Second Lives (8 page)

As it turned out, they were right, but at that time, I was determined to let nothing stop me from going ahead. I managed to secure some seed capital from an angel investor whom I knew well. It wasn’t enough, though.

That’s when I heard about a man, a very rich and secretive man, who was interested in business ideas like mine and prepared to invest in them. I was only given a phone number. It sounded fishy but I was desperate and made the call.

The money came in quickly—all in cash. There was no paperwork, no hassle; and a friendly voice conveyed the terms and conditions to me over phone. By then, I had a fair notion of whom I was dealing with and it unnerved me but it was too late to back out.

Besides, I had got what I wanted. My new company was launched, and I was over the moon.

Just nine months later, everything came crashing down. The revenue streams I had anticipated were not even on the horizon, and the working capital was almost gone. Two more tranches had arrived in-between but I needed still more funds to pay rent, utilities, salaries, advertisers.

I didn’t bother asking for it. It was time to pull the plug. I was standing in a hole, and there was no point digging it deeper. I folded up the venture, and prepared to face the music.

That was a year ago.

I have kept up the façade of a normal life, even a happy and prosperous one, but the fear has never been far away. The calls would come with sickening regularity and I somehow managed to keep them at bay with small repayments but mostly with pleas and promises.

Time’s run out for me, I guess.

21

Neel

Nothing’s ever come easy for me in life.

I remember being the shortest boy in my class for the longest time. There had been no problem until I was nine years old. After that, my growth hormones decided to take a sabbatical. For the next few years, my height increased at the annual rate of a millimetre or so. Even as all my friends seemed to grow like the fabled beanstalk.

School can be a cruel and unforgiving place. Especially for anyone who is short or fat or dark or stupid. It was no different with me. I was subjected to a lot of physical harassment. Apart from the jokes and nicknames. There were these two older boys who would kick, push or trip me every time I passed within range. They were a known pair of bullies. I wasn’t their only target. Just the most frequent one. One day, I was standing in the quad during the break when they came up from behind. And boxed my ears hard. The searing pain subsided after a few moments. But I realised with a shock that my hearing was gone. Not knowing it was temporary, I felt an uncontrollable fury rise inside me.

I walked away until I judged that there was sufficient distance between us. They were staring at me. Still laughing. I bent my head low like a bull. And charged. The smiles slowly vanished from their faces. But neither moved. They just stood there, mesmerised. I had already chosen my target. The smaller and more vicious of the two.

I butted him right in the balls. I guess I must have connected better than I had hoped for. My head was bullet-shaped and hard as a rock. A formidable weapon. The breath went out of him audibly. He fell on his back, whimpering. I looked down at him with the air of a gladiator who has just slain his lion for the day. He was clutching his privates. And sobbing loudly. Much to the merriment of the crowd of boys who had gathered around. Many of them had been at the receiving end of his persecution at some time or other.

Nobody touched me again after that. It turned out to be a pyrrhic victory, though. I gained the reputation of being violent and unpredictable. Thankfully, there was no complaint. I escaped official sanction. But the few friends I had began to avoid me. I became more lonely and frustrated than ever.

In the meantime, my height had become an obsession with me. I tried everything possible to start growing again. I ate a self-concocted protein shake of three raw eggs and soya flour every day. I did pull-ups until it felt like my arms would come out of their sockets. I even wanted to inject myself with growth hormones. But my mother would have none of it. She would keep telling me not to worry. Pointing to my father who was over six feet tall. It was cold comfort. I was old enough to understand that genetics couldn’t be taken for granted.

By the time I turned fourteen, I had resigned myself to living the life of a midget. Then unaccountably, I began to shoot up. My school uniform, unchanged for almost three years, became ridiculously short in the sleeves and trousers. The wall where I measured my height started to get new notches every couple of months. I grew by over six inches that year. I was so used to being the runt of the class that it took me some time to adjust to the new respect I gained with my mates. It was a bittersweet feeling.

I ended up just an inch shorter than my father. The old man must have heaved a mental sigh of relief. You see, I come from a line of big, proud men. Who have been in military service from the time of the First World War. It’s our family trade. Every male scion was expected to join one of the three armed forces. Preferably the Army. The tradition had been unbroken for almost a century.

The problem was that I had absolutely no desire to be in the military.

I was convinced that the concept of war would be outdated in the twenty-first century. The Kargil operation of 1999 was the first instance of direct conventional warfare between two nuclear states. I was sure it would be the last.

All my forefathers had seen battle in its true form. Conflict between nations of differing ideology or ambition. Even my father had fought in the 1971 war against Pakistan. He received a shrapnel wound which almost killed him. The last thing I wanted was to spend my prime years training to be a soldier, and then while away my time at some remote outpost. Or be pressed into action against terrorists. Which I firmly believed was glorified police work.

What I really wanted to be was a naturalist. I have grown up in places close to nature. Spent countless hours tramping through forests or trekking up hills. All to observe birds and animals and snakes in their natural habitat. I never felt scared. Even when I came face-to-face with a leopard once. I remember backing away slowly. The majestic beast watched me indulgently until I was out of sight. It was an unforgettable experience.

I have this instinctive connection with animals. They sense that I mean no harm. I recall approaching a solitary chital one morning in a wooded valley near our summer home in Kumaon. I spoke to it in a low, soothing voice. It actually allowed me to get near enough to pat it. Something almost unheard of with these shy deer.

When I was twelve years old, my mother took me to an exhibition of a well-known nature photographer. I was amazed to see the beautiful images from around the world. There was one stunning picture of a pack of antelope fleeing from a lioness on the African savannah. It was shot in silhouette against the setting sun.

I knew immediately that this was my calling. Wildlife photography is not just about an expensive camera. It needs good jungle craft. The ability to stalk the subject and understand its behaviour. Remain concealed for hours in a hide, waiting. I had all those skills in abundance.

My father would have none of it. ‘You must be out of your bloody mind!’ he thundered, when I told him. ‘A hobby is a hobby. Don’t try to make a living out of it.’

And so I was forced to join the National Defence Academy. After clearing a surprisingly difficult entrance exam. The course wasn’t too bad. I actually enjoyed the curriculum. It was an even mix of general and military subjects. The physical training was gruelling. I pushed myself harder than most. If we were asked to run five miles, I would run six. When we went to the shooting range, I would beg for a few extra rounds of practice. During the navigation training in the jungles around Khadakwasla, I was so fiercely competitive that the instructors would reprimand me.

In hindsight, I was perhaps providing an outlet for my pent-up sexual energy. I had graduated from high school with my virginity firmly intact. Despite several desperate attempts to lose it. I remember my awkward efforts at courtship. The numerous rebuffs. One definite missed opportunity (if only I had recognised it for what it was back then). My insane jealousy at many of the other boys. Who managed to get laid so easily.

My final year at the NDA was momentous. I finally had sex for the first time.

It was the summer vacation. I was bored after three weeks at home. For some reason, we had decided not to go to Kumaon that year. Most of my friends were away. I had no one to hang out with. One evening, my mother asked me to drop off boxes of homemade sweets to some of the neighbours. It was the time of the New Year for our community. I would have normally protested against such a mundane errand. But there was nothing better to do anyway. I wheeled out my cycle and went on my way.

The last delivery was at the house of an old Army buddy of my father’s. He had a son around my age. I used to play with him when we were younger. But I hadn’t met him in years. I figured it would be nice to catch up, if he was around. I rang the bell and waited.

After several seconds, the door opened. A girl poked her head out and said, ‘Yes?’ I introduced myself. Pointed to the red box I was holding in my hand. She exclaimed, ‘Neel? My God, you’ve grown up so much! Come on in.’

I had a vague memory of my friend’s elder sister. A tall, gawky female with glasses. But this was an attractive, curvaceous woman. She was wearing a kimono-like satin robe. Her hair was damp from a shower. She led me to the drawing room. I couldn’t take my eyes off her pert bottom swaying under the red silk. We sat down on an ancient sofa. There appeared to be no one else home.

She asked me a lot of questions. I answered mechanically. Trying my best not to stare at the ample cleavage peeking out from the folds of the robe. She must have realised I was ogling. A strange look came into her eyes. It was time for me to go, I thought reluctantly. Suddenly she said, ‘Do you have a girlfriend, Neel?’ I shifted uncomfortably and mumbled, ‘No, not right now.’ Not ever was more like it.

She moved closer. ‘Don’t you feel lonely?’ Before I could reply, she straddled me. And put her hands on my shoulders. Her robe fell open. She was wearing nothing inside. I gripped her naked hips and kissed her hard. She began to unbutton my shirt. I was in great shape from all the training at the NDA. She let her hands run over the hard muscles of my chest and back, moaning softly. I caressed her magnificent breasts. Feeling the nipples harden against the rough skin of my palms.

We had sex right there on the sofa. I had heard that the first time is usually disappointing. For me, it was incredible. It was obviously not the first time for her. She expertly guided me through a series of sensations. Each one more exquisite than the previous. When I finally exploded inside her, I thought I would die of pleasure. I guess I deserved this after all that waiting. It would remain just the one time with her. But I had crossed the most important milestone of my life. Or so it seemed then.

The final year went by. It was time for our passing out parade. I was probably the only one of the thousand graduating cadets who was miserable. I spotted my parents in the crowd. They waved gaily. I didn’t wave back.

During all my years in the Army, the feeling of being trapped was never far from my mind. I told myself that I couldn’t be the only person in the world who hated his job. It was of no solace. My love for nature remained undiminished. Though I had little time to indulge that passion. I wistfully followed the work of noted photographers on the Internet. Watched wildlife documentaries on Discovery channel whenever I could.

I am now no longer in military service. Thank God for that. But I’ve had to pay a heavy price for that freedom. I don’t know if it was worth it. And I still haven’t been able to do what I love. I first need to pick up the pieces of my life.

As I said, nothing’s ever come easy for me.

22

Sara

We were just stepping out for lunch when the phone rang. It was the landline and I wondered who it could be, since very few people had that number.

The caller had a sexy baritone. I recognised the voice but waited for him to introduce himself. He was a well-known news anchor, a minor celebrity whose salt-and-pepper hair, neatly trimmed beard and hooked nose made him one of the most striking faces on television. His incisive questioning of studio guests and uncompromising opinions on everything from politics to sports ensured high viewership of his prime-time news show.

Rachel used to work for the same channel at one time and had had a torrid fling with him, even though he was much married.

It was a surprise to us because she had always frowned upon extra-marital affairs and thought that people who indulged in them had no morals. I guess even Rachel had her human failings!
I don’t blame her because the man was very attractive.
It was not destined to last, however, and one not so fine day, he abruptly told Rachel that he wouldn’t be seeing her again because he wanted to give his marriage a serious shot.

Asshole.

He was saying, ‘…had no idea that Rachel was dead. I must be living on another planet.’

I said carefully, ‘Yes, I’m aware that you knew Rachel well.’

‘I called Rachel’s mother when I heard the news. She gave me your number and asked me to speak to you.’ That explained the landline call, since Mrs Fernandes had only that number. She had told me she didn’t like mobile phones.

He continued. ‘I’ve been out of the country on a short sabbatical and got back only last week but that’s no excuse. I really should have known about this earlier.’

I couldn’t help retorting, ‘Well, considering that Rachel and you hadn’t been in touch since you broke up with her, I’m not surprised.’

He ignored the barb. ‘Rachel did call me a few months ago, out of the blue.’

‘Really? What did she say?’

‘I was surprised, to say the least. She was polite but distant, like an acquaintance you bump into unexpectedly. For a few minutes, we spoke about various things. She asked me how I had been and I asked her about her new job. She didn’t bring up our relationship at all.’ He added hastily, ‘I mean, it’s not like I thought she wanted to get back together or something.’