Short story: The mysterious watchman aka Chowkidar

March 24, 2019 by Keyur Seta Leave a Comment

The Secretary, Chairman and few committee members of the Bharat Housing Society were sitting in front of the desk inside their club house. They had an important task at hand today – to interview a candidate for the post of their security guard or, as some people prefer to address, watchman for their society.

Their need was urgent. The previous security guard had turned out to be a failure. There wasn’t a flaw as far as competency in his job was concerned. He had an impeccable reputation when he had joined.

His downfall came about when once, in broad daylight, few thieves entered an apartment in Bharat Society and robbed goods worth lakhs from an apartment. The guard couldn’t catch them. It was later found through the CCTV footage that it was he who let them escape. Needless to say, he got his cut for it.

He was, obviously, sacked and a hunt for a new security guard commenced. They finally found a candidate worthy enough in the form of Joginder Sodhi who was sitting opposite the Secretary and others right now.

Sodhi previously worked as a guard at a small bungalow in their town. His boss left the town after he was transferred by his company to another place. He gave a very positive feedback about Sodhi. He was all praise for his work ethics, ability and monumental dedication.

The team of the society was impressed after speaking to him at length. He also had a strong as well as a pleasing personality and immense confidence.

But they were also surprised to see how Sodhi keeps harping about his work and ability as a chowkidar. That’s what he loved to call himself. He also promised that no theft will take place during his tenure and he will turn out to be much better than the previous chowkidar.

Sodhi was selected without much delay. He was happy and why not? He had graduated to being a chowkidar of a small bungalow to a reputed housing society like Bharat.

After a few days in the job, Sodhi was once seen speaking animatedly with three men who stayed on the third floor – Saurav, Mohit and Sujay. They were businessmen who stayed on rent. They ran a textile business. Other than this, not much was known about them. The Secretary didn’t like the new chowkidar mingling with the trio. He somehow found them shady ever since they arrived there to stay few weeks ago.

The next morning at 6 am the Secretary, while coming down the stairs for his early morning walk, saw the door of the apartment of the Sharmas, on fourth floor, open. It struck him only after few seconds that Sharmas are out on a vacation. So how come their door was open?

As he entered the house he was shocked to see their cupboard open and a lot of valuables stolen. He ran down and saw that the apartment of the three businessmen Saurav, Mohit and Sujay locked. They were too lazy to wake up before 9 am. Where have they left so early?

The Secretary went to Sodhi’s chamber in a hurry but to his shock he was missing too. He instantly recalled how Sodhi had become friends with the businessmen trio. Another theft and another chowkidar turned out to be a thief.

Dejected, the Secretary called the chairman and they both decided to head to the police station. As they just stepped out of their compound they saw Saurav, Mohit and Sujay being dragged by a man. The man was none other than Sodhi.

Sodhi narrated how he went after the trio after he found their behaviour fishy. He caught them red handed, roughed them up singlehandedly and brought them to the society to let the secretary and others handle. Sodhi had proven himself. He became a hero among the entire society.

Some chowkidars do stay true to their word. If you felt the story would end in another fashion, you know whom to blame for it.

By: Keyur Seta

Also read: Short story: The Release of my first feature film

Short story: Under the shade in the rainy evening in Bharatpur

November 25, 2018 by Keyur Seta 1 Comment

The sun had set in Bharatpur that evening but it wasn’t dark at the market road. The workers of the Jan Raksha Party (JRP) were burning effigies of a leader from the ruling Lok Seva Party (LSP) after he allegedly made a derogatory remark against their leader.

The JRP workers were sweating in their pink T-shirt bearing the abbreviation of their party in the already humid town but they didn’t care. How dare he insult their beloved leader?

Their victorious reverie was broken when a group of supporters of LSP started raising slogans against the said JRP leader. They felt their leader did the right thing. They too were oblivious to their sweaty purple T-shirts bearing the abbreviation of their respective parties. But both parties were united in not caring for the general office going population that was having difficulty while going home after a long and tiring day at work.

Such was the state of affairs in Bharatpur these days. The town was divided between LSP and JRP; between pink and purple. Earlier it was only their supporters who were at loggerheads. But slowly, common people too clinged onto any one side and developed enmity against those who were on the ‘other’ side. So what if they have been their close friends or even family members all these years?

The colleges regularly saw tussles and arguments between both set of supporters. But since recent times, even offices saw heated conversations between those who were otherwise well-educated and mature.

The scene was the same even in the virtual world of social media and What’s App. More than the IT cells of these parties, the common people were energetically creating posts to bash and insult the other side. Both parties were saving a lot of money since the common people were ready to publicize them and their agendas for free.

When the general public felt such enmity for people from the ‘other’ side, one can just imagine the hatred between the official party workers of both parties. They literally couldn’t see eye to eye.

The mobs of both groups were showing no signs of stopping. Hence, it took some divine intervention in the form of unseasonal December rain. What started as a drizzle soon transformed into heavy rain and storm-like situation. To make matters worse, the electricity went off.

The general public, which was running helter skelter, was now confused. Ajit, a man in his mid-20s, ushered inside the entrance of a shop that was shut. As he was moved inside the roof properly to escape the rain water, his body his someone. It was a man in his 50s who too was there as he had to save himself from the rain and it was too dark to try going home.

After an awkward moment, they spoke and soon introduced themselves. The man in his 50s was Rameshchandra. The two were glad to have each other’s company to combat this difficult situation. Ajit realized that Rameshchandra was feeling uneasy.

When Ajit caringly prodded further, he revealed that he is diabetic and needed water. Ajit promptly handed him a bottle from his bag in the dark. Rameshchandra thanked him. He then he noticed that Ajit was limping a bit. Now it was Rameshchandra’s turn to caringly prod him about his uneasiness.

Ajit explained how his leg got hit to the street lamp pole in the dark while he was hurriedly getting under the roof. Rameshchandra handed him a little bottle of a balm which he always carried for his headache. He said the balm works even for the kind of injury Ajit suffered. Then Ajit remembered the slogan of the balm’s advertisement, ‘Ek balm, teen kaam’ and they had a hearty laugh.

There was massive age gap between the two of them but they didn’t feel it. Difficult circumstances can even bring two people from different age groups together in a human way. Both decided in their minds that they would like to keep in touch. They were no longer thinking about the uneasiness caused by their wet T-shirts.

Just then the electricity returned and the road lights were on. They were glad but as soon as their eyes fell on each other, they were stunned. They were wearing pink and purple T-shirts respectively.

By: Keyur Seta

Short Story: The Orange Garlands of Bharatpur

September 10, 2018 by Keyur Seta 1 Comment

The television set in the rich household of Bharatpur was showing an important development that took place in the town that evening. The news was shocking but it didn’t shake the family members. The effect of the cool breeze of their new expensive air conditioner and the delicious pizza was too much for them to be bothered about anything else.

Earlier in the day

Ramakant was obediently sprinkling water on the orange marigold garlands in his shop. The droplets shone like diamonds in the early morning sun. This has been a subconscious activity for him since long. It not only kept the flowers fresh but also spread the fragrance of the marigold.

The 55-year-old was passionate about his business, although it hasn’t made him rich. The fact that his garlands get a place around the neck of the idol in the adjacent temple, albeit for few minutes, was too fulfilling for him.

Bharatpur was the land of the extreme. The wealthy families of the town had to wonder where to spend their money. The poor, on the other hand, saved every penny to ensure they won’t stay hungry the other day. There are areas where the luxurious high-rises lie just besides slums. Two separate worlds exists just few metres away.

The abnormal gap does become a cause of concern for Ramakant, who lied somewhere between both extremes. He knows much more about Bharatpur than his calm face and joyous nature show. With his keen interest in history coupled with the fact that his father being the freedom fighter, he understands Bharatpur in and out.

But he sees little hope in the socio-political situation of the town. The new regiment, that had promised heaven, has been destroying the once ideal town brick by brick. Apart from economic collapse, the secular fabric of the town has been under serious threat since recent times. Atrocities on the marginalized were a regular electoral feature.

On top of that, anyone who criticizes the establishment or raises troubling questions was labelled either an enemy of the land. By the way, being an enemy of the land was equivalent to being an enemy of the majority religion.

Ramakant now concentrates only in his daily routine and service to God, more so after he lost his beloved wife Lakshmi to tuberculosis (TB). He finds solace in God. He believes the Kalki Avatar, the 10^th avatar of Vishnu, is the only hope now.

His daughter Damini, however, has the opposite mindset. The 25-year-old Political Science professor in Shaheed Bhagat Singh College is a fiery young woman. She has a strong heart of a revolutionary but, at the same time, is soft-spoken and compassionate.

It is this emotional side of hers that compels her to champion the causes of the marginalized. Protests and demonstrations are her regularly routine. Holding banners with her hair tied in a ponytail in her usual attire of a kurta and jeans is a familiar sight in Bharatpur. She is also known for her polite yet hard-hitting articles.

Damini’s transformation has been revolutionary to say the least. She was almost the opposite as a child and during her early teens. During her schooling period, she was a reserved student who hardly opened her mouth. But studying Sociology during her college days proved to be a turning point in her life.

The subject sowed the seed of transformation in her. Studying about the oppressed classes of the society, both in India and abroad, gave her a completely new perspective about the world. She realized that just earning money and living a luxurious lifestyle can never be her aim. Doing at least something about the oppression around her was necessary in order to live a life, instead of just surviving like blind consumerists.

Participating in inter-collegiate drama competition increased her confidence no ends. Soon, she was seen performing street plays as well on social issues. The person who was hesitant to speak even in front of handful of people now didn’t care even if hundred pair of eyes were glued to her.

The passing away of her mother had a lasting impact on Damini, obviously. The incident made her more responsible at an early age. In other words, it further honed her skills as a leader ready to shoulder responsibilities. By the time she enrolled for post-graduation in Sociology, she was a different individual altogether.

Despite her father’s profession, Damini has never been sure about the existence of God. But she is more than sure that one shouldn’t expect Him to solve our problems.

Ramakant wasn’t oblivious to the massive change in Damini. He knew she was walking the razor’s edge. But he always saw his late father in her and that ensured he never stopped her from walking her path.

Damini was teaching in her usual calm manner today. But deep inside, she was all looking forward to something after the lecture. As soon as the bell rang, she barged out of the college campus, travelled to the town hall area on her bike and marched in the protest rally against something serious.

Back at his shop, Ramakant wasn’t hoping of any major business that day as it wasn’t any festival or special religious day. So, it came as a pleasant surprise when a man came to buy around a dozen expensive thick marigold garlands.

But his joy was shortlived as his friend came running to give him the news about Damini’s arrest along with a number of other social workers, activists, journalists and professors for holding a powerful rally against the government.

Ramakant was sad to hear that but not worried and not at all surprised. He knew this was coming. Off late, the current situation has been reminding him of the days of the freedom struggle his father used to narrate.

The family in the rich household just besides Ramakant’s shop was watching the news about the important development in Bharatpur that day. The seriousness of the issue didn’t matter to them as they hogged on to the pizza slices in the cool breeze of the air conditioner.

The news anchor was heard saying, “The activists protesting against the release of those convicted in the gruesome lynching were arrested by the police. On the other end of the town, the convicts were welcomed by their party leader with thick marigold garlands.”

By: Keyur Seta