Chapter 10

As we sat in the car, Papa looked at me again with a very guarded expression as if I would explode with something weird again. I tried a small smile and got a reluctant nod as we started off to school. I sat in the front and let bro have the whole back-seat to himself this time. He happily bounced about on the springy sofa like interior.

Halfway, at an intersection, while we awaited the change of traffic lights, I lightly started,

“It would be helpful to have a fly-over here, wouldn’t it”

Pa turned suspiciously at me – usually, I could be relied upon not to be concerned with traffic, people or anything. I preferred to inhabit my private dreamscapes and day-dream as much as I could. Leaving home for lawschool was the first time; I had felt awoken in this life.

“What do you know of fly-overs? Don’t give me a definition from a book...” Pa challenged.

Ah, progress…

“Well, to start with, it’s a means of removing obstructions or bottle-necks. Essentially, as an engineer, you would consider as a short-cut or even a detour which reduces effort or possible delays. However, I am not an engineer so according to me, a fly-over is exactly that - A way to fly over the rest!!”

I got a grin finally….. this was going someplace.

Pa tried to explain what fly-overs were in infrastructural terms and I actually listened and asked questions. By the time we got to school, we were conversing normally – like I remembered.

As he stopped for the drop off, I looked at him and said, “We really need to speak and I think you can excuse me attending school for a day. Is that possible?”

Pa was and still would be, a stickler for discipline and routine. But somehow he relented – I believe even he was curious as to what was going on. So, he nodded and we drove to his office in companionable silence. I doubt if he really planned on doing this but I was not unhappy at the ways things were turning out.

Pa’s office was this huge industrial complex where they made carbon brushes for all kinds of machines. He was pretty high up in the hierarchy when he quit – so nice a/c office, which in those days, they were called managers cabins. It was December and so the air-con was switched off, but the office was pristine. Typical large space with a big steel & wood desk with a glass cover. A tall executive chair was behind the desk and telephones on the desk. Everything was neat and tidy – almost as if each line was marked on a ruler and squared off accordingly.

I quietly sat down at a corner of his desk and started making a list of points that would required for development of the Silpukhuri property. Soon, I was creating a structured flow-chart including a side-bar for a chronological time-line including cut-outs and contingencies. Pa was busy on the phone initially and I soon lost track of what was happening around me till I heard the clink of a cup placed near me.

Initially not interested, the aroma of coffee stole my focus and I realized that I had been given a cup of coffee by the office peon and Pa was looking at me. So, I took the cup and pushed the rough foolscap papers on which I had been scribbling towards him.

As I savoured weak but normal tasting instant coffee, I watched my father’s face change from curiosity into stupefaction – I had no way of knowing how he would react. At worst, I might get a back-hander that might leave an imprint for a few days but I had no idea what a best case scenario could be. The few foolscap papers kept moving in my father’s large hands as he read over and over what I had scribbled.

“Who taught you all this?” was his first question.

I didn’t say anything. What could I say – 5 years of the country’s best lawschool, 1 year each at Glasgow Univ and LSE not to mention over 14 years of hard core corporate and developmental experience?

Yeah, right… that was the route to afore-mentioned back-hander…

“How did you plot this flow-chart? It’s wrong…. I can’t read it” , this time he wanted a reply.

Risking a quick look at the page he was holding up, I realized that the project cycle structure I had drawn was not yet invented. Being circular, with no specific markings, it was like a small labyrinth for decoding.

“Try reading the structure in a circle, with cut-outs at each stage to allow for contingencies or changes in initial project plan” I suggested.

A few minutes more passed as this was digested.

Finally, I heard the papers put down and the rasp of a match as dad lit his first cigarette of the day. My mouth went dry with mental anticipation for nicotine fulfillment. The mind is a strange creature, it struck me – I was at an age when I was not addicted to nicotine and yet the smoke, the rasp of the cigarette pulled at synapses which stated that they wanted some….

“Right, lets talk. Who are you? Not my son, for sure”

I took a look at Pa’s face which was now a mask out of sheer stupefaction and gone beyond expecting normalcy.

What do I say, now?

Chapter 9

 

I woke in a world of pain, tubes, wires and haziness….I was back in my world. But now, the pain was lesser and it was brighter and clearer than the last time.

Bro was sleeping in a chair next to me – that boy would and could catnap while he was standing – an ability I would be so jealous about usually!!

But, the image was still blurry so I tried to reach for my glasses. I moved my arm and ended up nearly screaming as pain shot through every synapse and imprinted a hot, red footprint on my mind.

Suddenly there was activity all around me as doctors and nurses (they all wore neon blue and green scrubs so I assumed them to be such) rushed in and asked a dozen questions and shone flashlights at me.

“Can you hear us?”

“Please make a sign, if you can hear us.”

“Can you speak – please try to make a noise”

“Are you in pain – do you want something?”

I blearily looked at all of them and croaked, “Water” – it was like I had gravel sprayed all over my throat and cemented with bilious amounts of broken glass.

Finally, I was allowed water, warm and a few drops at a time – I swallowed like the invalid I was and tried to drink and speak at the same time. Not a good idea.

After I managed to get my breath back and finished snorting water out of my nose, I tried again.

“Glasses – need my spectacles” – it was still a croak, but a recognizable croak.

A big face floated into view and spoke in a baby-ish tone, “I don’t think that’s a good idea – lets try and get some food into you, yes?”

I had enough of being condescended towards, and matched him stare for stare, or whatever I assumed he was looking at.

“Glasses…. now” I hissed, surprisingly sibilant.

Big face floated away and I could suddenly see something fitted on my nose. The world, or at least a part I could see from one side came into view. Bro sprang into focus at the edge of the crowd of blue and green scrubs.

“Thanks – now bro” pushing out the syllables as sibilantly as possible. It seemed to work as bro was allowed to come near.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern in every dipthong and consonant and vowel. And anger, fear and possibly sadness.

“Better than you, runt” I croaked out and tried to grin setting off another jolt of pain.

“Don’t talk too much – you have been hovering in limbo for the last 3 days. Just try to relax” , bro tried to be reassuring.

But they would be gunning for him next – I had to speak.

“The papers are signed, scanned etc – leave now, I’ll follow after wrapping up….” I started issuing directions as usual.

“Nothing doing – you’ve been out and babbling like a child for days. Pa is going crazy and even Ma bothered to call and ask about you. I’m not budging anywhere…”

I looked at him and his stubborn chin – he didn’t have that as a kid.

“Fine, stay. Carry a gun, be on your guard….trust no one…..get protection….”,

I couldn’t speak any more and the darkness was closing in around me.

I woke up drenched in sweat and breathing like a mad dog again…. This was the worst possible way to really wake up. But the breathing slowed soon and there was no pain – only fat and another bright December day in my past.

It was still early and I could hear the house help chattering outside so I pushed myself to waddle into the bathroom. Thankfully I remembered where my clothes were and got ready quietly.

Dressed and done, I packed my schoolbag as per the taped time-table posted on my desk. And then sat down with pen and paper and thought about how I could get a message to grown-up bro in an alternate reality.

The paper was still blank as Ma came howling in a while later, expecting to heave her feared hair-brush at my ample posterior yet again. She stopped in mid-stride and mid-yell, dumb stuck at seeing me up and ready. Worse, I appeared to be studying…

She narrowed her eyes and flounced out of the room. I followed in the hopes of breakfast and a better day.

Chapter 8

 

At least I wasn’t scared of doing homework now. Earlier I would freak out and try to avoid homework on the grounds of not liking the subject. Doing something that you didn’t like was drummed out of me in lawschool and not finishing a task was a needle in my eventual OCD consciousness.

It was surprisingly easy to wrap up matters in a couple of hours. I suddenly realized that I hated homework because I hated certain subjects and avoided them till forced to do so. Now, algebra was simple (I would have killed for a laptop loaded with MS Excel, although) and English, Social Studies were plain sailing. Science was still sticky, especially chemistry – but basic homework was a matter of repetition and not necessarily problem solving.

Engrossed as I was in resolving the problems set in maths, I did not hear my father’s car drive in and by the time I had finished, he was looking at me with such stupefaction that it was like a rush of adrenaline. I loved surprising the old man – he and I would become fast friends over the years and I would often see that look on his face whenever I did something well. As if he was expecting to be pinched and told it was a dream….Still, couldn’t help being me and gave him a cheeky grin and pointed at my homework, piled on my desk. His face showed what a loss he was at.

It was a good moment….

Dinner was largely a silent affair in our house then. Mom and Dad had unresolved issues which would get more prickly over time and result in a lot of heartache growing up. As I sat there, chewing on roti’s and seriously poly-saturated transfats, I wondered if this was what I was sent back to resolve…

I mean, seriously? That’s so corny as to be almost Bollywood….

I would do criminal psychology and even more interesting stuff in later years, but the concept of trying to resolve my folk’s differences were so .. icky that I nearly choked.

“What’s wrong? Too spicy?” asked Pa. I would grow up to adore spicy food as a legacy from him and pay for it in ulcers and worse.

“No, I was just thinking something..”

“What about? I am still trying to understand how you drove the car today. Is there something you would like to talk about?”

Shit….not where I wanted to go. But I needed a speedy resolution to this school business – I had no intentions of explaining how to get whisky and women to Amitabh and his heavies.

I decided to go for flat broke and see where it would lead me….

“Do you believe in extra sensory perception or similar matters?” I asked, hoping for an oblique angle to outright crazy.

“Extra Sensory Perception – what in the world is that supposed to be?” quizzed a perplexed Pa.

“Well, for instance – would it be possible for me to grow up, be a successful lawyer or consultant, study abroad and have loads of experiences, learn lots of stuff and yet return back to my current self with all that knowledge and abilities”

I got a solid stare from both parents – mom didn’t quite follow all that so she answered first,

“Stop dreaming about being successful and just think about passing this year without any grace-marks or red-letters” she snapped.

Ah, the angst of a failed and miserable marriage and desperation dumped on her children makes its appearance, I thought to myself.

My childhood was not particularly pretty or even unique – my parent’s generation did not get the benefit of marriage counseling and by the time, they had finished inflicting childhood trauma and indirect abuse, they refused to admit to its existence. Mine refused to believe that they had ever been horrible to us or even caused psychological scarring or trauma – it was basically “character-building” and none of this “modern nonsense”.

I wondered if it was worth baiting my mother and cause a scene – we used to have amazingly violent ones I remembered, but it was not worth it. I had bigger fish to fry and school to get out of.

“Okay, suppose I could do something that a grown up could do – would that convince you of this theory?” I asked papa.

“Just keep quiet and eat your food – you have school tomorrow and I don’t want to waste another hour to wake you up and get your brother ready as well”, Ma snapped again, clearly losing her usual temper.

I wondered how she lost it, when it was always near her, bubbling barely below the surface of her frayed existence. But, keeping my silence I chomped my food down.

By the time I was brushing my teeth, papa showed up to wish us and tuck us in. He would check the doors and kiss us both on the forehead each night – a tradition that would stay till both boys left home for college. But tonight, he looked disturbed and sat down on my bed as I climbed in.

“You know, you can talk to me anytime you want. Growing up is not easy and if there’s anything you want to talk about, I am here….” he started.

The poor man was making heavy progress on the typical birds and bees convo. I remembered that it was more brisk and confident with bro.

“Pa, I already know all there is to know about sex and all that, don’t worry” I cheerily informed him.

Ah, was that a look of relief or shock?

“You really shouldn’t read books from my shelves – you’ll get all the wrong ideas, you precocious brat” he grumbles.

I decided to take the plunge.

“Wrong ideas like quitting your job to develop the Silpukhuri property?” I asked, looking at him steadily.

Dad would eventually resign from his job and do exactly later that but was planning it for a while. I knew because he often spoke how hard it was for him to leave his job and take a chance like that. Typical of his generation, he thought about the decision, communicated with no one and just went ahead and did it one day. It was a big deal for a serviceman with two children and a wife to support to take a decision like that, especially in those days.

But now, he was absolutely thunder-stuck.

“Who told you that?” he murmured, shell-shocked at hearing his deepest ideas

“You have been thinking about nothing else but that – don’t worry, it’s a great idea. It’ll work out well and you can concentrate on other stuff eventually – like your writing etc.” I declared very quietly.

Bro was asleep by now, but Pa and I were wide awake – this was beyond belief for him, normalcy for me. An adult conversation with his 14 yr old son was definitely not something he had envisaged this evening.

He was still trying to come to grips with the idea that I could even hold an adult conversation. For him, I was his simpleton son who had very poor prospects and not much interest in studies. And suddenly, the tectonic plates had shifted.

I decided to push the damn envelope like it has never been pushed…

“Of course, the financing will have to be structured very carefully – and you should stay on with your job till the very last minute to ensure that you get every benefit of the banks as a career serviceman. You should also do the whole building, stage by stage but plan for eventual leveraging and restructuring the loan or mortgage to allow for flexibility in repayment or more development of the land”

I got that out in a very slow and controlled manner – it was like I had taken a sledgehammer to my beloved father’s mind as he digested my words.

“What are you playing at? Are you making fun of me by reading words from some novel?” he finally stammered out.

I kept silent as I watched the tell-tale signs of anger replacing wonderment and incomprehension. This would have to be delicate, but how? Dealing with your father is not like dealing with a client – that too as an adolescent who could and possibly would get a thrashing for trying to pull his father’s leg about a deadly serious subject.

“I love you papa and you cannot imagine the amount of respect I have for you. You’re my best friend and hero in the whole world. I know how much you have struggled since your dad passed away and how difficult it has been with granny first and then Ma. But I really need you to listen to me now – something has happened that I cannot explain. The only way I can explain is perhaps when we are alone tomorrow. So, let’s sleep on this and we’ll talk again tomorrow. Okay?”

My dad looked at me for a while then and finally nodded and walked away. He did not kiss me goodnight as I remembered him doing to us till we left for college.

I had well and truly shaken my father up.

What was next?

Chapter 7

I woke up drenched in sweat and fear….

It took quite a few minutes for me to get a proper breath in all the way to the bottom of my lungs. I was hyper-ventilating like a mad dog in summer heat. Breathe, breathe, breathe shrieked the siren song pounding on my skull….

My breathing eventually slowed down and the room swam into focus…..shit, I was back in my past and I hate the colour of that blue & while colour scheme while I was in it.

My room was overcrowded – no two ways about it. It was a horror show and worse, the current state was what pushed me into Japanese minimalist styles in my future years. Here it was all wood and furniture all over the place with bureau’s, cupboards, clothes horses etc while later it would all be recessed lighting, in built spaces and zen functionality of chrome, leather and steel. Office Spartan as bro would call it in disdain…

Bro…

He was still a runt….all 3 feet of him, not his usual lanky 6 footer frame… which one was real?

I ran my hands (sausage fingers – I hate myself!!) over my body. There are no tubes anywhere, I am not in pain, I am in my bedroom….not the correct bedroom, but still a bedroom I have owned and been a part of.

Slowly, I move my limbs, expecting banshee jolts of pain and lack of access. Everything is fine or as fine as the fatty frame would be…. I really needed to gym out. Damn!

As I swung my feet over the edge of the bed, I again looked at my hands and wondered what skills, memories and other stuff I have retained. I was scared that I was hallucinating….and remembered old Deshmukh, my erstwhile professor of lawschool who made me what I became. That old man, long since dead would sneer at my worries and demand action….of the mind first, boy, not of the body…

Retreat into yourself, find your mind, your mind is the greatest weapon ever prepared, find your mind, find your spirit and then show the world that its they who should fear you, not you them….

That bloody Nazi was a madman of the first order but he really knew how to push young and impressionable minds into a state of tempered arrogance and ability that would beat down any given odds just because they didn’t know anything else….

This is not helping, get up, think of something to do and DO it…sneered that horrible man in the corner of my mind.

Right….

The kitchen was always Ma’s sanctuary and preserve – in all her battles of life, she would commence and retreat into its enormous size. The bloody larder room or store room was the size of a modern Mumbai studio apartment and her kitchen did not seem to have any ending with its nooks & crannies.

Later, bro and I would modernize the whole crumbly edifice and ended up enlarging the store room into the dining room and the drawing room to create a continuous and tremendous living room capable of hosting massive parties. The kitchen would also be redone but Ma refused to use it after we did it up and would only issue instructions to the houseboys and cooks.

But NOW, it was still the same – dark, smelly and smoky with huge bloody utensils which seemed capable of cooking for an army. It was deathly silent in the afternoon’s slumber and there was a palpable sense of ownership – my mother’s and her army of helpers.

I went digging for coffee and found the old-fashioned glass bottle of nescafe instant sitting & liquefying  inside our decades old GEC (General Electric Corporation) refrigerator. That bloody fridge came with granny and stayed till bro went off to college. I think I finally donated it to the museum along with half of granny’s silverware, cutlery, cooking utensils etc. But it was working now and the coffee was in a horrendous shape.

Our family had tea-estates, coffee was for rare visitors who might ask for a cup and hence stored against said possibility. This was India of the very early nineties, still trying to digest Mr. Rao’s intentions of a liberalized economy & global reforms. I sadly took the glass bottle and dug up a kettle and put it to boil.

The coffee tasted weird…. I tried dumping sugar but it was still weird and strange on my tongue, scalding everything on its way to my untainted and very securely lined stomach linings. Ulcers and actual peptic problems were in the far future…. There was much coffee to be drunk…

I brought paper and pencil to the dining table (I feel comfortable on big tables) and decided to make a small list (checklists were hammered into my 34 year consciousness).

Statements of Fact:

• I am in my past, approximately 20 years ago.
• I have relapses when I sleep and I wake up in my future
• I am encased in fat and think I might be hallucinating
• This list is not helping
• I need to sort out school – its way too much trouble currently
• I need to really understand why I am here
• The parents need to be explained – this is definitely not going to be funny.
• Where do I go from here?
• This list itself needs help.

I was stymied and stumped – what am I supposed to do? The typical Hollywood movies had some guru-sort who would at least give clues and such. All I got was myself and memories of a future I am about to live in.

And I had homework to deal with….. ah, joy … NOT.