Life and Lies of M R Maiti

Time after time, the waves splash against the tetrapods, down below my dangling feet, not with force but out of a sense of duty. Along with the waves, the sea sends gusts of cool breeze, pleasant and comforting despite the prevalent humidity; the reason why people have thronged this place. I must be sitting somewhere near the mid-point of the pincer shaped sea-front which stretches out in either direction, bursting with luminescence pouring out of hundreds of streetlights. In contrast, the sea is darker. Still, I can spot a few ships far out, looming near the horizon. “You know what my greatest fear is,” I hear my friend say, sitting beside me. Unlike him, I can distinguish between a regular question and a rhetoric one. Therefore, I don’t give a reply straightaway. I let him complete his thought. “I fear that one day I would realise that I am dumb.” Now, I have to jump in. “Didn’t we already discuss this in college,” I start. “We judge others, how everyone else is a fool. Who k

I lay on the floor which is still a little warm in spite of having sprinkled water on the floor in the evening. My eyes survey the sky, riddled with a thousand stars. And a crescent moon, under whose light, I can see the silhouette of the distant hill. I can make out the outline of the temple, situated on top of it. During night-time, whenever there’s a power cut, people rush to take a look at the hill. If there’s no light shining from the temple, then it’s alright, nothing can be done; otherwise, the problem is local – either a faulty circuit board or a disconnected wire from the electric pole – and can be fixed. I see no light coming from the temple. The power must have gone out again. A pleasant breeze brings me the smell of the cooking going on downstairs. It’s summertime and the heat becomes unbearable in the absence of electricity. As soon as dinner is prepared, everyone else joins me on the roof. Ma is serving when a sudden gust of wind blows out the lantern. “Oh, I forgot

Snip-snip, clip-clip Despite its monotonicity, the sound has a certain ring to it. If I concentrate a bit harder, it almost sounds like a well-placed tune. Or maybe I have been listening to it for too long. Nevertheless, the sound has a sense of power because it remains upbeat in spite of the consistent murmur. Then it pauses. A brief silence follows. The boy at the start of the line scuttles to the most demanded chair in the room, to fill the momentous vacancy. A sense of relief is evident on his face. Following this, a wave ripples throughout the line. Everyone takes a few steps ahead and then comes to a stop. Another down, three more to go , I count. The snapping of scissors resumes. The murmur follows suit. My legs ache. I had jogged all the way to the barbershop, after taking a hasty lunch. There, to my dismay, a long queue was already in place. Patiently, I stood at the end. Awaiting my turn, I had spent the past hours shifting my weight from one leg to other, taking se

The Sun casts its rays diagonally at me but the cool breeze wards off the heat. Soon, I reach where the surface is hollow and my feet sink right in the sand, delaying my pace. A thought creeps into my head: Did Gandhiji face the same issue while breaking the salt law? Unlike him, I hadn’t walked all the way from Sabarmati. Two weeks into my internship, I found myself in Navsari, a small town in Gujarat, plying back and forth to Surat on a daily basis and thereafter, making the most of the company arranged accommodation at the guest house. I had already gotten familiar with the caretakers there and during one of our interactions I was surprised to learn that Dandi beach was only 20 kilometres away. Consequently, here I am. Every step I take plucks out a tuft of sand along with it. The sand here has a tint of white, must be the salt. As I progress further, I leave behind a trail of footsteps, small cavities in the ground, their depths increasing continually but the difference between two