A distant Celebration- A video Dedication

With your Birthday, I start my YouTube Channel "Wildfire Production"

Jonmodin (Dr.Kamalendu's 66th Birthday, 2015) 

Many happy returns of the Day Dr. Kamalendu Chakrabarti I can never express what you are to me. I can never write in words who you are in my life. If there is God, then I thank him for giving me his incarnation in you. If there is destiny I thank her for making me meet you. May your pains get healed. Bless me so that I can carry your education in myself. I may carry your words to the world, that's the challenge of my life.

  

About the Micro Film:

Based on an old uncle who is ageing, and promptly in his late sixties. He is the narrator's best friend and Godfather. On the eve of his birthday the narrator misses him a lot. So, she sends a birthday message to him. (Bengali Microfilm)

This is my first video story telling experiment. To see more videos stay tuned to my YouTube Channel.  

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Peter, Pattar Rain Drops

It started raining all of a sudden when the taxi was stuck in the traffic near the four point crossing of EM Bypass. The durga puja festival clogs the traffic like clusters of polythene in drain. I had no other way than to close the window glass. I helped myself with a better lean on the back. An started capturing the perspiration on the taxi window glasses. 

The rolling beads of the complex compound made me feel relieved of the sultry heat of the city. I felt hopeful for the upcoming days. Hope larked when I could take out the camera from the untidy backpack, and started clicking anything and everything.

Click One

When the rain fell on the glasses, I looked through the hazy. The hot air from my mouth made vapour on the glass. I felt like child. The unputdownable spirit of drawing a smiley on the vapour made me ecstatic. I remembered my childhood days, when I had tried hard to keep the vapours on the dressing table glass. I used to press my nose on the glass and breath heavily, and kept doing till I used to get a good area of vapour on the glass. I drew smileys on it.

Today in my almost mid twenties I felt the curious spirit of that old happy child. I drew the smiley.

Click Two

Click Three

BITCH ! - A short story

I was caught up in the sudden October shower on Thursday evening when I happened to meet Sanjay and his friend near the Elite Bar cum restaurant. I had a pile of newly bought clothes for my children in both hands. So I blurted a loud ‘Hi’ to Sanjay from the pavement of the shop.

---“Hello Gita, how are you?” Sanjay hugged me in ecstasies.

---“Sexy and beautiful as ever”, I shouted in my excitement. We were best friends from college and met like the thunder and lightning of an October shower.

---“Meet my friend Rana” Sanjay introduced me with his friend. I said a dry ‘Hello’ just the way I behave with stranger men. Rana shook hand courteously.

---“Gita you know you are my Goddess and you got to help us out and you are not going anywhere, but coming with me.”

Sanjay pulled the bags from my hands and almost dragged me by my hand inside the bar. “I will be late Sanjay, my kids are waiting.”

He did not listen to anything. We sat on a corner table, when the drinks were served he raised a toast, “This lady is my hi-school best friend, and I cherish those fond memories”, his words made me feel so warm and loved after years. After a drink was over I said, “ Sanjay I will make a move, my kids are waiting for me and their festival presents”.

“No…Gita, I will drop you home. We have a car. Don’t go now please”.

---But my kids are waiting for me dear.

---Give them a call, they are not kids anymore. They will understand. Just for your best friend, one evening you can’t?

---“Okay! Okay! Okay!” and I agreed.

I gave a call to my home landline nobody picked the call. I called in the emergency mobile thrice and on the fourth time, my Daughter picked the phone.

---“Yes Maa, when will you be back? I returned home just 10 minutes back, was caught up in the rain on the way back from school”, her words were like peace notes to me.

---“I shall be a little late beta, I happen to meet my old friend from college. You ask Sandhya Mashi for some noodles for you and your brother. I will get something special in my way back from the takeaway”.

She disconnected.

---“Done Madam?” asked Sanjay in his old Karaoke tone. I nodded a “yes”.

Sanjay grabbed me by my hands and said, “You got to help this man out”.

I was startled. “How on earth I can help him?” I asked looking bewildered at Rana.

---“See Rana had a different plan in his mind until yesterday evening when Maya proposed him a divorce”, Sanjay narrated. “Maya wants a divorce on petty grounds of inattentiveness of Rana, he is in a great distress. I am his friend I cannot help him. His wife is a very strict lady.”

---“Well, well, wait,” I asked for a pause, I looked at Rana “do you love your wife?”

---"Yes…" Rana almost whispered and broke down like a child, as if he was deprived of his favorite doll.

I felt envious of Rana’s wife. She is blessed to have a husband who cries for her. But alas! She wants to get rid of him.

---“Ok Sanjay, I can only take the case if my client speaks to me everything”. I declared professionally.

Rana was still sobbing hiding his face.

---“But he doesn’t want to take a divorce. Can you help?”

---“Then how can I help him if it’s not a legal matter ” I just blurted out, as I saw 8:30 pm in my watch.

Rana was drunk by then, Sanjay understood the urgency of the hour. He pooled Rana out of his couch to the exit and asked me to hold him for a while till he brings the car. In a while, my ordered Kababs and pulao were delivered at the takeaway counter. I turned to pay for the food, Rana fell down on the floor, I had no other option than to pull him up. I wondered if husbands really felt so broken before the divorce.

---“Maya, you are the only woman I ever loved, cared for. For whom all these wealth I have amassed?” blabbered the drunk Rana. Sanjay pulled him into the car, but Rana was holding my hand. I felt pity for the middle aged broken man. I moved in with the back seats of the car with Rana.

Sanjay was embarrassed, humiliated and confused. I looked at him through the rearview mirror. His frown was conveying his helplessness. I saw the drunk man lying on my lap, holding my hand like my son. I was drowning in a deluge of past memories. Rishi left me like this, a sudden divorce with a girl too small to understand the meaning of separation, always crying… I did not get the scope even to aggrieve my divorce. In a few days, I discovered I was pregnant.

Krichkkkkk…. Sanjay applied the brakes hard, and I was back to the reality.

---“Sorry, Gita. I gave you much trouble”.

---“Sanjay, don’t get so articulate. I know your troubles. Thanks for dropping me” I was about to go out of the car when Rana held my hand again, “Maya, you are the only woman I ever loved, cared for, don’t go, please… Please, Maya…”

I was trapped in the situation.

---“Sanjay bring him in. Park the car in the parking lot and bring him in”.

The watchman was startled to see two men with me. He gave me weird looks. I hid my eyes in embarrassment. A divorced Lawyer is also looked upon with questions if she is out of her routine world.

Sanjay pulled Rana into the lift. He was still holding my hand in a firm grip.

The lift walls were choking and making me weak for the man who has been holding my hand for past forty-five minutes. I was unprepared to face my children. My adolescent daughter would be misinterpreting the situation, my son would be demanding my time. Maid Sandhya would be expecting a bonus for the Durga puja. Beads of perspiration were soaking and dripping off confident lawyer in me.

---“It’s okay buddy, you are not here for the semesters”, Sanjay tried to loosen the tight air around us.

The lift reached to the fourth floor and opened. I rang the doorbell when Sandhya mashi opened the door.

---“Sandhya, they are my friends, they will rest here for some time,” I told and took Rana to the sofa.

---“ Maya, you are the only woman I ever loved, cared for, please don’t leave me”, Rana said again.

---“Okay! Okay! I won’t leave you…please leave my hand.

He ultimately left my hand. Rehan, my son came and grabbed me by my waist, “Mamma you are back”. I pulled him inside the bedroom and showed fingers on the lips. “Come we will have some Kabab for dinner”.

---“Maa, who are those drunkards in the drawing room?” asked my daughter in a cajoling tone.

---“Mimi they are friends, don’t talk weirdly” I did not appear like Mimi’s always friendly obedient mother.

---“You are changed so fast Maa”, she got angry and went, like a typical single parent’s daughter.

---“Didi, I gave coffee to them”, maid Sandhya was here to report me the current situation. “I think the drunk man is sick now, you come and see once”, she reported and departed.

Rehan looked confused and stared at me.

---“You are mamma’s good boy, you will not come out until I call you. Come on, play with the mobile, and mamma will be back”

Rana was sick with over drinking. “Sandhya di, give some lime water fast”, I hurried. Sanjay was looking like a helplessly lost child. Suddenly Rana was on the verge to puke. After the worldly ejection, when he settled down with his half perishing body I saw a known shadow in him.

---“Sanjay, just update in Facebook about this boozing evening. Don’t forget to tag me and Rana in it”

---“ But? Why?” He looked bewildered with my reaction.

---“Just do it” I commanded and left to the kitchen.

---“Sandhya Di serve the dinner, the kids must be hungry”, I ordered. “Open the guest room for them they will be staying tonight”.

I was risking my reputation in the social media. Sanjay hesitated to post such an update like youngsters. He again asked me on the dinner table, “Are you sure that we should update?” I nodded in affirmation. “Are you helping us out?” I giggled like my college days. So he updated, “Chilling with special friends and celebrating a negative day, with a new positive start”-feeling loved with Rana and Gita.

Rana was made to sleep in the guest room when we were dining. Rehan and Sanjay good well with each other. Sandhya’s doubts were off after a small conversation with Sanjay. The only rebel of the house had shut herself in the room and has revolted with a hunger strike. Sanjay went up to her door, knocked.

---“I am your mom’s childhood friend. Won’t you talk to me, young lady?” Sanjay called in the most alluring tone of his. After some time, Mimi opened the door.

---“Who are you and that drunkard? Why are you here?” I felt so exasperated by her overt behavior.

---“He is a friend and he is sad and sick. Please forgive us mamma”, we won’t drink again.

Sanjay made friends with Mimi too.

They went to sleep one by one. I took to my chamber. Sat down on my chair and leaned back, contemplating my mistakes. Gust of thoughts came in and out of my mind. I was living a ruined, loveless, deprived life within myself, I conclude myself to be a loser. When suddenly Sanjay rushes into the chamber.

---“Its Maya in the phone, she is calling me”, Sanjay informed in an awe.

---“I am a psychology manipulator Sanjay. Forgot about my counseling classes?” I replied in a confident grin. “Take the call”. I observed the clock, it was 1:30 am.

---“Hello”, said Sanjay putting the phone in the loudspeaker.

---“Where is Rana? He has not returned home”, Maya sounded tremendously anxious. “I saw your Facebook update Sanjay”… she continued.

---“Tell, I don’t know”, I whispered from behind. “Tell, hasn’t he returned?”

---“I don’t know Maya, hasn’t he returned?” Sanjay reiterated the same as I spoke.

---“From where he should return Sanjay?” She asked in an interrogative manner.

---“Well, he went to the lawyer for your divorce”, Sanjay took the lead, now he concocted his own story. “He must be there”.

---“Give me the address, I will go and bring him back now.”

---“Well, it's near Ruby Park Towers in the Eastern Bypass area, don’t risk at this wee hour Maya” Sanjay cautioned.

---“I will see how he is getting a divorce from me I am going right now”, Maya was shouting over the phone and disconnected.

---“She will call back again”, I told Sanjay.

---“Tell me your address”, asked Sanjay.

---“25/B Parimal Sarkar Street, Ruby Park, Kolkata-84”, I dictated as Sanjay jotted it down in a piece of paper.

In a while the mobile rang again, Maya called again, “Tell me the name and address of the lawyer now”.

Sanjay just told the direction, my name and address to the hysteric wife of Rana for whom he was holding my hand and confessing his love for her. “Maya I am also coming, don’t worry,” he said and disconnected.

I asked Sanjay to go to the reception and sit in the sofa, I knew she will again call him. She called him again after fifteen minutes. “What does that bitch think of herself? I won’t give him a divorce. Tell me where are you? Are you coming?” Sanjay replied a “Yes”.

---“Sanjay go, she can be here in no time” I hurried. He got out, went down. Sat on the sofa waiting for Maya. 

I was standing on the open lobby and went till the first floor just to see the reactions of the wife. I peeped from behind a pillar. Maya drove in fifteen minutes. The guard room asked for the appointment token, the night watchman called me and asked if I know anyone named Maya Mohanty. I asked them to keep her in the reception while I was watching the entire game from just a floor above, and could hear her quite loud and clear. I had asked Sanjay to keep his mobile recorder on so that her words could act as evidence later.

What the hell is going on between my husband and that bitch?' Maya's patience was at its lowest ebb and she was ready to burst.

Sanjay knew that she was serious. 'Look, Maya. There is nothing going on between the two of them. Just a little bit of healthy flirting, I'd say.'

'Flirting? Healthy flirting? Really Sanjay . . .' she rolled her eyes in disgust. 'That's what you men call it? There is nothing healthy about flirting, Sanjay, not for a married man.

Healthy flirting is a term introduced by perverted men who want to lend legitimacy to their extramarital dalliances. Flirting invariably has a sexual connotation to it.' She got up from her seat and walked around the room gesticulating and muttering something to herself. Suddenly she stopped, turned back, looked at Sanjay and asked, 'Did my husband sleep with her? You are his friend. Did he ever tell you anything about it?'

---“Now come on Maya! You asked for a divorce!” Sanjay exclaimed

---“So? He will sleep with that bitch lawyer?” She shouted.

I could only recall a night similar like this some six years back. Rishi slapped me hard on my ear. I asked him if he was dating someone! I had asked for the reason of Divorce. His slap was an awakening to me, from the soft subtle slumber of dependence. Since then my soul has not slept. But Rana was sleeping in the guest room snoring. His wife was hysteric about her loss. She screamed loudly when the watchman, guardroom people all came out and started hurly burly.

I reached the spot immediately.

“Mrs. Mohanty calm down please, it’s a residential complex, and it's 2:30 in the morning”, I calmed the situation.

“You bitch”, she was about to attack me when Sanjay and the guards stopped her. “You slept with my husband and now behaving like a pious woman?”

“Shall I call the police Mrs. Mohanty? Please calm down, or I will have to call the Police”. I spoke in a commanding tone.

She stopped, startled with my robust words.

---“Come up through the stairs, and take your Husband back home”.

Maya and Sanjay came to my flat in a while, I guided them to the guest room. Rana jumped up from the bed when he heard Maya’s voice. He was so happy to see Maya.

---“Come back home, I don’t want divorce”, Maya broke into tears on seeing Rana’s smile. The quivering load of saline was full in Rana’s eyes too. They hugged each other when I came out of the room. Sanjay followed me.

I heard Maya whispering to Rana in her, “Don’t leave me for this Bitch. I love you more than my own self”.

***

Dusking Night

A darkening evening brought me with many skeptical thoughts. And guess what? I am charged again to write my own poems. And here it goes....

How the Sun plunges deep?

Has he many promise to keep?

When the day dusk, does hope goes to sleep?

Does night has many promise to keep?

When I look through my window,

I see the world, has miles to go?

When I see the dark to creep,

Does night has many promise to keep?

If its never gets bright tomorrow?

Does death, not have a sorrow?

If never comes the day to peep,

Will night have many promise to keep?

If night never grows white, 

If dawn 'n dusk get into fight;

When will the hope lark?

Wish nights would never be dark...

***

Sparrows of Sunday

Sparrows are tiny playmates to me since my childhood days. I used to run behind them. I had only one wish, I wanted to catch one sparrow and kiss it. But could never kiss. Now I am grown up. I don't run behind them. But I keep clicking them whenever I fiddle with my camera.

The Sparrow

by Paul Laurence Dunbar

A LITTLE bird, with plumage brown,

Beside my window flutters down,

A moment chirps its little strain,

Then taps upon my window-pane,

And chirps again, and hops along,

To call my notice to its song;

But I work on, nor heed its lay,

Till, in neglect, it flies away.

So birds of peace and hope and love

Come fluttering earthward from above,

To settle on life's window-sills,

And ease our load of earthly ills;

But we, in traffic's rush and din

Too deep engaged to let them in,

With deadened heart and sense plod on,

Nor know our loss till they are gone.

***

Time Pass

।। কার নামে ।।

কার নামে ও গান লেখে ?

কার নামে ও চুপচাপ ?

কার নামে ওর কাজল কালো ?

কার নামে ওর মন খারাপ ?

কার নামে ওর ডায়েরি ভরা ?

কার নামে পেনের কালি শেষ ?

কার নামে ও ছবি আঁকে ?

কার নামে ও নিরুদ্দেশ ?

কার নামে ওর লাল টিশার্ট ?

কার নামে ওর গলার দাগ ?

কার নামে ওর কালরাত্রি ?

কার নামে ওর লাল সোহাগ ?

কার নামে ও বেঁচে থাকে,

কার নামে ওর দিন যাপন ?

কার নামে ও চিঠি লেখে ?

কার নামে ওর আত্মগোপন ?

কার যেন সে নাম লিখেছে,

খাতার পাতার শেষে,

কার নাম  যেন বলেছিল ?

তার নাম ভীড়ে মেশে।

কার নামে বেস পদবি বদল,

কার যেন বেশ বৌ হল ?

কার নামে কার নাম জোরে

কার নাম হওয়ার কথা ছিল ?

কার নামে ওর কান্না পায় ?

কার নামে ওর রান্নাঘর ?

কার নামে ও আপন ভেবে,

আজকে হল ভীষণ পর ?

তবু আজও,দেরাজ কোনে,

খুব গোপনে,

লুকিয়ে রাখা গানের খাতা

কার যেন সেই নাম লেখা,

ভড়া আছে শেষ পাতা ৷৷

                            -পালাকোড, তামিল নাডু/২৬.১০.২০১৩ 

Love Birds

Love nests in every heart. Love is perhaps the first feeling a life is born with. Love unites us, love binds us in a line of homogeneity, and cures us from all malice, and renders with malevolence. I love capturing moments with them who are unbound with the woos of human hatred, and the vices of cruelty.

Often I find these innocent creatures sitting and love making near my window sill. Mesmerized with the charm of togetherness, I love to photograph them in my heart, in my Blog.

Find more of them in the link below:
Comfortably numb SULU

ভাঙা ডাকবাক্স (Broken Letter Box)

"কত চিঠি লেখে লোকে,

কত সুখে প্রেমে আবেগে স্মৃতিতে ,

কত দুঃখে ও শোকে "

হাতি বাগানে একদিন ঘুরতে ঘুরতে পৌঁছলাম এক পরো বাড়ির দর্জায়, ক্যামেরা ছিল বলে সঙ্গে করে আনতে পেরেছিলাম সেই ভাঙা ডাকবাক্সটাকে। 

রিংটোন

চেনা রিংটোন যদি আর না বাজে ?

চেনা ফোন নম্বর বন্ধ ?

চেনা গলার স্বরে ,

কালসিটে পরে –

চেনা আলো গুলো সব অন্ধ ?

তবে,হৃদপিন্ডের জমা ঢিব্ ঢিব্-

জমা চিন্তার ফোঁটা বিন্দু ;

অল্প হলেও জরিয়ে ধরে –

“ তোকে হারালাম নাকি বন্ধু”?

চেনা চ্যাট্ বক্স,

চেনা প্রোফাইল,

চেনা চেনা কত কত কথারা –

পাইল হচ্ছে,ফাইল হচ্ছে,

তোকে না পাওয়ার জমা ব্যথারা –

কালো চুলের জমা জট্ ফট্ –

পুরানো চেনা চিরুনি,

এ তুই এসেছিলি,বুঝি কালকে,

তোর ২২ বছর আমি ভুলিনি ৷

নাকি ফিরবি আবার কালকে ?

আবার বকবি,এক বকুনি ?

নাকি আনবি চেনা Chocolate ?

“তোকে ভালবাসি এই টুকুনি ?”

জানি,চিনি তুই-

তবু ভয় হয় ৷

কেন নিস্চুপ,এই বাতায়ন ?

কেন নেই তুই আসে পাশেতে –

কেন বাজছে না তোর রিংটোন ?

P.S. This was published in a little magazine in 2014.

The Female Blood Pressure - A Short Story

1.30 pm; 27th March'15:

Kolkata

--- "Preeti Menon Roy; Preeti Menon Roy …"

I jumped up from the sofa elated. The smartly dressed Receptionist in her mid-twenties nodded to me with a smile.

“Ma’am you have an appointment?" "Yes, I do".

--- "Go straight and then to the left, take the lift to the 27th floor", she said with a practiced smile.

--- "Thank you", I blurted and scooted.

The envious glares of the five interview candidates signed me with their disdainful sneers. As I whizzed past them I chuckled inwardly attempting to gauge their simmering rage at what they presumed to be my “SC/ST RESERVATION QUOTA PRIVILEGE”.

 Following the directions of the receptionist I reached the 27th floor of the Kanishka towers. The lift doors opened and I was greeted by another Receptionist sitting tidy on her counter of extravagance; this one was in her early forties. She greeted me with a grave studied smile. Her eyes bore deep as if searching for the reason of my excitement.

I could not prevent the excitement streaming down my eyes. It was Mr. Sanjay Dikshit, the M.D. of Poushin Illusions, Sole Management Solution brand of India, who had manifested himself like the spring rain in the arid Thar. I could not restrain my enthusiasm at the prospect of my impending success. They seemed to be oozing out through each of my pores. I realized I was perspiring profusely.

--- "Straight through the lobby, fifth room to the left" - the lady smiled again, gazing into my soul.

--- "Thank you" - and I leaped within, and walked with more strident steps. My wild ecstasy echoed through the louder clippety clops of my heels on the matted wooden floor of the lobby.

I reached the ivory white door which bore the name plate of "Managing Director" in capitals.

I felt my racing pulse throbbing through my thoughts and my dreams. Unconsciously my hands rose to tidy my hair. I tucked in my blazer, looking through my spectacles at an unfolding glory as I knocked on the door.

--- "You may come in Ms. Menon," a deep subtle male voice answered.

I confidently opened the door, and entered the room.

--- "Good afternoon Mr. Dikshit" - I opened the conversation.

The Man was in his mid-forties. He was not at all that old as he should have been. I had not been prepared to face such a person.  My thoughts raced -He looks younger; the small double chin subtly proclaiming the rich filth of his success; the joined eye brows are crooked by origin; the healthy tan; the clean shave the grey suit; black celluloid framed glasses; a soul full smile on his brown lips. I had not faced such a handsome man in such close quarters. My thoughts were getting mixed up.

'Focus Preeti, Focus!' A small voice piped in. The tremendous surge of blood ebbed gradually.

--- “Sir, I am from 'New Focus India' and I want to make a story on you.”

--- "I know your details “Pretty lady". Dikshit spoke with an alluring grin.

--- "Sir, should I start on my Interview then?"

--- "Would you mind doing it with a cup of coffee with me?" he was deluging me with charm and I was drowning. Were all the rumors about him true? This man was a!!!

I was whipped into my senses! I hoped I had not made a fool of myself! I steeled my nerves.

--- "I don't take beverages. I have migraine, and my doctor advised me not to have stimulants “I purred yet assertively.

Dikshit looked through this glasses, "Ok then, let it be over a glass of Whiskey, or would you prefer Port? Though I don't drink during working hours, but interviews are like dates, you know. And when the reporter is such a beautiful lady of Keralite origin -- you are Keralite aren’t you?"

--- "Yes, my dad is a Keralite and my mother is a Bengali".

I was getting impatient -- my head was about to explode with a thousand invectives. I panicked if my lambasting combativeness betrayed itself. I turned on an extra degree of feline charm secretly breathing in deeply smile, to keep my female blood pressure in check.

Dikshit lifted himself from the chair and Grinned. "You must be getting impatient. I know… when I came from Gurgaon in 2001 at the dawn of the IT industry I was impatient just as you are, and inexperienced too"--- Dikshit played on with a hint of pride at his success. “But girls are good at home you know, or else they need to pay a lot for every fare in life” he teased and sermonized.

My appointment had been scheduled for 45 minutes. This Flirty Forty had already consumed up my 15 minutes with his driveling. The dazzling image of the man had evaporated my interest in the interview.

The bar was packed with various alcohols, kept showcased behind a glass door. I observed him carefully as he walked up to the door. I knew that time was running out but suppressed the urge to check my watch. I took a deep breath and stared counting in reverse under my breath.

"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four …

 Boom!!!

There were four blasts! Smoke! There was smoke and flames! The man standing there was ablaze! Up in flames!

The Alarm started ringing --

Water showered down.  I saw the misty view of the Room. I felt helpless and scared. I curled down on the floor. Benumbed, in the misty haze of all that was happening. I was surrounded by guards. Why were their guns pointing at me? The Guards were frowning down at me. They pulled me up by my hands, and dragged me along.

“I…I… I was here, for an interview. What happened?" I feebly protested. “

“Stop it young lady” they curtly cut me off!

"I work in News Focus India, check my ID card”, I kept on weakly but none bothered.

All the people in the lobby were staring at me. I closed my eyes. I could feel the blaming eyes ripping me bare. I was dragged into the security room. The locks turned outside. I was shut in. My… my mobile…. my hand bag was taken.

"This is wrong, I am a journalist, a lady journalist, this is harassment, leave me please … can anybody, hear me!” I was speaking to the walls closing in.

The doors were hurled open. I heard crowds, camera, police, media, the ambulance siren! Cameras flashed into my soul. Questions, allegations pummeled and lacerated my dazed conscious.

“That is Preeti Menon Ray the prime suspect in the murder of Mr. Sanjay Dikshit, MD of Poushin Illusions, Sole Management Solution brand of India. She entered the MD's room in a guise of a reporter, working in News Focus India and burnt him alive. She used a lighter as murder weapon… within 15minutes of the allotted time for her interview… she could not escape from the crime scene…investigation is on…" The reporters spoke agitatedly into the cameras.

“I am innocent…I have not done anything” I tried feebly.

"Why did you kill Mr. Dikshit? ..."How much did the other management solution Junkies pay you to kill”… “Is this the face of woman empowerment?”….my ears were ringing.

I could only remember the feeble voice of my Grandmother over the phone last night – how hurriedly I had booked my tickets for Delhi. She must be waiting for me.

I was being dragged into a van. I was pushed and jostled and elbowed. I was in the police station. A boy was being beaten severely. I was hustled inside a cell. And then calm, tranquil darkness relieved me.

7:15pm; 27th March 2015; 

New Town, Kolkata

The inspector slapped me hard on my left ear deafening me for a while. He was ramming me with his baton right into my ribs—his filthy digs and vituperations lacerated me like a knife… I could feel the raging female blood pumping through my aorta…

--- “I did not do anything' -- I screamed.

--- "The CC TV footage showed that you threw three paper weights and then the lighted lighter at the MD? We saw the bar blast. Did that happen just by itself you bitch? Miss Menon"

--- "I did not throw" -- I resisted and screamed.

--- "Kamala Di take charge of this bitch, beat her till she admits -- the CCTV is proof and she is still resisting", the inspector slammed down his boot on my feet snapping orders.

I howled in pain!

-- "Kamala Di …I have told repeatedly what actually happened…Please understand,” The lady constable choked hard on my neck. Dark breathless pain exploded into darkness.

When I came to it was night. My head was a little clearer now. I knew that within 24 hours the suspect had to be produced in front of the court, as per the writ (Habeas corpus) so I had to be produced before a Judge. Prime evidences needed to be produced -- I had to call my boss.

---"Inspector, I need to contact my lawyers and family -- I must be given that much freedom." I shouted from behind the bars.

--- "Yes Miss Menon, we will surely let you,” jeered the Inspector. But thankfully let me out of the cell.  I made the necessary few calls and my boss told me --"I will try to help".

--- "Hello Ammi, I am in a bit of a problem, so I cannot make it back tomorrow. It will take a few days, but you don't worry" -- I assured her.

--- "Beta, I may die soon". Her feeble voice was blinding me with tears.

Kamala Di pulled me back again and shoved me into the cell. I had no other option than to go inside.

I could not sleep. There was a different lady constable for the night shift. She was not hostile. I cried for hours, until 3 o'clock when I slept off on the dirty floor of the lock up.

The next morning broke with the clamors of a pick pocket, apprehended in his morning business. The Sub-inspector brazenly let him off on the promise of a hefty share of the loot and a ₹ 500 fine laced with a few invectives. The clock seemed to have stopped. 

"A trainee Journalist blazes the corporate Mascot of India" -- The Inspector read out the news as he entered the police station.

The jeering lechery of his tone set me ablaze. That irritating Kamala Di was there again. She was to hand cuff and drag me to the police van. I was to be produced in court.           

11:30 am; 28th March 2015; 

Barasat, West Bengal

As I stepped out of the van my eyes hungrily screened the crowds for a familiar face. I expected my office colleagues and the legal officer of Focus India to come to my rescue in this bedlam. No one had visited me at the police station strangely enough!

It was utterly embarrassing to sit with a rope around my waste inside the criminal cage. The disheveled man next to me moved away a little. I heard whispers of awe – “Murder case…terrorist...” So I was an untouchable in the criminal world! What was I? Why was I even here?

The files in red cloth, the old wooden benches, the man in the black coat, the swirling, shifting crowds seemed to swim in an eternal timeless vacuum. "My grandmother will die in a few days...I must be with her!” The words kept echoing through and through.

A voice cried out the arrival of the judge. I was nudged to stand. And again words and people and sounds from an unknown world sucked me into a vortex of confusion.

 “Miss Preeti Menon versus the State of Bengal in the matter of the murder of Mr. Sanjay Dikshit!” I jolted back into the courtroom.

 "My grandmother will die in a few days – I must be with her"—I blurted out before I was asked anything.

“Silence! Order!” The man in the black coat was looking sternly at me.

"Sorry My lord, we were late to arrive. We are from News Focus India", I heard Satish’s voice above the din of the crowd!  I knew that was him the only man who could be my savior. I saw his grave and kind face emerge from within the crowd.

In a hushed tone he spoke in front of the Magistrate, “M’lord, she is a Dissociative Identity Disorder also called multiple personality disorder patient, and she is under medication. It is a condition through which Preeti breaks the connection between herself and the outside world, and she distances herself from the awareness of what is occurring. It is only her Grandmother or Ammi’s presence that calms her. ”

“Dissociation serves as her defense mechanism against the physical and emotional pain of her traumatic childhood experience…Her parents were killed gruesomely in an incident of an assault on her mother. Her father succumbed to his injuries sustained in trying to protect his wife. As a child she was in the car and had witnessed it all. She was looked after and brought up her Ammi.” 

“The "alters" or alternate personality state that takes control over her behavior is completely distinct and different from her as a person –Any manifestation of male coercion trigger’s Preeti’s alter… the victim must have triggered her through offense we suppose. M’Lord, we need some time to gather evidences in support as proof -- we request five days’ time to collect evidences to support the case and help the patient …"

 My fingers were clenched around Satish’s wrist all through the ride back to the police station.

---“Can you handle it all Mr.?” I heard the Inspector asked Satish.

“Perhaps…” Satish nodded in reply, "This mark on my cheek, is a dagger scar. She gave it to me.” Satish smiled softly as he kept down the pen after signing my bail papers.

He took my hand gently and led me out from the police station.

***