps in boy's arm as his fingers lay entangled in her hair.

To sleep in the scent of a beautiful woman's hair, Ajay thought.

He had forgotten that feeling. He did not care to remember it. To him it had become just another one of his usuals - the feeling of appreciation that turned into loathing each time he saw someone unlike him. Their smiles turned into his despair, their happiness somehow found a way each time, to awaken his misery, making him lonelier.

And then she walked in. A woman with a cute nose, dark eyes, a mischievous smile on her shapely lips and hair that Ajay was sure he could play with all day. He had seen her before. Perhaps in another life, he thought. But he did not believe in reincarnations and Gods and fate. So what was this woman doing here ? And why here ? Of all the places in the big campus cafe, why on Ajay's table ? Of course, he did not question anything. He just pondered on how to break the ice.

Hi, she says while he broods over a thunderous way to begin a conversation.

Hi !, he replies

First Year ? she asks.

You'd be surprised..sixth.

Six years in this dungeon ?

Higher education calls for great sacrifices. I'm Ajay.

I'm Meena. Wait. Ajay ? Ajay Ramaswamy ?

His heart stopped, skipped and started pounding again. He felt blood rushing through his veins as a big smile crept up his mouth. Meena on the other hand was expecting a reply.

I knew it ! You looked familiar the moment you sat across from me ! How are you !

I'm good. My parents made the move four years ago..

Ajay didn't belive in luck, fate or God but suddenly found all three together sitting across from him chomping on an organic wrap.

What are you doing here ? First year ? Finishing up ! God ! I'm so glad to see you !

I'm happy to see you as well. I'm finishing up my Human Bio major, you know my parents. Med-school seems to be a divine calling for Indian parents.

Their conversation was interupted by the blinking green light of her Blackberry Something. She picks it up.

Hi Sweets ! she exclaims into the phone. She gets up the finish the rest of her conversation.

In an instant Ajay knew who she might have been speaking to. He knew he had lost the love of his life to Fate, to Time, to Misfortune. He gets up and walks away hoping to never see her again.

The only time he had cried over a girl was when he was twelve. That was when his parents decided to move out of the old country and into the new. Ajay cried a bucket of tears when Meena came to see him away. He cried a bucket of tears on the twenty-two hours it took to cross the Atlantic. Ajay cried a bucket of tears in the weeks forth because he missed her so much. Ajay never failed to include her in his dreams. In more ways than one she was his immunity from heartbreak. For as long as he had her as a constant in his life, noone could ever break his heart. For each time he walked away from a woman, he knew he could always hope for Meena to be yearning for him in a distant land.

On this gloomy Wednesday a heart was shattered by a hammer that'll never know about it. The mind of course, will never forget.

Story 3: Benny Verghese

Benny Verghese was the oldest of four brothers. The other three after him were not very important in the lives of Benny's classmates, although to him, they were the most important people in the world. Of course, they were. Benny hated his parents. Then again, most fifteen year olds do. But Benny was different, he was the only eighteen year old in his grade 10 class.

Roll number twunty-too..

Yes miss, replied Ajay.

Roll number twunty-tree..

No response.

Roll number twunty-tree..

He is not feeling well miss, said Ajay. Benny Verghese was number twenty-three. To Ajay, Benny was like an older brother. If only Benny knew Ajay looked up to him.

In later years Ajay would often wonder if it was undying, unrequited love for Benny that had prompted him to cover up for Benny's absence in class. He would not give the thought more than half a second in fear that somehow his sexuality might be compromised. Ajay suffered from mild homo-phobia that plagued most of the heterosexual male populace. Although once he did not have any problem professing his love for Benny at a reunion albeit slightly under the influence. Later he did add that it was brotherly and non-sexual. Benny was someone Ajay wished had stood up for him, while the teacher beat the living day lights out of him for lying about a fellow student's leave of absence. If only Benny knew.

To Ajay, Benny had always been an eight-ball solution. At work, when the boss barked down Ajay's throat at work or in school when a sullen professor handed back a D-grade assignment, he would often think What would Benny do ? The reply to this question would mean he would have to pick a fist fight with his grumpy superiors, be dragged to a police station and then spend the night outside a church - drunk, so that in the morning, a kindly nun would offer him warm milk and some sound advice.

Benny's solutions were always too impractical for logical and self-confessed bores like Ajay. Circumstantial complacency had become an inherent part of his nature. To console himself, Ajay called himself a survivalist, but in the heart of heart - he was just another grey soul with no balls whatsoever.

Why Benny ? Why now ? Because Ajay is at work today - the ministry of white out, where there are no bosses to yell at him, or superiors that shine a light through his ears to check for brains. He just has a chatty receptionist, Brenda - a fifty-five year old with more make up than KISS and David Bowie put together. Boredom made him go back in time, and wonder what Benny might be up to.

Back in 1997, when the whole world was latching on to Hotmail and Yahoo, Benny had given up letter writing, simply because he had nobody to write to. He was without an address, because his parents had kicked him out after a short tryst with ganja, more specifically, his brother's ganja. Benny covered up for his brothers at home much like Ajay covered up for him in class - agreeably the most thankless job in the world. All of this meant, Benny could not be contacted, ever.

Benny existed only in stories at reunions. His adventures ranged from getting kicked out of Australia for impregnating his landlord's Catholic daughter, to becoming a Wanted Head in Kuwait for riling against his bosses' abuse of imported labor, to being a member of the Indian intelligence agencies - a far fetched rumour this was, because knowing Benny he would never ever volunteer or work for the government of anywhere. Who knows, Benny could be Ajay's neighbor for all that he knew. The odds of bumping into Benny around the corner were as high as they were low because with Benny Verghese anything is possible.

And then Ajay heard a familiar voice. A voice that he had heard almost a decade ago, when he was fifteen. He asks Brenda to stop talking and follows the voice that leads him to his boss’ door. Ajay’s heart beats faster. Could it be Benny ?, after all with Benny Verghese anything is possible.
Ajay does not bother knocking on the door and opens it.

A dark haired man sits across the boss, with his back to Ajay.

Benny !, Ajay exclaims.

The dark haired man turns around and smiles. The face looks familiar to Ajay, but he is not sure.
Benny ?, he inquires again.

I’m sorry ?, the dark haired man throws a quizzical look.

Could you please knock next time ? growls the boss.

Ajay closes the door behind him a little dejected.

I’m sorry Mr. Pascal, he is an entry-level temp. Believe me our little firm is all about opportunities, and second chances, as you just witnessed.

The two mid-level executives share a laugh. The kind of laugh that only starched collars could afford.

Pascal Ajay sighs and gets back to his desk and Brenda and thinking about roll number twenty three.

Two more hours to pack up. Why is the clock stuck at three ?

Story 2: The Indian Summer

Floss, bleach, brush - once with Sodium BiCarb and then again with Colgate-Super Whitening toothpaste. He was very particular about this nightly routine. A routine that not only gave him a dazzling smile, but had also, in the process of doing so, made his teeth sensitive. At 23, Ajay could not eat sweets, because his jaw would hurt for a day and a half. And then came Sensodyne.

So, now, Ajay's nightly routine had to accommodate one more member. These additions have to stop was that last thing to enter his mind as he drifted to sleep. Clouds gathered in the night sky to hide the moon.

October skies have never been kind to the soul, but then again, which wintry night has ? September eloped with August, making October wait for November. Like a woman scorned or a particularly vindictive man, October lashed and whipped the poor working class, the commuters, the cyclists, the motorists, the factory workers, the children and uncategorized snorers like Ajay Ramaswamy.

While his nights were quite unremarkable, unreflective, Ajay's wake up hours were unusually existential. He was never in a rush. If he had to show up for work at 8:30, he would wake up at 8 am and stare out of his window and think to himself, as he ponders today, Is this all a dream ? Can sleep itself ever be a dream ?

His mind wanders to his grandparents' Gujarati verandah, more a marbled porch than a gardened terrace. His mind takes him back to when he was five.

The scorching afternoon sun meant the elders took a nap. This left five year old Ajay and his seven year old neighbor Meena to frolic in the construction sand dropped off by government contractors. Today, Ajay and Meena would build the largest house in the world - with Sabarmati sands. They had an hour to design, break ground and execute this epic project. Meena digs into the soft mound, while Ajay looks for small chunks of clay.

The foundation gives way after fifteen minutes of hard labor and the project is quickly shelved. Meena and Ajay retreat to the cool verandah - two little refugees. Ajay babbles on about how they should steal some bricks next time, while Meena scans the asphalt landscape for mirages that carried stories of far away lands. Yes they do carry stories, she would exclaim with the sort of wisdom that only a seven year old could effectively convey, each time Ajay mocked Meena's beliefs. For five, he was logical, too logical bordering on Spockish pragmatism.

I saw my parents kiss last night, Meena says. Ajay stops talking immediately.

Really ? On the mouth ?, his eyes widen.

Yes.

That's bad, no ?

Well, my mom said, its ok.

Its not ok ! Its bad to kiss. My parents never kiss !

Its ok to kiss if you love each other.Meena's words often went far beyond the conservative nature of the place and era.

Ajay looks into Meena's big brown eyes, in disbelief.

Meena leans over and planted a kiss on Ajay's lips. Their mouths touch for exactly three and a half seconds. Meena withdraws.

Does this mean we are in love ? asks Ajay.

Do you love me ?

Ajay had woken up to a question that was best left unanswered. In almost two decades after his summer kiss on the verandah, Ajay had become an expert at dodging matters of the heart. His pondering stops with the ominous buzz of the cell phone. It buzzes twice and stops. It is a message from the mother of his almost-unborn.

Do you love me ?

Ajay leaves to brush his teeth and today, he will skip Sensodyne.

Story 1: The First (un)born

My period is delayed she mentioned non-chalantly.

Ajay had never thought about the repurcussions of unprotected sex.

It had been a month ago, at a friend's party. Ajay called home and informed that he would be crashing at his friend's place because the bus service would be cancelled. Of course I'm not drinking. I don't drink, mom! he said on the phone and hung up. Pink Floyd played on the old boombox as a joint went around the room and then again.

To Ajay, the room was going around him. A hand got hold of his biscep and the next time he opened his eyes, he was in a closet with a topless woman who was fumbling with his belt buckle. The night was wild, music loud and raw lust was evening's chosen dress and what was to happen, happened.

A month and a few weeks later, she signed on to our favorite chat messenger service. A few hi's and hello's were exchanged. And then came inevitable.

My period is delayed she mentioned non-chalantly.

His world stopped. His heart stopped. And then started up again. This time he could feel his heart pounding under his forehead. How could this ever happen ?

Don't get emotional about it she told him. How could he not ? This was the first time it had ever happened to him. Images of bloody axes, lynched babies and half born fetuses clouded Ajay's mind as he Googled abortion clinics in his area. If we are to undergo this, we'll do it together.

And then the phone rang. It was the mother of his possibly unborn child. She requested a pregnancy kit. Within the next three and a half mintues Ajay was at the cornerstore pharmacy run by the old Indian couple, ordering a pregnancy kit.

The old man knew Ajay's parents. News would spread across town, especially in this day and age of fiber optic cables, telephones and the internet - the internet ! Ajay's stories would be on a blog by the end of the day, in forwarded e-mails, the CAS might be contacted by the end of the week and his parents would have a heart attack within forty-eight hours. What's a boy to do !

Ajay paid for the pregnancy kit and was at the house of the mother of his possibly unborn child. She thanked him for it and asked him to leave. She said she would call him that night.

When is night ? When the sun goes down ? It was winter. The sun went down at four-thirty. Is it night ? No. Not yet. It'll be night, when she calls.

The phone rang.

Do they take returns on unused pregnancy kits.

Why ?

I just had my period. I'm usually late.

Ajay hung up. He would never see her again.

The Masala Boy - Prologue

All of the world’s rocket scientists would one day get together and have a proper debate about divinity, Godliness and other-worldly landscapes such as Heaven and Hell. They would go on to discover and establish the true nature of God and the other worlds. Once this is done, economists and entrepreneurs would conjoin their intellects to determine the fairness of various divine currencies. Computer techies would help build a computerized stock exchange, sacred doctors would alleviate souls, students would learn how to die properly, theology would be obsolete and Quantum Mechanics would be thoroughly understood, the curvature of the universe would be at the proverbial stone’s throw from us.

All these possibilities exist, but first – Ajay Ramaswamy had to find God.

Bowing down before the ornate marble statues of Hindu God Krishna and his cohort Radha, Ajay wondered if they ever existed or if they are simply glorified works of fiction, like Star Trek. He often wondered if there was even a God – an all knowing entity high up in the Heavens that looked over him and took an intricate interest in his’s day to day deeds – both vile and virtuous. At 23, Ajay was questioning the nature of this very entity who has been bestowed with infinite power, magnanimous authority and copious amount of respect by everyone that follows Him.

And then as the clamor of bells commenced and the smell of incense broke the solemn calm of his questioning mind, Ajay looked up – to his right was Chandran, his brother, two years his junior. Chandran’s eyes were closed and his lips moving in sync with the mantras being chanted on the loud speaker. For a second Ajay is tempted to slap his brother on the back, but he resists the temptation in an attempt to preserve the Godliness of such a sanctimoniously sacred venue.

Sanctimonious because Ajay knew that the priest who so sincerely seemed to be chanting away in Sanskrit had cheated on his wife with the temple maid – driving the 15-year-old lower-caste maid to suicide and his wife to medical insanity. Ajay knew this, because everybody knew this. This was a Sunday topic of discussion at breakfast tables across Hindu households in Scarborough, a little suburb of the burgeoning city of Toronto. Yet, today, the gossiping householders are gathered, at the best of their behavior, in a ceremony presided by a man who epitomized the term “despicable monster with pus-filled cysts” – even by non-religious standards. Here was a pedophile, wife beater dispensing morals to one and all.

Ajay realized the hypocrisy but who was he to change society. Even Plato couldn’t change society in his times, Ajay often thought to himself. Plus, he had a million other things to worry about – bad grades and graduate applications were the least of them – Ajay was more concerned about his own sly trades – sex, drugs, tobacco, alcohol and eating freshly slaughtered cow-meat every now and then. And yet, there he is – questioning, yet compliant. Sinning, yet the most virtuous.

So, at the end of the rabid chanting, belling, singing, dancing and incense burning, it was finally time for the prashad – the fat, diabetic lady at the end of the line had shot herself with two syringes of pancreas-juice to prepare her body for the onslaught of sugar that was coming. When Ajay’s turn came, he cupped his palms, looked down and accepted his prashad and popped it in his mouth. The questions, the despise and the sheer worries of his lifestyle on the sly – everything dissolved with the sugar on his tongue. Thirty seconds later it was time for him to go home – to the real world, a world almost plagued by pragmatism, technology, terrorism and other such universal evils that permeate our social realm, much like divinity.

Slipping his wet sneakers on Ajay gestures Chandran to hurry up. The brothers open the glass doors to their parking lot that has been raped by winter winds and has morphed into a big, black, block of ice. Resisting a bad fall, they slip into Ajay’s little red Honda Civic, skidding out of the parking lot, carefully pulling up to the main road and finally heading home.