Highway Happening

Summer 2006. Pune. Night near Katraj. An interesting wait. For a furtive individual who represents a real estate company, he has got a deal. A deal that might interest my company.

It’s a thing about Pune. The days are about meeting nice and open people, students and intellectuals of the city who have funny things to say, important things to do and pretty things to show.

But the night brings in the more furtive and shady people. Large land deals. Whispered conversations. In restaurants that might not even be on maps of the city. In way off places. Whisky that could be spurious. Belches that are definitely toxic. Promises that are even more toxic. The only white being the dresses. And the gold. On fingers. Around necks. The vocabulary is earthen. The language that could have the entire Kalyani Nagar searching for graves to turn in.

There I am, waiting. You might think I am one of their kind. You will be pardoned for thinking like that. My cohort is a guy who has promised the earth. Earth being acres of land on the forest side of Warje. The wait continues. The cohort belches fumes too. His evening alcohol dipping to zero levels in anxiety. The furtive individual shows no sign of arrival. I take to doing mathematics with the licence plates of passing cars. Sweat envelopes my collar. My cohort possesses a handkerchief that’s inserted between his collar and neck. Effective. I don’t have that blotter. My sweat travels till my exposed elbows. Rivulets.

An Innova arrives, out of the gloom, lights shining onto our saucer eyes. Cohort does a double-take. There’s a political honcho in the car that he recognises. He motions me to shut up. I wince inwardly. I won’t have anything to do with such sort. Cohort takes up the conversation a few feet away from me with the occupants of the car. I hear snatches.

They are already trying to share the unseen spoils of the deal as and when it will go through.

Everybody is busy counting chickens. Nothing has hatched.

I started humming a tune. I watch the fun. Eggs. Chickens. Tandoori chickens. Belches. Whisky. Bigger belches.

I look at my watch. Time to go. Cohort rushes back to me. He is grim. Things have not gone well for him. Things have gone swimmingly well for me. I have decided. No truck with the dark. Home is where I should be. Watching that One Day International that’s happening.

I start walking to my car. Cohort frantic. He tries telling me something. I decide to ignore him.

He is alternately pleading and yelling. I am done with it. Enough. Check out. Deaf ears. I get into my car. The Innova guys are tumbling out of their vehicle.

I am pulling up my windows. Last I hear is: “1% tumcha”.

I felt nice giving up a notional 1%. Yes, it’s sometimes nice to give up riches. Buddha. Me. Except Buddha never went back to ODIs and Tendulkar!

Indraneel Majumdar 30.06.16Indraneel Majumdar is a CEO of a hospitality and amusement company, owns a business, chases trivia and enjoys “slice of life” situations. After having spent many years in Pune and Mumbai, he now lives with his family in an apartment overlooking a small and vanishing lake in Bengaluru. He has been blogging and doing what he calls “silly updates” in social media for some years now… “to everyone’s dismay”. This column will appear every Thursday.

Indraneel Majumdar
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