Avik's Story

I remember Ojha Sir of Vajiram used to say in class, ‘Do you know how to recognize common men? Just ask them the solutions of the most impending problems of India. They will have the same answer. How to solve Kashmir? Send Army and kill all. How to tackle Maoists? Send Army and kill all. How to check growing militancy in North-East? Send Army and kill all. How to deal with Pakistan? Send Army and kill all.’ And then he used to pause, and announce little dramatically, ‘And when you find them, just do not debate. Because you cannot win. Just nod and leave.’ Whole class laughed. They liked it, because they knew it was true. Or, as it was an IAS preparation class, power-dreamy students pretended to understand with their temporary open-minds. Whatever. Surfing Facebook is fun, because only here people can’t pretend for long. You open a person’s profile, don’t go for the ‘About’ section, rather look into his/her sharing patterns, you definitely get a hold of that pers

I was having beer. This was third, and I felt smoking. A live band was performing in main section of the bar. George Michaels’s ‘Last Christmas’ was filling the alcoholic air in a local accent and people all over wearing cheap Christmas caps were like in trance. I got up and walked towards the smoking section. I was in Trincas, a nostalgic bar in Park Street in Kolkata. The smoking room was nothing but a small glass cube filled with smoke. I entered with shaky moves and sat on a chair layered with ashes. ‘Last Christmas’ by then was replaced by ‘Brazil’ of Venga Boys. I closed my eyes. It felt awesome. Thousands of colourful bubbles were floating all over my mind. Didn’t know how long I was there, I came to sense to an angelic voice. ‘Do you have match sticks’? I looked up. A shady image. She was tall. Too tall. Her left hand held a cigarette between index and middle fingers and she had a beautiful face with long open hair. ‘Sorry, I don’t have any’? I managed, nodding my