A Cup of Morning

'Dada! Milk has been boiled. Please make the coffee before it’s being cold.'

Anup knocks at bathroom door. I frown. Even frustration has no privacy! I just walked 7 kms, and that too in early morning. I sweated like a pig. My leg muscles are on fire. My clothes are on the bathroom floor airing pungent smell. And then, when I see my tummy, I find no change! I deserve to be frustrated man.

I put the clothes in a bucket and soak it with water. I’ll wash them later. But I wash sweaty corners of my shitty body. I wish to take a complete bath. My whole body longs for it. But there is a critical choice to make. If I bathe now, the milk will be cold, and I have to boil it again. Boiling milk is always a tough and devastating task for me. Generally, I put the milk on gas and forget. I only remember when milk is overflowed and spilled all over gas oven. That’s why, nobody gives me this job, and I don’t want it too. I come out from bathroom wrapping a towel and head for kitchen.

Sumit and Shailabh, my other two flat partners usually study late night and sleep early morning. They come out by this time from their rooms. Shailabh takes tea and he prepares for himself, but Sumit is totally unpredictable. He may take coffee or may not. You have to ask him every single day. He says, it depends on his mood, and we wonder, how a cup of morning coffee can be decided only by someone’s mood!

I take out three cups (or two) from cupboard. Put some sugar in each of them and pour those 1 rupee coffee pouches, we got from milk booth. I just add milk, stir with a spoon and give them the cups. Anup eagerly extends his arm and asks with childish passion, Dada! Have you given me the skin? I nod my head. I really don’t know what’s wrong with this guy. Everybody I know hates or doesn’t like milk skin, at least in tea or coffee. But Anup loves it most. Visibly, he cherishes that skin. So weird!

Gossip time

With strong smoky smell of hot coffee in air and big coffee cups in our hands, our gossip starts then. I don’t know who said that, only girls do gossip! If you see us then, you definitely will be disagreed, and subsequently disillusioned about such hoaxes. We sit haphazardly in sitting room. Some lie on bed. I prefer floor. Anyone just picks a topic, and our discussion starts instantly. Our voices rise and fall with time. Our arms are thrown in air out of passion. Our cups in hands become empty, the tiny residue of coffee dries up, but we don’t stop. We talk about politics. We talk about our office and the meanness of superiors. We talk about UPSC and its skewed policies. We talk about the girls and make fun of each other. We shout so loud that the sound of Hanuman Chalisha from our neighbor’s loudspeaker becomes inaudible. We just continue our talk on any subject. But the favorite moment comes when we talk of Ranajit.

Ranajit stays in opposite block of us, at top floor. Termed as the most organized and nearly perfect guy among us, he looks at our age, but actually is much more qualified. He cooks like a professional chef, he speaks as a caring tender mother and he behaves like a mature grown-up, among a bunch of lunatics. His apartment is the cleanest in our complex and kitchen is the most updated. And miraculously, he likes us.

We all owe to this guy not only because he keeps our taste-buds alive by allowing us to taste his awesome and delicious dishes occasionally, but also for his charming co-operation, when we make fun of him. He is not married, so we push for his marriage. We search potential brides in Facebook, net and office. He maintains no girlfriend. So we connect a friend of him, who stays in Pune and luckily is a girl, to him and nag him mercilessly. Even we torture him in front of bhabis, falsely allegeing that bhabis are his best friends. But this guy simply listens and smiles. He never talks loud. He never yells to anyone. In short, he is a wonder boy. So, when we discuss about him in his absence, like in this morning, we simply suspect this guy. Sumit raises his eyebrow, how he tolerates us after all this! He must be genius. Anup enquires innocently, doesn’t he really has a girlfriend in Pune and then gives his judgment, asal me woh gupt kalaon me mahir hai. Shailabh sounds optimistic. Uski wife toh bahut lucky hogi re! And I agree with all of them.

Hours fly. Sunlight enters our room with its full brightness. Today we have office too. But, we look at the wall clock casually, and again dive into ongoing adda. No one seems to end the moment. It’s only eight. We have enough time to prepare.

During our stay in Delhi, we had watched few movies in name of relaxation. Most of them in laptop, for we were in leave without pay. Funnily, the most influential among them were the movies of none other than Kungfu Panda. We instantly fell in love with this character. He is fat, with a big tummy; he is adorable, with clumsy moves; he is funny, with tear-jerking one-liners; and even after that he is the Dragon Warrior! We watched those movies several times, and that too with hindi dubbing. We can detail Panda and every other character. We memorize every dialogue and moves. And most of all, we use those dialogues in our real life. Like, when we come back from walking, sweating profusely, Anup imitates Kungfu Panda after reaching our top-floored apartment, siriyan! Meri purani dushman. Even though I have heard the dialogue thousand times before; I can’t resist myself from laughing.

And in our morning gossip, these one-liners flow without break. Sumit points towards Anup, and dramatically delivers, iske pahele itna khatarnak Panda kabhi nehi aaya tha; aur itna pyara bhi! And, if Shailabh calls him as mota, Anup points his finger towards himself, main sirf ek mota Panda nehi hu; main ek bahut mota Panda hu!  We all laugh like maniac. It is fun.

Except Shailabh, we all have watched all seasons of the famous serial Spartacus. This is a serial with un-simulated sex, gory violence, nail-biting action and state-of-art special effects. Shailabh can’t tolerate blood, but we, like the Roman audience, have enjoyed every drop of blood, every scene of sensual sex and every second of heart-pounding action. We talk like Gladiators. We use mouthful words and absurd slangs to each other. Those who have watched this serial can only understand these words, but those who haven’t, need not to watch that.

Suddenly, a phone rings. We stop our chit-chat. Somebody points at me. Avik! You have a call from Delhi. I don’t say anything, but I don’t feel good too. I don’t want to be a spoiler and get up now. I don’t want to go to balcony and take the call. I don’t want to switch my mood and speak to my girlfriend, as if I was waiting for her call. But, I do have no option. I tried once. She rang thrice. I didn’t pick up. In return, she didn’t speak with me for a whole week. Even not a single text! She accepted my un-conditional surrender, only after hundreds of missed calls, instead of that three and hundreds of texts declaring my profound love for her. I also added those three famous words with every sms.  I am sorry. I don’t want to get back those days. I get up, take the mobile and go to the balcony.

A Rapper or Gladiator?

When I come back to sitting room, the adda seems to be broken. I feel guilty, but it lessens a bit, when I see the clock. I scream aloud. Get up now guys! Don’t you have office? It’s already nine! The first person, who sprints like a loose rocket, is Anup. He works in a section, whose head behaves as the supreme master of his subordinates. Anup calls him Domina. A Domina is the master of gladiators and slaves in ancient Rome. We learned it from Spartacus. Before leaving room, Anup dramatically extends his arm to everyone, and speaks with zeal in voice and rage in eyes. Brothers! I take leave now. My Domina requires me. Apology. Sumit catches his arm with his own and keeps other hand on his back, imitating the Gladiators from the serial. Apology granted. We will meet you in arena. Go brother! Seek your honor and glory. Anup bows his head. Gratitude. And then he leaves hastily.

Before the sound of Anup’s footfall disappears, we see with horror that, Shailabh is approaching towards bathroom, wrapping a towel as bigger as a bed sheet. Sumit screams. No! Please don’t go Shailabh. We will miss the office. Shailabh’s smile is cuter than his face. With that smile, he assures him. No Sumit. It will not take longer. But, we know, Shailabh takes half an hour to bathe, and that’s on a normal day! When I asked him about this before, he answered in a cool voice. I don’t know what I do there, but I do love to take bath. And, then he added to my horror, I’m now taking lesser time yaar, because we don’t have any shower in bathroom! I thanked CPWD for the first time then, for their incompetence. So, we both scream together. Please yaar! Shailabh backs off reluctantly, but his smile doesn’t disappear. I give a quick glance to Sumit and he runs for his towel.

Sumit is a religious guy. He has established a small but beautiful Thakur-Ghar at the corner of our sitting room. Everyday after bath, he sits before it and prays. A small fire burns the dheepam oil soaked cotton and to keep it burning, he switches off the ceiling fan. I don’t know how he can concentrate, in this hot humid weather without fan! But he meditates with eyes closed and drops of sweat form on his forehead like the pearl beads.

While Sumit takes bath, I press my shirt for office, with an old electrical iron. This job seems to be quite easy, but the toughest part is to arrange my bed in order. The bed is the only place in sitting room, on which the shirt can be pressed. But, after the all morning gossip thing and my crazy sleeping poses throughout night, my bed turns into a mess. It takes quite an effort to bring it into order.

After Sumit comes out of bathroom, it’s my turn. I hurriedly proceed towards latrine with a piece of newspaper or magazine in my hand. I have a bad habit. I’ve seen people, who do something unique, if they don’t feel natural pressure in morning. Like, some smoke, some listen songs, some read and some even watch comedy shows in their mobile in latrine! In my case, I read something. I know this is crazy. Specially, when I visit my relative’s houses, I feel awkward. But, I really do have no choice left. The biggest problem with this reading habit is that, sometimes if I start liking the thing I’m reading, I lost track of time and purpose of sitting there. My record is 55 minutes at a stretch! And, that too when my mother bombarded on the door!

I have another habit too. Though I consider it as good, others’ opinion is just the opposite. I enter the bathroom, close the door, open the tab; water starts flowing down to an empty bucket with sound, and then I start singing. But, I don’t cover anyone; I just make them instantly, and sing aloud. I call them rap. My friends call it, the rape of rap. The most embarrassing moment I ever faced, was regarding this controversial habit only. Before going to Delhi, I was staying in another apartment in this same complex. That was in ground floor, and in my opposite block, there was a family from Rajasthan. One night, after coming back from office, I removed my clothes, stood before a mirror, put a headphone on my ear, gave a beat of Eminem in my IPod and started rap. I forgot the time and was totally into the music. But, when the beat was ended, I heard hard banging on my door and heard someone screaming loud. Avik sir! Please open the door. Kya hua hai aapko? It took some time, before I could fathom the situation. I wrapped a towel around me, put aside my headphone and IPod and opened the door. There was standing Rajesh, my junior, with an anxious face. Kya hua hai aapko sir? Were you yelling at someone in a different language? My wife says, that you were crying loud! I looked at his back and saw a shadow behind the curtain of his window. I instantly felt sorry for putting this nice couple into trouble. I made a terrible blunder. If you hear a rap without beat and that too in English, which is still an alien language for many, you will definitely think as this couple only. I said sorry to Rajesh and assured him that everything was fine to me. It was just a song. Rajesh stared blank, probably unable to understand, how that yelling in a weird language could be a song! But after that embarrassment, I only rap in bathroom and that too in lowest voice.

Avik! Are you not done yet? It’s nine thirty man.

I hear Shailabh’s voice. I am really late. Hastily, I wipe out every drop of water from my fresh body with a dry towel. And then, just when I open the door to come out, I find that bucket with wet clothes, I soaked in morning after walk. Again, a decision has to be made. But this time, it is not very tough. I’ll wash them later. I close the bathroom door with a bang and call Shailabh, Oye! I’m finished.