River

‘So how did you end up here?’

The question that the stranger had asked, wasn’t an easy one. It faceted among itself a path flagged by memories. Faint and strong. The effect could be measured steadily by the fearful look in her eye. The stranger was almost certain that he saw a quivering lip and beaming nostrils. The look was of a cornered being, who drank, to live those, over and over again. Nobody knew whether they were remembering them or were trying to forget.

Vasu was trying to find a river. It seemed that every time the answer laid down the bank of one. Motionless, she would sit there. Sometimes the banks would be flanked by devotees. A perfect bell sounding at the right pace and the water would be silent with a few boats creasing its surface. On many rare occasions, the river would be flowing through wilderness, banks full of pebbles and sand. Great gushing noise by the other side, over the jagged peaks.

The third river flowed across villages and rice fields. Non-existent sounds, except for the flowing water and a small pathway into it, used by an occasional vehicle. They went across and reminded her of the depth. A straw bridge, to her amazement, was propped on straw piers and people crossed it, like a daily chore.

It was a purple evening. Everything seemed to have taken a blue hold and Vasu was orange with diminishing anger. There was a green beer bottle in her hand and Lana del Ray’s dark voice rhymed in her earphones.

Vasu kept staring at a woman, on the far bank. She was bathing with her child. Vasu’s eyes fell on the thin sheet covering her body.

‘Is that all? All that needs to be covered?’

A weak sound rose up in her head and she cupped her face. Colors played hyperbolic loops and a Flipboard of memories darted, mindful.

It had been 34 days since the fateful morning in the desert. There were signs of a receding winter. The sky would turn grey occasionally sinking all the shadows and darkening the faces of the men and women, gathered. After a long morning of press bytes and camera poses, Vasu was firmly seated in the back of the rover. The insides of it were full, to the brim with suitcases and smaller suitcases. A tall man, clad in a black suit was handled a chequered flag and it was only an until a few minutes and millions of camera shots later that he waved it fully. The journey had begun.

Vasu was accompanied by the Devs. The Dev brothers were real estate Moguls in New Delhi. They looked at identical soap bars with different packaging. They were 42 and had decided to take this journey when friends of some more friends had mentioned it to them during a Rotary club party.

29 countries in one go. A road trip across Asia and Europe. 5 months on the road.

They were not fond travelers but a big hoopla had been created around and they wanted a big slice too. Media reports and petty social media announcements had turned them into mini heroes.

Their friend of a friend still thinks that the faint ‘yes’ after he had romped them with the magnanimity of the trip, had sealed the agreement.

As the rover rumbled through the desert landscape, Vasu could imagine how hard it could be to get along with the brothers. Her mother had already started the bandwagon by making Vasu their responsibility, before leaving. But, she had the same offer too.

29 countries. A road trip across Asia and Europe. 5 months away from the old life. She could take a few hits. Rocky had taught her. On YouTube. It doesn’t matter how hard you hit. It matters how…..

‘Let’s make one thing clear, your mother has put a lot of faith in us, for you. So do not let us down at any point possible. We must know your whereabouts, always. No wanderings. These places are not safe. These are foreign lands and are not for a girl’. Mr. Dev’s voice burst from the front seat.

‘Yes, these are not secure for a girl, especially if the girl is young and has a pretty face’ Mr. Dev said while driving through sand and air.

‘Especially!’ Mr. Dev suppressed a grin.

Vasu felt 12 again. The house in Pune had strictly left her following rules, one at a time. Feeble but momentous decisions had led her to Mumbai. She learned about rule-breaking from polite board room arguments and the occasional weekend parties. She knew about motivation, from the internet, quote after quote. Now she sank into her seat as life started playing her, yet again.

‘Is that understood?’ Mr. Dev said while looking in the rear-view mirror.

‘ She can pee on her own, correct?’ A sleepy guy woke up in the next seat.

Vasu turned to look at Sriram. The 32-year-old techie from Bangalore had a warm smile.

‘That is not a good thing to say’, Mr. Dev stared into the mirror.

‘I guess you can’, Sriram whispered.

The stranger bobbed his head from side to side.

‘People act as bullies. Its the way they work. They are 20 years older than you. So, they have just grown up bullies who you live with. They are parents’.

Vasu stared as if to remember something and took a sip from the bottle.

‘That’s it, right’? The stranger asked.

The troupe had crossed their first international border in Nagaland, 20 days ago. The rover was in phenomenal shape and everywhere the officials greeted them politely. The amount of work gone into the planning of this trip was immense.

It had started 8 months ago when Vasu had finally taken off from work to do the Visa-run. She ran from embassy to embassy and spent hours searching for hotels, food options, currency rates and places to explore. A media house was in constant contact to get the details of the progress. She had done a pretty decent job as she looked wondrously at the stamps in her passport.

They ventured into Thailand, two weeks ago and a general happy vibe had entered the pack. Vasu wanted to party. She went red and had her hair down. She was on her own as Sriram went to see a former friend living in the city. She turned her thoughts away and looked the last time at her dress in the mirror.

‘Why are you wearing this?’, Mr dev stated as she walked into the lobby.

‘He means, only this?’, Mr. Dev's eyes went to her shorts and darted down towards her legs.

There seemed to be a silence in the lounge. Vasu felt a hundred eyes upon her. She was troubled and disgusted at the same time and looked around for help. Over the course, Sriram had been on her side for sticky situations. But, she was alone, so she did what she knew best.

The face contorted with anger, slowly matching the red of her top. Not saying a word, she turned around and bolted into the corridor. The Devs sat at right angles in the lounge chairs. Their whiskey glasses running thin droplets of water on the surface. A quirky calmness defined their behavior. Mr. Dev grinned at his brother and took a sip from the glass.

‘Kids have no decency these days’

‘She is hardly a kid anymore’, Mr. Dev said, easing up from the whiskey.

Vasu charged into the lobby once again. She wore an oversized football jersey over her jeans. She stopped a few paces from the lounge chairs.

‘Would this be okay or should I put on a scarf’, Vasu roared.

‘Get back early and keep your phone on at all times’, Mr. Dev said without looking.

Vasu felt flushed and whizzed out of the main door. Mr. Dev’s gaze followed her until she turned left into the open street.

‘More ice!!’, He called.

‘Should’ve had let the top on at least’, Mr. Dev said menacingly.

Waking from the drunken stupor and realizing, his brother seconded. ‘you are right’.

The sheepish grin was curtailed in the soft music of the lounge.

‘Let’s call the manager girl, Manisha, yes. It’s already 8. Showtime!’

Sriram halted his trip indefinitely to go and see his ailing mother. With a flaming fear of a cornered being, Vasu hugged Sriram goodbye and turned to face the Devs. Her reaction to situations would not be hasty little damages now. She felt like a two-wheeler rider who had slung his helmet on his arm while driving down a hilly road.

Nobody spoke on their way back from the airport. The silence made her think hard. Maybe the Devs were not that bad. Probably, she needed to make friends out of them. A long way had to be gone through before they would return home. Maybe she was wrong the whole time. The Devs were just acting like grownups, trying to protect her. Everything in good nature. There it was, a ray of hope that she needed.

The thoughts blended themselves into the undulating landscape. The roads looked a shade less grey now.

Her phone chimed. Manisha, the trip manager had sent an email. Vasu opened it and all color drained from her face.

Dear Vasu

It has been more than a month since you started this trip. Over the entire course of it till now, your behavior, unfortunately, has been of concern to the senior members. They have informed us that, they are not happy with how things have been going on. I hope you do understand our view and will assist in making amends.

Safe Travels

Manisha

The hyper harried message seemed to have come from a frantic reaction. A message from the fellow passengers.

Vasu had thoughts swirling in her head. Round and round they spun, gaining speed until the system could threaten to explode. Then it was saved by a large truck that blasted past with a heavy torrent of air and distracted her.

Another phone buzzed. Mr. Dev picked it up.

‘Yes, Manisha. Yes, we are right on schedule. Well, I just hope, it’s the end of that. We need to maintain a certain decorum. No more nuisance’.

He waited for the other end to complete their sentence before blasting back into the phone.

‘Yes, they were good. Great performances. Yes, put that in a separate bill. Rishabh will take care of everything’.

‘Just one thing though’, He took a momentous pause.

‘Younger please’. He spat.

‘Politics, Gender, and the Media are very closely connected. Our media does a tremendous job of sucking out all the politics from the system, mixes it with gender if not already and splashes it across the cities in glossy colors’, Prof. Francis proclaimed.

‘Ways, which would be highly penis dominant. Every now and then, there would be films simply scratching feminism as a chief subject. They will show women as independent and strong. Yet they would still follow the speed limits set. And right then their work becomes disappointing’, Prof. Francis took a sip of water.

‘We talk about world cinema. At least I and some people like me do. It must be you, the lot, who have to talk about it more. But, no, you all will go after the class to your rooms and close the drapes’.

The whole class broke into laughter.

‘You will watch DDLJ. The girl and the boy, even after getting drunk in Europe, don’t do anything interesting. Hmm?’

A collective chuckle was heard again.

‘But you won’t see the story of Theresa who was denied even the possibility of having an affair outside marriage because ‘it’s different’ for men’.

‘You won’t hear about the Iranian filmmakers who go through heavy levels of scrutiny before making something and are still able to get their bold points across’.

‘And you won’t certainly hear about the two Israeli women who are homosexuals and the events that transpire around them during the military service’.

The class fell silent this time. Prof. Francis took another sip.

‘Politics is so engrained in our media, and sadly not even at the right places. Sociology hence degenerates a few basis points every time a hopeless romantic throws acid on a girl. Then it loosely translates to a stalker comedy in Indian films’.

‘We have a situation that, I can make her feel uncomfortable just by staring at her’.

Prof. Francis stopped right in front of the front desk.

The girl was taken by surprise. The stranger looked at the two of them, amidst the comical laughter of his classmates.

He saw the head of the girl drop awkwardly after a few seconds.

Vasu stood up. She kept her head down until she was clear of the hotel bar and out on the street. Her black dress which had somehow cleared a precarious check had bought something irreversible. A seed had germinated. She needed water.

The stranger had been waiting patiently for a month. It seemed that tahe gears needed oiling. He was stuck in the hope that somehow he will get through. Days went past slowly and he formed instructions in his head to give it up.

Then he received a note in the mail.

I hope your travels are going well and you are hail and hearty. I wondered for a long time, how dangerous could solo travel be? Could it be threatening? And, Could it be interesting? In the past month, events kept on passing and one fine day, I just decided to leave. It created a mess of things of course but apparently all the visas work in such situations too. It seems that my preparations were actually good.

I would still be taking the same itinerary but following different routes and stops. I realized that our sponsors do think of me as an equal part of our entourage and unlike my mother, are ready to take me as an adult. Mostly, I think that this would bring them and our trip more popularity which sells better.

I am truly on my own now and it feels scary. In the evenings, especially, when I venture out into unfamiliar cities. It sometimes sends a chill if the bus is running late and there is a walk to do. But, It is always better to be in a jungle rather than a circus. The death could be glorious.

I hope, I reach Europe in a single piece and have someone else to ask me.

“So how did you reach here?”

I would have something to tell.

Safe travels

Vasu

The stranger closed the note and took a few deep breaths. The table was a mess. He picked out his diary and stared at it for a few moments. Then he began to write.