Chapter 2

‘Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.’

                        -Derek Walcott, Love after Love

Abhijeet’s mother isn’t the only person he lost along with— and, he sometimes feels, because of—his memory.

He’s lost a number of friends, too. Some people have been permanently wiped out from his memory. He knows this because a face will sometimes flash unbidden in his mind, clear enough to understand what the man(or woman) might have looked like but not so clear that he’s able to discern each feature and recall who the person is and where and how many times he’s seen them before. He hasn’t tried to look for them—he knows, just knows, any efforts at rekindling a relationship would only lead to awkwardness and heartbreak. Some people have drifted away—believe it or not, they were actually offended at Abhijeet had failed to recognize them. Offended, not sad. Abhijeet had been incredulous even then—I’ve just been kidnapped and tortured, I don’t recognize my colleagues, not even this woman who calls herself my mother, and you’re annoyed I don’t recognize you the moment you step into my line of vision?—now, he simply laughs at the absurdity of it and wonders how he’d ever considered such people friends, or how he’d failed to notice their inconsiderateness and entitled behaviour previously.

You’re not a terribly good judge of character now either, Abhijeet, a traitorous voice whispers in his mind, but he pushes it down.

He sees Shrikant Dave on television frequently, most notably for the cases in which he associates with KD Pathak, and he wonders whether Dave—who can remember all of his past and present life—thinks back to their days in the Police Academy.

Abhijeet hadn’t really recalled Inspector Dave either. He’d watched him on television over the years, looked at photographs and video recordings and pieced together that they’d once been friends. He hadn’t attempted to start things afresh, though. He’d had no idea where and how to begin, he’d also had no idea of how Dave would take it or whether he’d be comfortable with the idea of friendship with a man who didn’t remember him. He had been, truth be told, afraid, and to let sleeping dogs lie had been his motto. He’s met Dave a couple of times in the line of duty, but they haven’t spoken and the only exchange between them has been a friendly smile.

Besides, he’s had Daya and ACP Sir and the team, and later Tarika, and he’d thought it’d be enough.

It is enough, he thinks sternly to himself.

Is it? The traitorous little voice whispers back. He shakes his head, trying to get rid of the idea that his mind, heart—whatever this voice is—is mocking him. If it is, what brings you this way today?

As he steps through the door of Golanchowki Police Station, Abhijeet sees Dave with his head bent, writing something in a file. He’s still wondering what exactly he’s come here and how he’s going to explain his presence when Dave looks up and sees him. Abhijeet doesn’t know how he expected his (former?) friend to react, but is relieved when a smile—it’s a rare, welcome sight, because Dave smiles very infrequently—lights up his face. He gets up and warmly shakes Abhijeet’s hand, gesturing for him to take a seat.

‘How nice to see you here, Abhijeet’, he says. ‘How are you? What brings you here?’

‘Nothing really,’ Abhijeet says, a smile on his own face, ‘I was passing by and thought I’d look in’. It’s only partly true, but he hopes it sounds convincing. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing’.

‘Not at all,’ says Dave. ‘In fact it’s my lucky day, because so many of my friends seem to be passing by. Wait.’ He turns as he speaks and looks at a constable. ‘Are those two done?’

If he notices Abhijeet slightly start at how naturally and easily he calls Abhijeet a friend, he doesn’t say anything.

The constable Dave spoke to walks into the room where they keep the police files. He comes out a moment later accompanied by KD Pathak and his assistant Varun.

Abhijeet is startled and a little uneasy—he came to meet Dave and didn’t really expect anyone else to be here (though KD isn’t a stranger— he’s a really interesting person, if anything, and Abhijeet has often wished he could get to know him better). He rises from the chair as KD comes forward to meet him.

‘Inspector Abhijeet, what a pleasant surprise’, he says, smiling. Abhijeet looks at his dimpled cheeks and smiles—he’s good-looking himself and has never been insecure about his appearance, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little jealous of KD’s dimples.

‘I was just passing by and stopped to meet Dave’, he says. ‘You’re a nice added bonus’.

‘Indeed?’ says KD. ‘Then you don’t get to leave so easily. Dave’s getting off duty in about another half an hour, you’re here, you two can accompany Varun and me to my office. It’s a nice evening, we’ll talk and play a nice game of chess’.

‘I’m not playing with you, Sir’, Varun speaks up suddenly. He’s been quiet all this time, and Abhijeet takes his first proper good look at him as he speaks. He’s got curly hair—Abhijeet’s met women with curly hair, Tarika being the one with the most prominent and well-defined curls, but Varun’s probably the only curly-haired boy he’s seen—and he's got soft, plump cheeks. He’s pouting a little as he speaks, and his hair is all over his forehead, almost coming down to his eyes. Abhijeet feels a sudden protective urge towards him and, by the look in KD’s eyes, he knows KD feels the same, only much, much more intensely.

‘Why?’ Abhijeet asks.

‘I lose every time’, Varun says. He looks at Abhijeet and speaks easily enough, but Abhijeet can see he’s a little shy. It’s very endearing. ‘Not my fault, Varun’, says KD. ‘I’ve been trying to teach you chess for months now. You don’t learn’. It sounds like chastisement, but there’s a clear note of love underlying KD’s words. Dave and Abhijeet look at each other and smile.

It’s the most Abhijeet has smiled in two weeks.

‘Hey, don’t pick on the kid, KD’, he says lightly. ‘I play chess, too. Let’s have a match someday’.

‘Why not today?’ says Dave. ‘Come on, Abhijeet. KD’s just asked you, too, see? I’m sure your team can do without you for one evening’.

The words are spoken lightly, in jest, but—possibly in view of recent events—they sting. Abhijeet tries not to react, but his face falls before he can help himself. He lowers his eyes, taking a moment to pull himself together, and when he looks up he sees KD looking at him. Their eyes meet. KD doesn’t look away, he smiles at Abhijeet. It’s a kind, gentle smile, and it makes Abhijeet feel grateful and lonely at the same time. It’s an odd, raw mix of emotions and, to his horror, he feels tears pricking his eyes. He blinks rapidly as he steps out of the police station to his car, Dave following just behind.

Abhijeet wasn’t expecting to end up with a new fan as four of them walk into KD’s office.

The chess set is kept on KD’s desk. It’s evident he’d been teaching Varun to play that morning. KD begins to rearrange the pieces as Abhijeet sits opposite KD at his table. Varun sits beside Abhijeet, and Dave draws up another chair and sits a little distance from the table.

‘Come on, Abhijeet’, KD says. ‘Let the best man win’.

They begin their game of chess. Varun watches intently, almost as still as a statue. Abhijeet makes sure that the boy’s watching him when he makes a move—watching is a good way to learn, and he hopes he can help Varun pick up some of these moves. Dave leaves once to take a phone call and comes back almost immediately. The office is quiet except for the muffled sounds of the city outside, and Abhijeet can almost feel the stress of the past couple of weeks slowly drain from his body as he frowns at the chessboard, KD intently looking at him from the other side of the table. Nothing like a good game of chess, he thinks. KD’s a wonderful player.

The match ends in a draw.

It’s dark outside by the time they finish. KD and Abhijeet congratulate each other on a match well played. They’re both satisfied with the game—it had been a good game—but Varun is ecstatic.

‘I’ve never seen KD Sir not win at chess before’, he says. He’s looking at Abhijeet with wide eyes—if this had been a cartoon, Abhijeet thinks, the boy would have stars instead of eyes right now. ‘You must teach me to play. Maybe I’ll be able to draw against KD Sir, too, someday’.

Both KD and Abhijeet laugh at his enthusiasm. ‘Of course I will’, says Abhijeet. He resists the urge to pat Varun’s head. ‘You’re a very intelligent young man, I’m sure you’ll pick it up quickly’.

What a wonderful evening, he thinks as he drives back home. And the best thing is, it came out of nowhere.

It’s late evening-- almost night-- when Abhijeet’s car stops in front of his house. He puts his car in the garage and walks over to the front door. He begins to subconsciously sing under his breath, then smiles when he catches himself doing it.

Why am I suddenly so happy? he thinks. It was just an evening of chess. And yet I feel like a new man. KD’s words ring in his ears—‘Please, please drop by the next time you’re free, Abhijeet. Please. I couldn’t tell you how long it’s been since I enjoyed playing against a worthy opponent’.

Worthy.

Abhijeet sleeps well that night. He doesn’t wake up, not once. His bottle of water remains unopened and untouched, not once does he turn on his bedside lamp. For the first time in days—perhaps years—his dreams are full not of weeping mothers and attackers with sticks and accusing eyes, but of chess pieces moving across a chequered board.

To be continued…