I, Anupam

ONE

Must go back now.

He raised his left wrist, hidden beneath Kamalkali’s ruffled hair, and checked the time—it was nine-thirty in the morning. He had an appointment with Ambar at ten. The draft for the legal aid committee must be prepared today.

Right hand on the steering and the left busy with Kamalkali, he gently pecked her on the orange lips and said, ‘Let’s go back. What do you say?’

‘So soon?’

‘Someone is supposed to come at ten.’

Kamalkali made a pout and shot a preying glance. But knowing that she was not akin to a bird, she arranged her saree and sat up.

‘You have time for everybody in the world except for me.’

He smiled and nuzzled Kamalkali a bit. When he smiles, his demeanour undergoes a sudden change—quite unexpected. This sudden flash of innocence in his childlike smile does not match with his otherwise solemn personality. It increases his attractiveness nonetheless. His right canines are cast in gold; they developed cavities when he was a child. That’s why he does not laugh often. The pair of golden teeth embarrasses him.

‘This is unfair. Same old eight to nine-thirty. And you are complaining that I do not have time for you?’ His voice had a heady element. She could not get over him. Her lips continued to pout like a budding sweet pea flower.

‘Has anyone ever seen me wake up at seven-thirty in the morning just to take a walk in the Maidan? But I have made possible such impossibility only for you, and now you are complaining….’

Kamalkali’s enticing smile radiated—from her eyebrows to her chin. He now tried to concentrate on the road. His left hand was still on Kamalkali’s shoulders. It had to be removed; the gear needed to be changed. He held on tightly to Kamalkali’s bare rounded shoulders, flourishing beneath a sleeveless piece of apology for a blouse. He would now loosen his grip and hold the cold and hard gear instead. Anupam is well versed in such lessons of love, and so is Kamalkali. This is why he is fond of women like her. They are with you only when they are with you physically. Once they are off, their thoughts do not chase you to your bedroom, bathroom, or study. They do not encroach upon your being or your time. He does not like the other kind. The moment he comes across women showing such symptoms, he becomes alert and brushes them off his coat like monsoon insects. Not that there are no exceptions. Some girls, such as Maria and Sudha, have the tendency to spread all over your life like powdered chalk. Brushing them off requires extra time. But it is nice to be with women once in a while. A quiet shelter away from the heat or the storm. A minute’s tryst with loveliness. Just this. He has a lot of work and holds various responsibilities. His time is precious.

Like the whole world, Kamalkali was also aware of his extremely busy schedule. It made her quite conscious of her recent stroke of luck. Of late, she was seen accompanying this highly important person to a lot of places. She was getting driving lessons from none but the famous Anupam Roy. You just need to drop his name in a room filled with people; it works like a matchstick in a can of petrol. He has attained nationwide fame since the Indo-China War. He is a columnist with Daily News, the only English newspaper that is published simultaneously from three metropolitan cities in India. His weekly column, titled ‘Roy’s Corner’, carries political analyses. The sales of Daily News had skyrocketed in Delhi and Calcutta as soon as ‘Roy’s Corner’ was introduced. That’s how the Bombay edition came up—due to the popularity of his writing. Now the paper has spread its roots into these three cities. These events have become a legend in the world of journalism. ‘Roy’s Corner’ is also a weekly national programme on All India Radio. Anupam Roy gives an update on world politics for six minutes. Everyone is acquainted with his deep baritone voice and perfect English diction. During the Bangladesh War, New York Times published his war reports every day. He has been interviewed by three American television channels and by BBC.

But it would be wrong to say that he is famous only as a political analyst or a political commentator. Anupam Roy made his mark in the world of academics much before the Indo-China War commenced. For the past seventeen years, he has been engaged in setting up a new department in the university, that of Comparative Politics. He has firmly resisted the countless invitations of becoming the vice chancellor of various universities, refused government ranks as well as plush job offers from abroad. He has not budged from his native land or his values. Dr Anupam Roy does not run after excessive money or power. He has followed a basic principle in all spheres of life. Even girls like Kamalkali know that in this opportunist’s world, it is very difficult to stay away from the temptation of being powerful and famous.

The Department of Comparative Politics has gained global reputation by dint of Anupam’s solitary efforts. He also takes a few postgraduate classes on journalism. Students from various departments attend his classes. Besides being a good writer, he is an excellent orator too. The grapevine says that Anupam Roy might be awarded the Padma Bhushan* the next Republic Day. His news analysis during the Bangladesh War earned him international fame; the government is rewarding him for his outstanding contribution to journalism. Rumour mills are always abuzz about this man. Kamalkali does not know what to believe or not believe about him. She does not understand morality; she only knows that whatever Anupam Roy does is correct.

They had almost reached her residence. Kamalkali quickly ran her eyes over the surroundings—who all could see her as Anupam Roy’s arm candy? How many enthusiastic and curious eyes had noticed her enviable status?

* The third-highest civilian award in India.

It was nine fifty-three now. Ambar would come at ten sharp. Bending down, Anupam opened the door for Kamalkali and said, ‘See you.’ ‘When do we meet tomorrow?’ ‘At eight fifteen?’ ‘Fine.’ ‘You won’t forget, right? Should I call and give you a reminder?’ Anupam laughed again, ‘Na. I am not a forgetful teacher. I remember everything. See you at eight fifteen tomorrow.’

Anupam Roy is seldom late for an appointment, let alone miss one, unless there is an insurmountable problem. He has never missed the bus in life. He has always maintained discipline. He indeed uses his watch to keep track of time and it is to people like him that you can gift a diary. However, looking at this quiet cheerful man, you will never gauge that he is ever in a hurry.

As Anupam started the engine, he looked at Kamalkali’s hand, which looked straight out of a photograph, waving him goodbye against the blue background of the sky, framed by the greenery of her lawn. Were those hands trying to catch a flying bird or wanting to set a bird free? It was five minutes to ten now. There was plenty of time; his house was just three minutes from here.

TWO

He was chatting with barrister Ambar Mukherjee over coffee. Something needed to be done—a legal aid committee must be formed. The committee would not have any connections with any underground organizations. They were trying to start an urban group for protection of civil rights, funded by common people. This was being done with the aid of a few lawyers, hence, lawfully. More than 2,500 boys were behind the bars without legal proceedings. They were ageing prematurely due to unbearable torture. Those who were dying were dying, but the ones who were alive had to be protected. A central committee needed to be established. A list of lawyers, who could offer help, had been prepared. Now they would have to concentrate on the collection of funds.

In the midst of the conversation, he got a call, a reminder regarding a meeting in the evening. He possibly did not need this—it had been listed in his diary. For him, checking the diary is as regular as his daily habits. Meetings and meetings. There is some meeting or the other every day, and then there are parties. Anupam’s life is crowded with people, but amidst the crowd he is solitary and free. Totally free and alone. Even if he meets numerous people, his solitude remains uninterrupted, his freedom is unhurt. Just as ducks’ feathers remain untouched by water, Anupam can maintain his serenity even in the crowd. His thoughts remain organized, his memory does not fail him, and his nerves stay alert, irrespective of the multiple situations or crowd he encounters daily. He is skilled at polite conversations and humane behaviour. No matter how uninteresting the topic of discussion is, he manages to look pleased. The anger at the tip of his pen articulates itself artistically in his column—‘Roy’s Corner’. He never loses his cool. Apart from a handful like Hitler and Stalin, very few people have managed to earn his hatred. Human beings are earthly creatures and are naturally weak; Anupam knows it so well. It is so natural for people to be deceitful and mean, just like flaws and confusions.

He received three telephone calls while talking to Ambar. The first one was the reminder regarding the meeting in the evening. The other call was from his younger brother Nirupam. Nirupam was supposed to drop their mother at Anupam’s place today, but it was not happening as he was unwell. If Anupam could manage to drop by after his university classes in the evening, he would pick her up; otherwise Nirupam would bring her the day after tomorrow. The third caller was Mohan Rao from the Reserve Bank. There was a gathering at his place in the evening. Parthasarathi had come to the city to attend a directors’ meeting of Citibank. A dinner had been arranged to meet him. There was a registered letter, inviting him to a seminar in Chandigarh. Then there came a telegram—a request to be a part of an interview panel in Bombay. Keshto had left a few more letters at his desk. One handwriting was familiar—Sudha’s letter.

In the midst of all this, Anupam, along with Ambar, managed to prepare a draft for the legal aid committee, its objectives and plan of action, a list of proposed members for its central committee, and the minimum target for the collection of funds.

Ambar Mukherjee’s work was over. He had stood up to leave, when there were three knocks at the door. Three distinct knocks. It was repeated after a moment’s pause. Keshto—Anupam’s smart, young help in printed Hawai shirt, tapered pants, and Bombay-style sideburns—looked at him questioningly. After Anupam nodded, Keshto went to open the door. Now it was Ambar’s turn to look surprised. He looked up. The fan was on, so that meant there was no power cut. Then why was the visitor knocking instead of ringing the bell? ‘Samir,’ Anupam said with a smile.

A tired, young man of about twenty-two, with unkempt beard and hair, wearing dirty kurta-pyjamas and a pair of black, thick-rimmed spectacles, entered the room. A sense of embarrassment was clear on his face when he saw Ambar inside.

Anupam assured him, ‘Barrister Ambar Mukherjee. You must have heard about him.’

Relaxed, Samir smiled and folded his palms together to greet Ambar. Then suddenly, he called out, ‘Keshtoda,* can you get me something to eat?’

Keshto replied from the kitchen, ‘I will give it just now, Samirda. Dadababu, take your bath.’

* Short form of ‘dada’, meaning elder brother; also an informal and affectionate way of addressing men, often irrespective of their age.

Samir stretched his legs on the floor and asked Ambar as he was on his way out, ‘Is there any news of Jaideep’s case? I heard Gora will be released on bail. Is that true?’

Ambar turned around and said, ‘Gauranga Mitra has been released yesterday. I do not see any hope in Jaideep’s case. Babul has put them in trouble. We are still trying. Let’s see.’

Anupam saw Ambar off, had a quick bath, and sat at the table with Samir. He had coffee with Ambar; it would be good to have some cold beer now. But Samir did not touch all this. Should he drink alone? No, let it be.

Digging into the mound of rice, Samir said, ‘Anupamda, I landed myself in trouble. The tutorial home where I used to put up at night has been raided yesterday. Good that I got to know about it on the road itself and managed to escape by luck. They arrested Debu and Badal. Can I sleep here tonight?’

Anupam weighed the pros and cons as he picked at the fish bones. He could not let Samir stay for the night here if his mother came today. Ma would ask questions. Keshto knew and understood these—he was safe. Ma would not understand. But where would poor Samir go?