Court Martial

The Chinese whispers started at least three weeks before it actually happened. My classmates spoke about it in hushed tones while standing in line during the practice of the much-hated ceremonial parade on a chilly morning.
We would curse everybody from the platoon commander to the Dham Sevak for dragging us out of our warm quilts onto the ice-cold grass. The temperature would make us shiver every time we would try to stand in one place for a long time — never mind the half-sleeve sweaters that we often wore under our shirts. We would nudge each other and keep on talking about it while the platoon commander would stand in front of us, his eyes fixed on the Vidyapith commander.
Once in a while, our PT teacher Ashokda would look towards our direction trying to figure out from where the murmurs are coming from. In most cases, he would fail to locate the centre-point of the murmurs as the commanders would go on with the same exercise of the annual day march-past that we had been taking part for the past three years. Who was interested in it anyway? That too when on the same day we would have to face all our seniors and juniors in the gymnasium that would be packed to the tee? It was time for that dreaded day again.
We had named it Vidyapith Court Day.

We were told that someone was tabulating all the sins that we had committed all through the year and that will be the judgment day for us. We were told that the sevaks, as we called the monitors, had tabulated each and every sin in a large register book that was kept in safe custody of the Sadan Warden. The sevaks had actually taken turns to enter the names of the ‘sinners’ every night for the past six months. We were told that none of our sins had actually escaped the attention of the Sevaks — be it stacking unwashed clothes into our trunks or dozing off in the study hall — they were all neatly listed in that dreaded register.
Five of us — who were more than sure that we would top the list — met after dinner near the dining hall of Shivananda Sadan. As one of us carefully jotted down our action plan, we went on plotting. The agenda of the meeting was simple: ensure that our names were struck off from the register before D-day. The action plan was even more simple: Locate the guy who was entering the name of the sinners into the Vidyapith court logbook. Then use the best method known to us — buy a dozen of Five Star chocolate bars from the Vidyapith store and give them to him. Though we knew that it was easier said than done but nevertheless, the action plan seemed workable. We divided ourselves into two groups. One would try to locate the person and the other would convince him. We all decided to buy two Five Star bars each. One of us very graciously agreed to contribute two more Five Star bars to the fund as he could afford it. We had only sixty rupees to spend but that was the end of the month and our Vidyapith Bank account was empty.
The meeting didn’t last for more than 15 minutes because we had to get back to our Dhams in time before the third bell. And the third bell meant that a sevak would come and switch the lights off — never mind, you were not sleepy at all and tossing from one side to the other thinking of your role in the action plan and how you were going to achieve your target. You listen to the snoring orchestra that emerges a little later as you look out of the window — not thinking about anything in particular.

Days later, our action plan seemed to be failing as the guy who had entered our name in the register turned out to be the Head Sevak and he was in no mood to talk to any of us. By that time we had another round of late night meetings and tweaked our action plan a little — we decided to bribe the best friend of the head sevak rather than the sevak himself — he seemed too concerned about saving his job than saving his classmates. There was another problem — we had got 12 Five Star bars alright but one of us who was in charge of the chocolate bars, had eaten three. When we confronted him, he became emotional.
“I was hungry after playing and my stomach started growling in hunger. And when I opened my cupboard, there were these 12 Five Star chocolate bars staring at me…I just ate three. I promise I am going to buy four in return. I know how important those chocolate bars are for us….”
Okay, we got back into the third session of our late night meeting near the dining hall. Vidyapith Court Day was just 78 hours away and we needed desperate measures now…
By that time, information about the register had leaked to one of our friends and he had confirmed that three of us topped the list.
“Your parents will be called. You will be asked to clean the latrines, dining hall and collect leaves from the fields. I don’t know, one of you might be rusticated too — the sins are too grave to let you guys continue studying here. I have heard **** Maharaj say that yesterday. It’s going to be bad for three of you. You better start packing your bags…”
The ‘good guy’ of the class told us this while walking past. By that time, the whole class had talking about our late night meetings before the third bell. We realized that this was our last meeting. We had better do something by tomorrow… There was simply no time.

I decided to approach the Sadan Head Sevak’s best friend with the bribe — I felt like a martyr but I thought if I couldn’t do this for my friends and why was I in this world? Profound thought…but difficult to put it in action.
The next afternoon, I stood beside the playground where the Head Sevak’s best friend was playing. It was a cricket match and he was fielding near the third man boundary.
“Anirban, I need to talk to you.”
“For what?”
“Just like that.”
“I don’t talk to people just like that. We will talk after four days.”
“No. I need to talk to you now. In fact, right now.”
“I don’t like your tone.”
“I just need to talk to you.”
“Why don’t you just tell me?”
“I need you to ask Mondol strike off five names from the Vidyapith Court register.”
Anirban turned back, walked out of the field, came close to me and looked into my eyes. He was much taller I was and I had already started to feel intimidated.
“And can you tell me why would I do that?”
I took my hand out of my right pocket —- I was holding on to six Five Star bars and the bulge in my left pocket said it all — the other six chocolate bars were there.
“I heard that you guys might do something like that but I never thought that you, of all people, would have the guts to do something like that.”
I had started trembling as Anirban looked down and paused for nearly a minute. I almost had my heart in my mouth. He then smiled and finally started to speak…
“Give them to me— all of them.”
I was delighted. I was the happiest man in this world. I immediately took out all the bars from my pockets and handed them over to him. He painstakingly counted the chocolate bars like currency notes.
“Go. Your job will be done.”
I didn’t even have the time to thank him. I ran to my classmates who were standing at a distance underneath a tree.
“I have done it!”
They all shook my hand. They actually took turns to shake my hand. I knew I was a hero. I knew that I have done something to be proud of.
After lunch we all gathered in the gymnasium. There was a podium that had been created on a wooden platform. There were three seats on it. On the back, all our wardens and even our headmaster, sat. This was the day when whole world would know that who the bad boys in the school were.
I was not tensed at all. We were all sitting together and cracking corny jokes. I had a bar of Five Star in my hand. Who cared as long as we were not in the dock?
The three sevaks walk in with a long register. Half of it appeared to be full of scribbling. But then, who was bothered about that copy as long as my name was not on the list.
Headmaster Maharaj came up and stood in front of us. It was time for another hour-long speech, we expected.
But it was unexpectedly short. Not more than five minutes.
The Head Sevak opened the copy and took out a chit of paper from inside it.
“Before going on to the list of students who have faulted in their day-to-day activities, let me first talk about this…there is this guy from class five E section. His name is Soumyadipta Banerjee. I can see him sitting there (he pointed at me). He has committed the most gravest of crimes. I have never told about it to anybody until today because I wanted to announce it in front of everybody…he wanted to bribe me to strike his name off the Vidyapith Court register. I would ask him to come in front of everybody and seek forgiveness from Headmaster Maharaj as well as all his fellow classmates and juniors…”
I got up. My eyes have welled up with tears. My legs were so heavy that taking each step seemed like scaling the inclines of Mount Everest. I felt all eyes fixed on me as I trudged from the flanks to come on to the stage.
There I stood in front of all my classmate and juniors.
A hero-turned-villian.
All I managed was a “namaskar”.
I quietly went back to my seat as Headmaster Maharaj kept on staring at me. That was the worst day of my life.
Later, I ran out of the ‘courtroom’ and ran back to my hostel. I pounced on my bed. I screamed …

The receptionist called my extension. She said that a fifty-plus man was waiting for me in the visitors’ room. It had been two hours that he had been there. He had come when I had gone for an editorial meeting with the chief of bureau.
It was a meeting that was called by me.
I had gathered enough proof that a section of the babus in a government department was bribed by a rich contractor to pass his payment before the due date. The amount of the bribe was about Rs 1 crore and it was divided unequally among five colleagues in the department. After going through the papers, my editor agreed to put it on the front page of the newspaper but asked for a photocopy of the documents. I had gathered the documents from an IAS officer who had leaked the news to me so that he was able to sack these five government clerks when he put under pressure “by the media”. That would ensure that the workers’ union would not interfere in his decision.
As I walked into the visitors’ room, the man stood up, his hands were folded and he held them close to his bosom.
“Sir, I have heard a lot about you. I saw you on TV the other day explaining the Behala murder case…”
“Thank you so much. Please come to the point… I have to go back to work.”
“Sir my name is Abinash Majumder… I have two daughters to marry off. One of them is already engaged and she will get married next month. Here is the marriage invitation card sir…”
I looked up at the man. Abinash Majumder was the man who had received Rs 20 lakh from the contractor. He was one of the men who had passed the file and offered to bribe the head clerk and the accountant. Abinash Majumder received the least amount of money from the contractor but he had encouraged others to take the bribe.
“Sir, I am as old as your father… I have never had a scratch on my 25-year-old service record. Sir, please help me…I am sure you can help by not printing my name in the paper. I know that you have got the news about how the contractor’s payment was released. Sir, my daughter’s marriage will break off…”
The man bent down to touch my feet as I leapt backwards…I could see him crying…and I could sense that this man had never committed a crime in his life…
“Sir, not only I will lose my job but I will be arrested. Please try and understand. I am sure everybody commits at least one crime in their life. Don’t I deserve a chance to correct myself? Didn’t your teachers give you a chance to correct yourself when you used to go wrong?”
I stepped back.
“Sorry sir. I can’t help.”
Sometimes there are no second chances.

They talk to you…

Look closely and the empty ceilings will talk to you.

They stare back at you when you stare at them. They are sad when you are unhappy. And they will always tell you a story.

Whether you are drunk or in your senses. Whether you are tired or trying to get tired. Whether you are excited or trying to get excited. Whether you are missing yourself or somebody else. Whether you are yourself or whether you are somebody else.

The empty ceilings talk to you when you have nobody to talk to.

Just lie down, look up — and there will be a conversation.

It’s quite a challenge to handle loneliness. It’s very hard to tell yourself that, “Okay, I am alone. There’s nobody right now who would receive my call. There’s nobody who would be willing to come over to give you company. There’s nobody to fight with. There’s nobody sleeping over a fight in the other room. There’s nobody who would come to you and say, “hey! You gettin bored?”

Or she would just walk around the room fussing over you and your really dirty habits.

Or just talk, talk and talk…till the point you just look at her face and pretend to listen… and when she asks you a question…you fumble because you haven’t been listening to her all this while.

The FM channel on the radio gets repetitive after a point and you shut out the sun outside. You don’t want to be reminded that it’s actually early in the day and you just have your ceilings for company.

It’s good company, trust me. Handling ceilings are better than handling people sometimes.

Not just good friends

He is a confidante, good friend, philosopher and guide; and he is not your spouse

He gets to hear the most intimate of your secrets — how you wish your mom-in-law must go and stay with your bro-in-law, how your husband refuses to grow up and depends on you even for the smallest chore, how that sticky and flirtatious colleague makes your skin burn and how you sometimes wish you never had a kid.

More often than not you steal an hour after work just to talk to him and it has become a habit to call him two minutes after your boss has screamed on you.

Sorry he is not your husband or boyfriend. You call him a ‘very good friend’ and you will never miss his call on your mobile even when your husband’s waiting on the other line.

“I would lie if I say that we are just good friends. I would also lie if I tell you that I am head over heels in love with him. He somewhere there and the very feeling that he is there gets me going. No we have never been to bed,” a 29-year would perhaps say about her ‘boyfriend’.

Don't make a mistake, she is ‘happily’ married with a kid for the last eight years and insists that her husband is very much aware of “this guy” that she is “absolutely not dating”.

“May be it’s love. May be it’s not. May be he is a punching bag for me. But I can bunk a dinner date with my husband to spend an hour with him after a stressful day at work,” she mutters under her breadth.

Accept it or not, it’s a threesome relationship. And it’s very much in the mind and heart. Somewhere down the line, this third person is ‘the sensitive one’ that you always wanted to have in your life.

“I generally not think about her so much. Because she is always there. Always there to pick up my calls even if she’s in the middle of a meeting. I have taken her for granted and she doesn’t have a problem with that. I saw the difference it made to my life when she had gone out of station for a month as she was shooting a documentary. I was like…uff when are you coming back yaar!” says a 29-year old 'male'in a hushed tone.

Of course, the guy has a two-year old child and a ‘lovely’ wife who tends to “get on his nerves” at times.

This is how the third factor three works for you. Silenty but surely.

Factor three helps to turn your wince into a wink. And factor three helps you blush in the middle of Bandstand when he says, all of a sudden, that you are looking good in a sari.

Just curious?

A low double bed with a crumpled bed-sheet with the mattress peeking out from one corner. Four pillows strewn all over. A pack of condoms, undergarments, two tees are lying in the nook across.

Enter, Mrs Ramamoorthy, the snoopy neighbour who’s on the wrong side of forty.

Now Mrs Ramamoorthy makes it a point to trespass into the apartment house at least one day in a week. The official reason to barge into the flat is the ‘sudden’ need of a cup of milk for tea.

The real reason? Some gossip to spice up her boring afternoon congregation of housewives at the children’s park.

Now this is what Ramamoorthy told her ‘friends’ at the park.

Day 1:

“You know na? These days kids make a show of everything. You tell me, what’s the use of living together when you can very well get married? I was telling my husband the other day that we didn’t make a show that we are having it when we get married (she doesn’t have it now, of course)…. Uff! Everything that these kids can think about is nothing but sex. And sex (she makes her eyes roll). My god! I am sure that they are into tying up and all. Know what, (she gently pats her saheli) They are doing it all the time! God you know what! I can even hear her moaning at the dead of the night…(a one-minute snack break)…. The other day, I even saw him caressing her in the living room. I tried to attract their attention by tapping my feet and clearing my throat, but who listens to me? My god! That you are living together doesn’t mean that you will have to make a show of it all the time”.

The conversation goes on punctuated with some heavy sighs and the regulation interjection of ‘Hai Ishwara!’ with an unmistakable tinge of frustration.

Day 365:

The same couple have got married. And Mrs Ramamoorthy was a special invitee to the marriage. She gave the bride a ‘costly’ saree of Rs 1200 and parked herself with her kids at the couple’s apartment for the three days. Post the wedding, Mrs Ramamoorthy hasn’t forgotten her sly morning trips for milk.

The scene is the same at seven in the morning. Crumpled bedsheet and pillows strewn everywhere the bedroom. But this was what Mrs Ramamoorthy had to tell her friends the following afternoon.

“I tell my kids that I will never let you marry when you are in your thirties…Look at the way they keep the house. The pillows are scattered everywhere, don’t they guys have the time to even make the bed properly? I can understand that they both have to reach office early in the morning but this is also no way to run a house. The girl has not learnt anything from her mother, I say. They are perfect example how a marriage shouldn’t be. I plan to sit with the girl and train her how to make a bed.”

You can’t miss the obvious sarcasm in her tone and of course, her voice speaks of loads of confidence.

After all, Mrs Ramamoorthy is a better housewife.

Thrice as nice

You could never miss the queer style of walking when Kalpita strutted around the office corridor with a heavy file clutched closely to her large bosom. Her shapely buttocks swung from side to side as she took a step. But there were days when it used to be stiff.

Those were days, we were told by the office gossip collector, when she used to fight with her husbands. It always used to be a fun bet to guess with whom she fought with that day. I had also won a few one of them.

The girl’s name has been changed all right but the plural of the word husband is not a typographical error. Kalps (as we called her) is married twice with no divorces in between. She was quite candid about it and she claimed that she loved both of them equally.

“One my husbands is a merchant navy officer and the other is an out-of-station journo. They are both aware of my ‘marital status’ and they don’t have a problem. There are times when both of them are in town at the same time. These are best of days,” smiled Kalpita.

In India, Kalps is a criminal. The Indian uniform civil code makes it a criminal offence to cohabit or get married twice without a divorce. She has, till date, managed to register both the marriages and continues to eschew the law of the land. For Kalps, it was a matter of the heart. She claimed that she is so much in love with both her husbands that it would be criminal to imagine her life without both of them. If you fall in love once. Why can’t it happen twice and simultaneously? It can, of course.

“Our Indian mindset tells us that we need to be a one-man or a one-woman person. More so, if you are married. The moment you meet another attractive person in your life, your mind tells you that it’s not right. Have you ever thought that what will happen if you ever let your heart go?” 'R' asks.

'R' claims to know at least three such ‘couples’ who are in a relationship with two people at the same time. “We are not talking about sex here. We are talking about falling in love and marriage, which is a long-term relationship. And there are people who are getting into it and they have no pangs of conscience about it,” 'R' adds.

Wait! Before you jerk off that guilt feeling about fantacising a relationship with that sweety cutie office colleague of yours, here’s a flip side to a three-some relationship.

“You have to be extremely careful in maintaining a fine balance with both the guys. When you say that you love both of them equally, you have to mean it. You cannot afford play games and take both of them for granted.

Otherwise, you will lose one of them. But if you kinda be honest to both the guys, it’s an extremely satisfying relationship at the end of the day,” that was what Kalps told over one of those treasured coffee moments at the office canteen.

There are better three-in-one situations of course, when one of the guys is a gay and both the woman and the guy end up loving a guy.

But then, that’s a different story!

Twice as nice

It's a strange feeling. It makes you uncomfortable in your office seat when that long lost ex-boyfriend of yours suddenly pops up on your chat screen to say hi. You steal a furtive glance over your shoulder to see if that always-interested-in-gossip colleague is around.

And then…you reply to that message.

"Come on! It's just a simple hi," you tell yourself as your fingers instinctively start tapping on the keyboard.

"Hi"

"So what are u up 2 these days?"

"Nothin. You tell me"

The conversation goes on. Every time your finger tries hitting the log-off button, somebody pulls you back. You don't talk after a while. But you do after a while.

Secretly keeping in touch with your ex is something that some people just can't resist. No matter, whether or not they have parted ways on good terms.

"Me and my ex had parted ways on good terms. Things worsened when I started seeing another guy. He just couldn't take that. We had a very bitter fight before finally we called it off. That was about a year back. Two months back, I got engaged to a guy," says 24-year old ‘N’, who's into media sales.

But ‘N’ wasn't prepared for what happened next. Two months ago, she found herself talking to her ex once again.

"Yes we are in touch. He calls once in a while to ask me how I am. I know if I need him he will always be there for me. Of course, I have not told this to my would-be husband," ‘N’ adds.

Twenty six-year-old ‘I’ doesn't mind chatting with her boyfriend "once in a while".

"He is in the US and he won't be able to disrupt my relationship with my boyfriend. My boyfriend does get upset when I tell him that I had an hour-long chat with my ex. But I don't mind it. I cannot deny the fact that we shared a meaningful relationship and I guess a part of me will always love him," ‘I’ says.

Guys are more secretive about keeping in touch with his ex. Most men, given a chance, will always like keeping in touch with his ex. A section of women on the other hand, will never give their ex a chance.

More so, if they have parted ways on a bad note.

"Men are multi-directional by nature. They can fall in love with more than one woman at the same time. So keeping in touch with their ex will be an instinctive thing for them. Women will at least think twice before renewing ties with their ex or at least they will come clean in front of their boyfriends or husbands."

Some men who still choose to keep in touch with their ex, can't help but agree.

"I know my wife will never be able to take it if I tell her that I am touch with my ex. So to keep things quiet at home I have never told her that we are in touch. After all, we are not having an affair," says ‘P’, an accountant.

"We are not having an affair," this is how you justify it to yourself. The truth is, keeping in touch with your ex is something that you can do without.

Then why?

Well, it's a question with too many answers.

Just as nice

There’s a queer, familiar smell of every city in India. Be it Mumbai, Delhi or a Kolkata— the familiar smell waits to greet you as you get out of the plane. This might sound a little perverse but I have developed a strange habit of smelling each city. All this was fine till one day.
It was the day when I stepped out of a Royal Druk Airlines flight into Paro. As I started walking on the airport tarmac, I instinctively took a deep breadth.
Nothing but fresh air.
“Can’t be,” I muttered under my breadth.
I stood there. Still. And took a deep breadth again.
Nothing but thin air.
I realized that I had only been touring India. And hitherto, my foreign travel itinerary had only taken me to Dubai and Dhaka. Bhutan was different. The city doesn’t smell at all!


Back then (well, that was about six months back) only the Royal Druk Airlines used to connect Bhutan and Kolkata. There are of course other modes of travel like taking your car till Phuntsholling through north Bengal but taking a plane to Paro is the most comfortable and abrupt way to reach the country. I am deliberately using the word ‘abrupt’ because you require at least half an hour to adjust to a no air-pollution zone. For my part, I dozed off.
I can’t call that a sleep of course. The early morning flight and the drinking session with my friends the previous night had taken its toll. As I struggled to keep my eyes open, the Maruti Omni taxi took me off for Thimphu from Paro airport. It was a partly smooth, partly bumpy two-hour ride through a meandering road cutting through hills. I remember opening my eyes for some lovely views from the top. But that was the most peaceful sleep I had after years. It all seemed like a dream.

The journey cost me just Rs 600 and a realization. In Bhutan, the taxis are all Maruti Omnis. It seemed strange at first but my ever-smiling-ever-shy driver told me that is the most pocket-friendly vehicle in the country. The taxis were clean like the country and all of them had a music system fitted in the cabin. Some even treasured a Phil Collins or a John Denver album. They listen to these songs apart from the indigenous Bhutani albums that are churned out regularly from the local artistes.

My tryst with Thimphu was interesting. I drank and sang along the Bhutanese men in a make-shift garage-turned-pub where they were signing along a Spice Girls number. The song was not important, drinking and having fun was more important. The average Bhutanese men, I found, drank and made merry every night. The good part about Thimphu is that it is such a small town that every man knows about the other man. They will even tell you the gossip like that man living on the other end of the town is a next door neighbour. After all, the other end of the town is just a two-hour walk!

Paro is a sleepy hamlet. You can cover the entire town on foot in two hours flat. Me and my partner decided to stay at a cottage perched on a hilltop. As I looked out from my verandah, Paro looked like a dream, partly covered under a speck of white cloud and partly sunny. Believe me or not, you can cover the whole city on foot just in an hour!
The shops in the Paro are hardly open till eight. That’s like late-night for the sleepy hamlet. My partner could manage a huge Bhutani mask carved out of a single wood for Rs 900. The shopkeepers, a Bhutani middle-aged women was not interested to sell it to me. None of them are for that matter. They never bargain with you or push their product. You offer a price. If they like it they give it to you and if they don’t like it, they just shake their head from side to side in negation. Paro was like a little advanced hilly village full of colourful people in their traditional costumes. Trust me, everybody wears them. The men can be seen handsomely trotting wearing the ‘gho’ which is a ankle-length Scottish kilt and the women will wear a ‘Kira’ which is, in some ways, an improved version of a kimono.

The women slogged all day and except for driving trucks, they can be seen doing everything. They are even there to be bellboys in hotels and lift your heavy suitcase with ease with one hand. Talking about women, they are really beautiful and smart! Whatever you ask them, they greet you with a smile which, in most of the times, used to be the answer. Never mind the question!

Liquor in Thimphu was cheap and the traditional food was not that good for an average Indian palate which is more used spice and chilly. I remember the red rice and a shredded beef that tasted really good with their traditional local liquor made out of rice bran. You get lots of good beef, good mutton and chicken. It will be tough for you there if you are vegetarian. But you will manage, trust me.

If you want planning a proper “tour” then please don’t go to Bhutan. Bhutan will get you whatever you miss in Bombay—proper sleep, lots of leisure, a noiseless evening and…a dead cellphone.