In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 6)

                                                            11.Flash Forward


 May 2012.
 

Two years came and gone since I read my mother's diary. The puzzle left by that diary took me to nook and corners of the country, in search of her. Something made me believe that she was still alive. I came to conclusion that  she didnt elope with some college student or went to Bombay to become new dimple kapadia. Something horrible happened in that house, that made her unstable, and made her almost crazy.
 

I was hungry. 5 rupees was all I was left with.The thrill of mystery had been transformed to sadness. Thrill is thrill when you solve other people's problems, not other wise.Sad.Sad.Sad. Where was sherlock holmes when I wanted him the most? I wished he existed. I would have gone to london and to baker street, and beg him to take up this case. I was sure he would have shown very keen interest in this unique missing person's story. I wished he was not a character of some fucked up imagination of Doyle.
 

Indian hot summer it was. No, it was the south indian hot summer. The sun was at 12, right on top of my head, blasting heat as if it was in a hurry. For how many millions of years its gonna burn like that. Why does sun burn like that? Why is it committing suicide at a faster rate every minute? Just like people who shine and burn away. Just like people. But my mother was not shining, she was hiding.
 

"Is she thinking about me? Does she care for me? what kind of mother would not want to see her grownup son? What are the reasons behind her disappearance? What is she eating? she is she wearing? what is she talking? Did she age graciously? Why not even a letter? why not even hint? am I going crazy?"

 My tshirt became oversized along with my jeans. I must have lost almost 20 kgs.

What could I possibly buy with 5 rupees? I could buy some fruits, but for how much time would they stay in my stomach before it cries again? "Food is a chemical, so is manikchand", I reasoned. Bought manikchand, tore it open and dumped it into my mouth. It worked fast.Suddenly, everything looked hopeful, and my confidence returned. I felt happy for the reason that I felt hopeful. Hope gives happiness. Happiness does the rest.That happiness stayed for exactly 3 mins, and then my head started spinning, and I puked whatever left in my stomach.'
 

I sat on the footpath, beside the wall. The cars were honking and people going somewhere. Whenever my head spins, I get this keen sense of sound. All those people going somewhere, somewhere important. Then I heard a sound of coin dropping on my feet -- it was one rupee coin. As I was looking at it, it dawned upon me that I earned my first rupee as a beggar. That thought repulsed me. Me?? Beg?? R u kidding me! I angrily threw away the coin. I noticed a young woman with torn clothes begging 5 feet from me. I got up and sat beside her. She looked at me with the same way Microsoft looks at its competitors, hostile!

I said to her, " Look here fucking slut. I am not here to beg"

She didnt quite get my drift.

I said, " The thing is that, society already reserved different sections of the street to different people. Right now, I belong here"

No response from her.

I was a beggar by position, and a mad one by lack of will to beg. I wanted to understand my humiliation. "Why am I humiliated to beg?" One country is begging from the other, one employee is begging the employer, one interviewee begging the interviewer, the godmen begging from devotees, bride grooms begging from the brides.Some one is begging for love. Everyone is begging from someone.You may say that they are not begging, that they give something in return.

The beggars give back too. The beggars give back the sense of " I am better", a sense of proud and fake "altruism".The sense of "I am better than someone" is essential for the illusionary world we live in. There will always be begging, just like prostitution, just that the style changes a bit.

I had all this understanding. But, I refused to beg. I could not run away from the programming, from the false pride.
I suffered. I made a couple of friends among the beggars. They didn't trust me much. A slip of English or even good Telugu made a normal beggar in to 'mad' beggar, and they didn't trust mad ones.So, I was kept at a distance

Fucking assholes they were. People romanticize poverty too much. The basic nature of all human beings is survival, and  in this society survival became synonymous with greed. Fucking beggars stole my shoes.

I spat where I sat. I shat a few feet from where I slept. The smell of piss and shit was horrifying for the first few days.After a few days though, it felt like home. I ate from food left on the roads, near marriage halls..and wherever rich people partied. But, I never begged directly by asking someone. No matter how much I wanted to run away from the pride, I still felt proud in the fact that I was better than these beggars, by not begging. Whats the fucking difference? I refused to answer that question.

A month after my experiments on the sidewalks of the street, I got bored of it. It was the same shit everyday, the same struggles every day. No difference between a software programmer and a beggar, in the sense that a man gotta do whatever he gotta do in a day to survive.  Lie, cheat, steal,beg; sometimes in the name of law, and sometimes in the name of morals and most of time just by being animals.

I was disrespected by the patrons(?), spit and hitupon sometimes. What horrible things did I do to deserve disrespect and saliva. Between throwing away food and trash can ---- I exist. I was the in-betweenist scavenger. That was my contribution to the society.

Well, some people thought that I was not contributing enough.

On that night it was drizzling, as if the rain wanted to take away the heat and shit on the streets. I didnt eat food for the last few days as the marriage season was over. My clothes were torn completely and what ever left needs large quantities of detergent.My hunger and weakness took away the shame. Its like when you are dizzy and about to fall, you just give up all your shame. You have to!

The cool breeze made me sleep. Nothing can beat the nature's AC. I slept like a hibernating bear at the end of her hibernation. I slept looking at the sexy wall poster of some new tollywood actress. I dreamt touching her boobs and caressing her ass. She spat on me, looking at me with disgust. I gave her a tight slap, and she became my slave. I told her to get down, and I dropped my pants.I was about to cum when I felt a sharp pain on the left side of my cheek. Who ever disturbs a person during his/her orgasm must be shot to death. Never mess with the 'high' of a person..either it is power or orgasm.

I woke up from my dream to the realization that I was being hit like a street dog..by three obviously angry men. They were not uncouth or in any way belonging to the street. They seemed to be educated, working class men, with their in-shirts and boots. I wondered why they were angry. I had an erection and it came out for air through the large hole in my pant. I knew the basis of their anger. Limp dick was fine..erected ones not so. I was the 'mad' 'pervert' beggar. I deserved some boots on me. I could see the anger in their faces, and the disgust on the faces of onlookers. They wanted punishment. They were part of the stoning.

Then, some brave guy among the onlookers got an idea, after I gave up my struggles. He took  a large rock and dropped it on my head.I was asking, 'Why?' 'Why?"..Tear automatically came, and the wounds on the other parts of the body became small fish. The big fish was the wound on my head. My head started bleeding, and the tears got mixed with blood. I never saw such amount of blood in my life..it formed a puddle around my  head. I guess, the sight of blood stopped their lynching. Either they felt bad for me, or they remembered the laws of the land. I tend to believe the latter. Then, I went in to coma -- unconscious and then to deep sleep.

I woke up to the sound of crickets. It was all dark, but I could hear the sound of the traffic. It must have been  midnight.

I was wrong. I woke up because of a rape in progress...or lets just say necrophilia or more accurately comaphilia. It made me laugh.Words came out, when my body lamed out.

                                                    

                                           The difference between great men and others,

                                            is that, great men don't get erection

                                            looking at the powerless.

It startled those perpetrators a bit. I guess they thought I was dead. The fact that I was concious didnt stop  them. The fact that I was learned didnt stop them. Someone pushed a dick in my mouth, and I bit it with all my strength. Wrong move, rapist!

I dont exactly remember what happened next. I spit out a bit of dick along with its blood, and then I saw a fat man down on his knees shouting with pain. A few seconds later, some rocks were dropped on my head. I wished newton saw that amazing power of gravity. It was not lynching, it was postmortem.

Then, I died. I thought I died. Whats the fucking difference!!!