He trudged to the tail of serpentine line before ATM machine that seemed to snail
like ages there only. He rubbed his hands and ensconced in the underarms but
the hairy roots instead condensed more warm moisture. He looked at the people
standing at them and was returned upon with a judgmental disgusted stare.
“Not their fault.” He thought to himself upon their loathing glares.
He was wearing a vest that was torn and smudged in patches. His hands were dusty and his face was distorted. The few hairs on the crown those could be counted with fingers whistled in the swift breeze like tails of kite. His nose was numb like all other part of his ballooned body but he was sure that he smelled
anything but pleasant.
After waiting for long time, gazing at the different shoes, heels and chappals, his
bare feet finally moved into the ATM counter. As the line of people peered
through the thick glass with impatience for their turn, he inserted his hand into the front of his pants. A repelled hiss seeped through the thinnest gape between doors.
He sighed and slipped out an ATM card from inside of his pants.
“Secret pocket! Now I understand the importance.” He thought to himself while
inserting the card and punching the numbers. A stiff note of thousand rupees fell
from the wide mouth.
Grabbing the money from there and folding it inside his grip we came outside.
The same kind of disgusting stare accompanied till he vanished into the city
He went to a small shop where it was written STD & LOCAL CALLS on an old hoarding. A much corpulent man was sitting munching on some more snacks and watching some daily soap on TV. He went into the stop and handed the man the
thousand rupees bill.
“No change!” The shopkeeper’s voice seemed coming far from a cave travelling
through the layers of fat.
“It’s urgent. Whatever you have I am fine with it.” He grunted thinking even one
thousand rupees is not worthy for making a call here.
The shopkeeper stared at him like some reptile intruding into his shop and inched away the phone towards the man who looked pretty much like some
street beggar. May be got a clean hand on some rich! The shopkeeper thought to
himself and kept silence.
The man looked at the number pad where the buttons were faded. If they weren’t arranged mannerly, they might have required some archeologist to unravel the
numbers on them. He thought for a while trying to remember a number. These growing technology has thickened their skin so much that after people got
hundreds of contacts saved into a small portable machine they even don’t bother
much to remember any number.
He remembered his home number but there is no way he could do that unless he
want more whirling ordeals circling like vultures on his head. He tried harder and after three trials he succeeded in calling to the desired contact.
The first call went unanswered as the second did too. On the third time call was answered with a persistent voice.
“Hello.” The irritated corporate voice answered.
“Hello, Boss. You were calling. I am so sorry. I didn’t know it’s you. So sorry.”
Viswas has always been humble, polite and more apologetic. That’s why he thought he could trust his secretary. Why to pay them for if they can’t help you out in a situation.
“It’s fine. How did the meeting go?”
“It was fine. The French clients were impressed and signed the agreement too. I tried to call you on your number after finalizing the deal but your number was out of reach.”
It’s out of reach from me too. He thought for a while. “Okay. I need you do something urgently.”
“Yes, Boss. Tell me.” His secretary answered promptly.
“Trace my call on GPS. Drive there as soon as you can but alone. And while coming bring me a Harris Tweed jacket along with shirt and trouser of my size. Right there.”
“Got you, boss.” The line went blank after that.
The man stared at the old phone again. The shop was small and smelled more like old and sticky fries.
Fifteen minutes later a sleek black limousine appeared before the small shop. The shopkeeper stared at car like some spaceship had arrived.
As the vehicle halted on the road, the man marched to there and slipped into its backseat. As per his instruction his secretary had came alone and the Harris Tweed jacket along with fine linen shirt and tailored trouser lied in there.
The secretary tried to tie his tongue but couldn’t stop asking the question. “Boss, you don’t look well. Are you okay? Anything happened.”
“Nothing just a bad day I guess.” The man answered as the limousine maneuvered through the crowd.