Prologue:The Call

A Chapter by AHKR

It is an introductory chapter which describes the agenda for writing the book .The words in Italics have their meaning explained in the glossary just after the Chapter.

In life, things become clearer as you age. You begin to live through a very familiar film or rather relive the moments which have defined as a person you are, your memories. You begin to ponder, you begin to question the incident as you relive it, you add your own interpretations and conclusions,you think on all the things that could have been done to change a particular incident and wonder how your life would be if for a change. But after all this thought you end at crossroads, you end up in a dilemma,the most profound and curious thing, a dilemma.

This story you are about to read is in a mixed narrative,one of the narratives being me, the other, the person who told me this marvelous story, in astoundingly simple words.

It was the perfect moment for the start of any mystery. It was August 2, 2023. And it was raining, thundering with deafening roar and lightning synchronizing this in a wonderful choreography. Now, this would be the view of an artist in this situation.My views were that of common citizen who drove a bike. I was going through all the steps and precautions I would need to take in order to get back home without being wet and the roads and the traffic with this rain would not help. The roads would be flooded. And at this exact moment when every sensible guy driving any vehicle goes berserk. All his rage and frustration is hammered onto the horn and the mischievous rickshaw drivers add to this rage and the whole world goes back to his pre-rational evolutionary phase. I had to take the fly-over on Gandhi Nagar turn around the one-way and sneak up to avoid the police officer,then a ten minute dance on Church Street's infamous roads which was haunted according to my editor. After all this, I would have to stop by a small Big Bazaar and buy groceries to cook. Then after another fifteen minutes, I would be in my apartment and again feel the relief of completing another successful day in this monotonic life.As scary as this might sound this is a common thought in the head of any working human in Sailore.

Amidst all this thought, I receive a call. And there are exactly two persons who come to my mind. The first,my editor Ashwin. And Ashwin is the definition of paranoid. The call as usual is to remind me to check if he has logged out of his desktop and locked his cabin after he checked it at least 4 times before leaving the office. He always carries a torchlight with him and has a flashlight in his office. It was in case, "The lights go out." What astonished me the most was the fact that he failed to realize that we lived in the most populated part of the city where every other "big company" was situated and for three-years I had spent there the lights had never gone out. He always refused to eat outside, and my conclusion for this behavior of his was that he was afraid that someone would poison him. And as previously mentioned he thought Church Street's roads were haunted. He is the guy you always want to write a book upon.

The other person, as you would like guess is my girlfriend, checking on me. But alas, as it is the fate of every Indian guy to die single, I did not have have girlfriend. One of the reasons being, I could not afford one, both in time and expense, though I was blessed with a lot of the former allowing me wonder about the deep philosophical questions about existence.

This other person was my mother calling to check on me.As astounding this might sound to someone from outside India, every Indian guy is bred to bear the anxiety his mother as about his well-being. How Indian mothers' brain work is a mystery, they can exactly predict the place you are at a moment and they can give you a cataloged list of troubles you would face when you grow-up (which you never do according to them)if you do not follow their advice. Indian fathers on the other hand believe a little more in the child's practical knowledge and his privacy maybe because marriage depreciated theirs.

I pick up the phone anticipating one of the two. It was neither the paranoid voice of Ashwin nor the concerned voice of my mother. It was a plain voice with a strong touch of a Malayali accent with a broken English. And this is the call which set me on this memorable journey, a story I'm dying to share with you.

Glossary

1) Gandhi Nagar : A street name common in India and must be present in every city to honor the Father of the Nation.

2)Big Baazar: A store where you can get groceries :p

3)Ashwin: Common Indian Name

4)Malayali: South Indian Language