Arnab, 1999/06/29, "Return Of The Prodigal Cousin"

Robert stood patiently on platform 13 at the Howrah station as he waited for the Kalka mail to arrive. He had run through a pack of Charminars and drank three cups of tea, but the train was late by a couple of hours and latest reports put it at Burdwan. Never a good waiter, Robert appeared particularly disturbed that morning. Mamoni had dropped by as he was dressing and had inquired about snow in America and the lay of the land there. This appeared particularly odd as America was not a big part of the class X syllabus and Mamoni, though the funnest person to be around, had never showed any interest in the broad subject of Geography and never anything out of syllabus. Of course she knew all about Switzerland and wanted to go honeymooning there but that was just a hand-me-down from the movies she frequented. Disturbing reports had been reaching him. There was talk about a computer guy having come to visit Mamoni to interview her as a prospective wife but he didn't think much of that. After all, Manada was a much bigger boner.

The train finally entered Howrah station and Robin heaved a sigh of relief. It was bad enough to sweat it out but since Kanpur he had to deal with the continuous blabberings of a man and his daughter. For once he wished that his girlfriend was around for the ride. He was pretty glad to spot his cousin Robert on the platform, his one relative he could be at ease with, though he seemed a tad more unshaven and in the dumps than usual. Around the time Robin had left for Canada, Robert was having a major drinking problem. The nights when Robert stood outside the front door of their building drunkenly shouting "Aeevrrrybaaadie maast get stooooned" were nightmarish. He wondered whether the problem had returned.

They compared four years of notes on the taxi. They had a nice lunch at one familiar restaurant. They dropped into one of the newer pubs and had few pints. They walked upto the fountains near Victoria Memorial and sang a few of their favourite Dylan songs and then sat on the grass in silence. It took an hour for Robert to come to the point he was trying to raise throughout the evening but when he did he was in full flow. Robin heard all the stories about Mamoni and Roberts dreams of a nice little future. She didn't sound a particularly nice girl but if Robert liked her that ought to be a bit of all right. Then it came.

Robert : Tell me, is there a way *I* could take a job and go to Canada?
Robin : Why not. It's no big deal. You know, I was teaching Technical Drawing at St Thomas' before I got the job. I guess you just have to try and find out.
Robert : You see, Mamoni has this fascination for snow and things are not rosy here as it is. Do you know someone I could approach.

Robin was a bit uncomfortable. He had expected such situations but not from Robert. But, he genuinely liked Robert and in this case he could be of some help so he handed him a card and gave a few pointers. Robert spirits lifted a bit and before long, as they walked home, he went into the dreased Okie drawl ... "Aeevrrrybaadie maast get stoooned"!

Vanka, 1999/06/29, "The Astrologer's Itch"

Chintukle' Singh was filled with an inexplicable dread when he saw the man who stood in front of him. That strange sixth sense that warns a person of impending doom was screeching full blast at him now. "Mayday! Mayday!" The spasms were returning.

Chintukle' Singh had read a million books in fifteen different languages. He was a champion chess player and on his day Kasparov, Anand and the rest of the other kids in the block would be chicken feed to him if only he could meet them across a board. Shakespeare often turned contentedly in his grave when he cogitated on the fact that it was sheer luck that his reputation remained untarnished despite the presence of such a genius as Chintukle'. As for Steve Jobs, Bill Gates and their assorted sidekicks, ignorance was pure bliss - else they would not have known where to hang their heads in collective shame had they but known what programming genius slept in this diminutive man from Calcutta. Chintukle' Singh was an underachiever.

Chintukle' Singh. There was no one like him. But what was such a remarkable man doing on a dusty pavement in front of the Metro cinema hall? Why was he dressed in ragged clothes and why was he desperately trying to pass himself off as an astrologer with the help of an anaemic parrot that was prone to bite him when it was having an off day?

Well, why not? Who are we to judge the actions of the great? Many a rose, someone said, is born to die unsmelt. Well, Chintukle Singh was one such rose. What I *do* know is that a strange malady afflicted this great man. Uncommon people have uncommon problems. Chintukle's problem was singular. He had devised a name for it himself as I am afraid his vain searches in hundreds of books had completely failed to yield the name for such a strange disease. More than anything else, this is what got to him. He could not even talk about it to his friends without feeling a little silly. When Gursharan proudly paraded about telling people about the horrors of gastric ulcer and held his audience rapt, he felt the great resentment all men feel when they think they have been given a raw deal. Who would even toss a moment's lazy consideration to a man who said that he suffered from balderpaternoscrathilis? No one. It's a cruel world.

And to think about the horrors he had to endure on account of this disease! Whenever he saw someone with a bald head he was overcome with spasms; he had to fight incredibly strong desires that surfaced in his mind during such occasions - a goading to get up and scratch the head of the man who had such a prized possesion. To a balderpaternoscrathilist there is nothing in the world as beautiful as a perfectly round , bald head. No temptation is more alluring, no prize more worth fighting and dying for than the right to scratch such a thing of beauty. Alas, the world was filled with non-balderpaternoscrathilists, as Chintukle had found out in this harsh school of life. He still shuddered to think of that day when he had got ultimate fulfilment by scratching the head of Palashbabu after he had fallen down exhausted by a chase some street dogs had given him and his toupee had fallen off - revealing the most beautiful bald head that Chintukle had ever seen. The after effects of that were still fresh in Chintukle's mind - as his aching back and smarting skin would testify readily. The world did not approve of balderpaternoscrathilists. Period.

And here was this man with a head as bald and alluring as any you can find standing in front of him. What was worse was that hang-dog expression on his face that said "Scratch ME! Scratch ME!!!" It was all he could do to restrain his itching hands that were tearing to get loose. His brain was fighting a valiant battle to get the upper hand over his hands. Shakespeare, shifting ever so slightly in his grave, smiled to himself and asked other observers to refer to Act 2 Scene 1 of Julius Casear

"Between the acting of a dreadful thing
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream"

Chintukle : Yeah so - name it and I have it. Want to have your future read? Want to know what the stars foretell? Want to have your hand read?
The Man : Er ah. Yes. (extending his right hand) What do you see?
Chintukle : (trying his best but failing to control the trembling in his hands as he takes the palm and pretends to study it carefully) Er Hmmm - yeass. I can barely, er I mean, just about, make out the bald, er, plain, truth. You will soon have a new love affair.
The Man : (all excited) Reallyy! Is there marriage on the cards anywhere?
Chintukle : Of course! Of course! I never indulge in balderdash, er i mean , nonsense (smiles). I see a beautiful bride ready to greet you on your wedding night. Very beautiful. Very beautiful indeed. (alarmed to find his hands straying towards that great object of desire) Very pretty. (controls himself in time)
The Man : Tell me - are there any competitors in the scene?
Chintukle : Hmm yess. Balding, er i mean, barring a few hiccups, everything should be fine. I see the word "abroad" that might cause some trouble. Hmm. Hmm. I would advise to stick close to your girl and cater to her every whim.
The Man : Don't worry. I will stick to her like a limpet. I will never allow any outsider to get into my hair...

This last proved too much for poor Chintukle. He jumped up and grabbed at the man's head and started scratching it fiercely, simultaneouly emitting yelps of pleasure. The man took his customary length of time to react to the situation. The he jumped up in amazement and made a run for cover, with a crazed Chintukle running hungrily after him ...

Arnab, 1999/06/30, "When Palashbabu Met Chintukle (Flashback)"

It was a pretty lousy morning
There wasn't a cloud in the sky
A hundred twenty in the shade
Humidity made you boil and cry
It tends to be an itchy spot
Between the wig and the pate
Drops of sweat creep and drip
Before they finally evaporate
Pay a little attention here
This doesn't happen everyday
Between the kalibari and the thelagari
Palashbabu met Chintukle'

The mongrels are a bitter race
When in hunger or in pain
But the smell of toupee glue
Is what really raises Cain
Especially if it's heated
And moistened from the top
It's every dog's cavair
And they savour every drop
These are not mere details
They have a major role to play
When by the thelagari and the kalibari
Palashbabu met Chintukle'

The black one on the lookout
Caught the smell, let out a cry
Thirty seven half-breeds chased
With Palashbabu on the fly
His slippers were the first to go
Then the brinjal, then the meat
The bhar of doi exploded
On contact with the street
You can laugh by the terminal
But what would you have to say
If Palashbabu had a coronary
Before he met Chintukle'

On the corner of the pavement
The fugitive had a fall
His was licked and de-wigged
Befeasted by one and all
But out stepped the saviour
The genius and the insane
He defended the fallen man
With courage and a sugarcane
You heard it right here friends
You got the play-by-play
Between the kalibari and the thelagari
Palashbabu met Chintukle'

The worst was yet to come, though
Who could have foretold this?
After being licked by mangy dogs,
Balderpaternoscrathilis!
Palashbabu lay a helpless man
With Chintukle' on a binge
He was scraped and he was scratched
By the king of the lunatic fringe
It took a month to heal the scars
But he shivers to this day
By the thelagari and the kalibari
Where he had met Chintukle'

Anindya, 1999/07/01, "The Chase"

Ashes ran as he never ran before. He collided with bosoms and he trampled on toes. He knocked a small boy off his feet, overturned a table of fake Casio watches and electronic lighters but Chintukle' was still breathing down his neck. He desperately looked for a crowd to get lost in. The Metro Goli, famed for cheap and colourful windcheaters and sporting goods was crowded. It was always crowded. Although it is nearly impossible to emerge out of this strip without buying a bunch of stuff you never need, Ashes was out of options. Not only was he the victim of a madman's twisted fetish, there was a whole bunch of menacing onlookers - looking on as if they were watching the Sunny Deol/Shahrukh Khan chase in Darr.

With each step that he laid on the ground, shivers ran down the spine of the earth as it struggled and creaked to provide the reaction that Newton had unreasonably demanded. The ill maintained road trembled and tons of bodyfat juggled embarrasingly. Well Newton was not there to witness the demonstration but it was not a total waste. From Metro cinema's "Hasina Maaan Jayegi" hoarding, Govinda watched in awe. Within minutes he was on a cell-phone to David Dhawan, detailing the fundamental context of the next post-modernist blockbuster "Chulkani No. 1".

Chintukle had lost sight of his prey by the third ring but he still could not control his spasm. As this cruel world is much devoid of bald people he had to satisfy his urge by scratching a metro gali football displayed for prospective customers. Chintukle decided that on his way back home, he would buy a bottle of hair remover, apply it on his head and then scratch away his pent up frustration.

Ashes suddenly realised that nobody was following him while everybody was watching. He stood panting and had the first chance to analyse what really happened. Was the guy mad? Well if he was, he surely did scratch his bald head with pointed nails. Somebody had told him that if a deranged person scratches or bites, the victim turns mad too. If only Chintukle was familiar with this piece of information, he'd have been the happiest man alive pondering the prospect of a "balderpaternoscrathilist No. 2". How nice it would be for Ashes and Chintukle to sit face to face with polished bald heads and each scratching the other while tears rolled down their cheek in sheer ecstacy. Chintukle' would have a mate!

"Forget it", thought Ashes and decided to go the NIIT compudrome. As he walked along Theatre Road, towards Minto Park, he remembered the words ofthe astrologer, "I see the word abroad that might cause some trouble". The word "abroad" kept ringing a bell in his mind but he could not correlate it with Mamoni. He decided to find out the truth and planned to go the Nanechoda Ramaswamy the most sought after astrologer in Calcutta. "Fuck NIIT", he concluded and waited for the Lake Gardens mini-bus.

Som Nath, 1999/06/30, "The Nymphet's Dilemma"

Meanwhile, Mamoni was furiously engaged in searching for The Answer. It was the tragedy of her life that though she could have the attention of anyone in trousers (or dhotis for that matter), the perfect mate still eluded her. Everytime she made compromises she was compromised and every allowance she had made allowed her admirers to take liberties. It was not a perfect world, she could handle that, but no one told her that it was so grossly imperfect.

Mamoni was still not convinced about marrying Ashes. According Bhutanda, Ashes was a character closely resembling Lord Emsworth. He forgot to dress himself properly and had once made a scene near Nandan by getting out of his car wearing a Bapi-banyan and a Rupa-Frenchie which was presented to him by Anindya on the eve of his birthday. This thought, like everything else, made her giggle. She wondered how Ashes would have looked, with that huge belly! Her thoughts veered into some dangerous dungeons which cannot be repeated here, unfortunately. That was not the only problem. Ashes had strange affinities, though nothing as bizarre as the guy who had scratched her father's bald head a couple of years back but still disturbing. He was reputed to possess a score of goats in his school days. The obsession was, however, diminished after he was afflicted with jaundice by consuming excessive amount of goat milk.

But then again, Bhutanda was hardly a monument of credibility. She remembered the day when Bhutanda had abondoned her inside Victoria Memorial after the stupid policemen caught them in a rather compromising position. The kind of excuses he had come up with afterwards were feats of creativity but Mamoni had insisted that they were stictly friends. Bhutanda didn't open the doors of future now he was probably blocking it as well.

She was thinking about these follies and fallacies of life and how things can get tough for an innocent girl, when in stormed Mashima into her room. Mashima's resemblance to Tuntun finds true colour when she gets agitated. Even the pride of masculinity, the great Palashbabu searches for a cupboard to hide himself when Mashima gets perturbed. In more ways than one, Mashima resembled Kumro Potash.

Vanka, 1999/07/01, "Wild Wild Ashes"

Mamoni saw Mashima storming in and let out a silent sigh. With a father like Palashbabu and a mom like Mashima, poor Mamoni had her work cut out trying to attract prospective admirers. Her liason with Bhutanda had died a silent death and she herself had had a hand in its demise, but she had to admit that Bhutanda had a point when he said : "Even the horrors of Hiroshima are preferable to Mashima." And seeing her snorting through the nostrils like a raging bull told her that something had happened again to rouse the sleeping demons inside Mashima.

Palashbabu, who had tactfully exited from the scene and was now pretending to sleep in the easychair on the verandah in the rear end of the house, could not however entirely escape the tornado that raged in the living room.He had seen Mashima return from her weekly trip from the Kali Mandir where she went every Tuesday to offer prosad of a packet of sandesh and to gossip with the other matrons while they waited for the pondit to complete the Puja. The noise from the room came filtering through the walls and through the pages of the newspaper that he had placed over his reluctant ears.

The gist of the thunderstorm was this : Ashes Dhanna Ganguly - who had looked so very innocent and sweet the other day when he had come to visit the house, was no such thing. No sir. Behind that supersweet facade lay a heart that was as cunning and calculating as a fox. Or maybe a hyena. [Palashbabu had a fleeting vision of Ashes with two long ears, a tail swishing back and forth and a grim meanacing look in his bespectacled eyes, going "He He He He!" - the very image sent a shudder through his manly spine] He apparently had had a million affairs and had proposed to a dozen girls before this. All this information had been obtained from very reliable sources and faithfully relayed back to Mashima by Dalu Boudi . There was no doubt about the authenticity of the information at all. Dalu Boudi had even recounted specific details about one affair with a girl called Jyotsna when Ashes had paid a visit the bedepara of Rabindranagar to commiserate an ailing relative. The two lovebirds had been seen together on several occasions, especially on moonlit nights when Jyotsna had been seen performing sensuos, swirly dances for Ashes' benefit. No, there was no doubt at all that Ashes was totally unfit as a prospective groom for Mamoni.

Mamoni gathered all this information with mixed feelings. The news about this slithery Jyotsna person had actually come as a big surprise to her - she had never imagined that Ashes would be such a Cassanovic figure with his girth and his missing hairline. Ashes' trading value had certainly gone up in her stock market. Even Bhutanda's exploits paled in comparison to Ashes' feats. After all, all Bhutanda ever did was chat with girls on the intarnate and then call them in the small hours of the morning. And here was Ashes who had actually been seen romancing pretty damsels who coiled themselves around him!

But, on the other hand, this was also cause for concern - she certainly did not want to marry a man with such a slimy reputation. Imagine what the parar boudis would say! One had to think of such practical matters too - after all she would have to visit friends and relatives and she did not want them to pass comments as : "be care of snakes in the grass, my dear! He he", and "so how is your snake-charmin .. oops sorry, charming hubby doing?" No no - if Mamoni was confused before, her dilemma had only been doubled now with this new piece of information from Mashima.