Chapter 6

2 years ago

HereAsMyself

@HereAsMyself

‘Time for you and time for me,

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions,

 Before the taking of a toast and tea’.

                                    -T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

When KD walks into the kitchen, Abhjeet’s making coffee. He offers to help but Abhijeet shoos him out of the kitchen, saying he can manage just fine and that he’d call for help if needed. KD acquiesces. I might as well call DCP Sir and ask him to lend me Abhijeet for a couple of days. He smiles—not just at the harmless little falsehood but also at his choice of words.

Abhijeet cooks both of them a light breakfast and then insists KD goes and lies down. ‘You’ve been awake all of last night,’ he says. ‘Get some rest. You have to leave for your office in some time, remember, and then for court?’

KD can tell Abhijeet’s still feeling guilty, but he lets it slide. If I keep coming back to it, it’ll only make him uncomfortable. ‘Don’t worry, Abhijeet’, he replies, ‘I’ve had my fair share of midnight vigils’. He goes on to narrate a story where he sat up all night waiting to catch a criminal masquerading as a ghost. He’s an excellent storyteller, and they’re both laughing by the end of it.

Abhijeet doesn’t know whether KD realizes it (and he’s not going to try to find out), but the lunch and the breakfast are his way of saying sorry for the trouble and thank you for taking the trouble at the same time. He even offers to drive KD to his office, but KD refuses, saying he’d need his own car to get to court.

Abhijeet walks with him to the front door and says goodbye, but KD doesn’t leave immediately. ‘I spoke to DCP Sir’, he says. ‘ I told him I needed your help with something, and he said I could have you till Monday’.

Abhijeet smiles. It’s a small smile—KD knows he’s feeling guilty taking a leave when ACP Sir’s not there and leaving most of the work to Daya—but there’s a hint of relief in it. ‘Thank you, KD’, he replies. KD nods and looks at him in the eyes. ‘But remember, do call me if you need anything. ’

Abhijeet, his throat tight, simply nods, hoping he looks as grateful as he feels.

KD leaves Abhijeet with a lot to think about. A lot.

Abhijeet doesn’t agree with KD’s implication that he faces workplace harassment, not because he’s loyal to his team or because he’s in denial but because it simply isn’t true. His team means no harm and, besides, their purported lack of concern is partly his fault: he’s terrified of anyone thinking he’s weak—he realizes it isn’t weak to need or to ask for help; he’s scolded Daya countless times when the other man has said anything of the sort, it’s just that he’s unable to apply that rule to himself—and as such has kept his distance and hasn’t really allowed into a position in his life where they could offer a comforting hand on the shoulder and encouraging words if necessary. This includes Daya—he’s the closest to Abhijeet of all their team members, yet even he doesn’t get to ask questions or push topics beyond a certain point (to be fair, Abhijeet hasn’t looked too much into other peoples’ lives either—he keeps a close eye on the people he cares about and steps in to help when there’s trouble, but that’s it).

How come I don’t feel like any of this applies to KD? He saw me at my worst last night, though it’s not like I had a choice in the matter.

You don’t have to see KD at work every day, Abhijeet, the little voice in his head pops up. You don’t have to worry about  whether he'd told your colleagues and what they're all thinking about you.

What a surprise, Abhijeet replies sarcastically, you’re actually saying something that makes sense instead of simply pushing my buttons in the worst possible way.

He catches himself, wondering whether he’s talking to himself, whether he’s going mad (with last night’s panic attack being just a prelude to that). If he’s being completely honest with himself, though, it doesn’t feel like it.

There’s also the fact that there’s something—for lack of a better word—very comfortable about KD. Abhijeet doesn’t know it’s because he’s a lawyer or it’s simply part of his personality, but KD inspires confidence (in the sense you could talk to him about things you wouldn’t have talked about with anyone else). He’s also got nothing to do with the CID team and it had been nice listening to his neutral, third-person take on things.

Tarika was right, thinks Abhijeet. I really could do with some friends outside—outside my immediate circle.

The problem is that he’s begun to place Daya and ACP Sir, too, in this immediate circle that he reluctantly acknowledges he needs to get out of for a few days. He hates himself for it—it makes him feel ungrateful and inconsistent—but he can’t help it. I wonder why—I’ve always considered them my family.

That doesn’t change the fact they’ve begun taking you granted for some time now, he hears in his head.

And there it is, though Abhijeet tries—has tried—to shy away from it. He’s touched every time ACP Sir claims he’s like a son, he’s moved by how concerned Daya is every time he’s wounded, but he hates that moments such as these are only brought about by drastic occurrences. They only seem to realize I’m human when I’m about to die, he thinks before he can help himself. Aren’t I entitled to concern even if I’m not shot or stabbed or poisoned or kidnapped?

The thoughts are beginning to make his head ache and he wonders what he should do. He thinks once about talking to someone, to ACP Sir, perhaps, but banishes the thought—he’ll be told they always knew he wouldt urn out to be innocent, that such incidents were inevitable in their line of work, that they’d all been very concerned not just for Daya but for the undercover officers as well. He’s heard these platitudes a hundred times before and doesn’t want to again.

Not now. Not when I’ll have to pretend to accept them and I’m tired of pretending.

Good, at least you acknowledge you’ve never really wanted to believe those sorry excuses and the only reason you tried to is because they’re the closest thing you’ll ever get to an apology, says his companion the voice. He ignores it, but he knows it’s speaking the truth.

His thoughts at this point are going around incircles. There’s just one tangible idea in it that he can discern and he seizes onto it.

Talking to KD felt so liberating, almost therapeutic, he thinks. Maybe I could just—just try to branch out a little? Maybe talk to a few other people? Get to know people I know well, better?

He doesn’t quite know what he hopes to gain from these encounters (if any do materialize).  He also feels rather guilty, as though he were slowly cutting off Daya and ACP Sir from his life (I’ll never do that, never, he thinks fiercely. The two aren’t even remotely the same thing). But it’s something he can actually actively do and, for the first time in years, he isn’t put off by the idea of socializing outside the few people he’s grown really close to (not that he’s close to a never-ending list of people—the only names he can think of are ACP Sir, Daya and Tarika and, to some extent, Freddy and Salunkhe Sir when he’s not in one of his moods).

He’s wondering where and how to begin—this is what happens when you burn your bridges—when there’s a message on his phone, the notification pulling him out of his thoughts.

It’s Purvi. Sir, we were planning to leave at 5:30today, it says. Would you like us to pick you up? Or should I text you the address and you can directly go to the venue?

Purvi and her favourite bakery. Donuts. The food festival. He’d forgotten all about it.

He’s tempted for a moment to cancel, but then decides to go. Wasn’t I looking for a place to start? Maybe I’ll start from here.

It’s a very sweet place. Abhijeet says as much, and Purvi giggles at the (albeit terrible) pun.

‘How come nobody else from the team turned up?’ he asks.

‘Everyone else is sick of Purvi’s donuts by now, Sir’,Sachin says. Purvi starts giggling again and Abhijeet wonders if she’s got a sugar rush (he thought it happened only to kids—sugar turned them into hyperactive fiends who wouldn’t fall asleep at night—but what did he know?). ‘It’s the only thing she gets when someone in the bureau asks her to get food. She eats these donuts the way I used to eat Maggi in college’.

‘You don’t seem to have tired of them’, Abhijeet points out, smiling.

‘I too have a sweet tooth, Sir’, Sachin confesses, blushing a little. ‘My mother was worried I’d ruin my teeth as a child, so sweet and sugary items were a no-no. You could say I’m compensating now’.

It’s light, casual conversation, but Abhijeet is surprised by how pleasant he finds it to be. He’s also surprised—and rather ashamed—at how little he knows his colleagues. I’ve been working with these people for years, and this is the first time I’m tasting these apparently famous donuts.

‘It’s a pity Tarika couldn’t take the day off’, Purvi says, biting into what must be her ninth or tenth donut of the evening. She looks like she skipped lunch for the event, and Abhijeet begins to worry she’ll give herself a stomach ache. He keeps quiet, though— she’s enjoying herself thoroughly, and he doesn’t want to rain on her parade.

Hearing Tarika’s name reminds him of her leaving his house in a huff. They haven’t spoken since (except for their daily good morning and good night wishes over text message), and Abhijeet decides to talk to her when he returns to the bureau on Monday. I’ll also tell her about—last night, he thinks. He’s dressed carefully for the evening, wearing full sleeved casuals under a full sleeved jacket to keep the bandages out of his companions’ sight. She deserves to know. And anyway I won’t hide or keep things back anymore unless absolutely necessary. For a man who feeds on the façade of strength, it’ll be admitting vulnerability, and he is at the same time frightened and thrilled by it. Rather an adventure.

The festival allows takeaway orders. He orders three boxes of donuts: one for himself, the other two for Daya and Tarika when he visits the bureau on Monday. Just as he’s about to pay, he thinks of something and orders another box. He doesn’t take it with him; instead, he pays for it and requests it to be delivered to the address he provides.

He sees Purvi and Sachin look at each other and guesses, correctly, the question in their eyes. He smiles. ‘It’s for a friend. Three, actually. I don’t even know whether they like sweet things, but I hope they do’.

‘Even if they don’t’, declares Purvi solemnly, ‘they will after eating what’s in that parcel. My guarantee’. Abhijeet and Sachin laugh.

Enjoy, KD and Varun and Mrs. Billimoria, Abhijeet thinks as he walks to his car, bags of donuts dangling from his arms. If you love them as much as I did today, I’ll be hearing from you in a day or two.

To be continued...