The Foreign Postcard

By Rajendra Bhojaraj Shetty

His entire life flashed back before him as Jack drove his car on the national highway. His fetish for making the fast buck had landed him in jeopardy, many a time before. But nothing like the one he was trying to wriggle out of right now. He thought about Mona and wondered what would happen to her without him. He had promises to keep with her and his family as well. He had to flee the city he loved so much and knew so well. He knew all the rules and had tweaked them at will to make the extra money. He also knew that the business he was in was powerful and could manipulate the system, its law and machinery of the state. He felt like a hunted man as he glanced occasionally at the rear-view mirror, totally unaware of life’s next destination.

• Language: English
• Publisher: One Point Six Technologies Pvt Ltd
• Release date: Feb 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9789388573863

Rajendra Bhojaraj Shetty

I was born two mornings after the new year of 1967 at five minutes to ten and the interns at KMC gathered around to celebrate the birth of a bonny baby boy who turned out to be the nephew of the Professor of English Literature at the local college.My father was a middle class railway employee and my mother was an uneducated homemaker. My father was a strict disciplinarian. We were forced to a ritual of chores which included reading, writing and praying.Meanwhile, reading became the only solace, pleasure, pastime for someone whose entire family lived on rationing.It was the year 1991 after a month of Rajiv Gandhi’s death and I was 24. We were a gang of traders, unemployed and laid off youth assembling daily outside a rundown printing press in the industrial area of Goregaon. Tea flowed, clouds of cigarettes burning with aspiration. If we were lucky, morsels of lunch and a couple of beers to cap a perfect evening.I was flipping the pages of the Afternoon Dispatch& Courier one afternoon and was surprised to find a piece I had written to Behram Contractor aka Busybee. My article had grabbed the centre page and I was very pleased. A friend read carefully and said, “You are a writer.” He introduced himself as a copywriter. That was when I knew that there was a big world outside who paid you to write. He advised me to graduate and then post grad in media from a college in town. I smiled and could not reply.I continued my surrogate writing which included junior copywriters from ad agencies. During the same time I learnt that I was good in long copy too and decided to write a novel.And I realized that for the first time that I was writing in spite of being happy and busy with other projects.

Book preview

Tuesday, 14th November 2017

Sunrise, if you ask a common cosmo, is the time when one is at the peak of slumber. One of the sacrifices of a fast life led by him. You know it is supposed to be the finest part of the day, but you cannot help it.

With increasing work hours and social activities running late into night, we actually end up paying small fortunes on exotic holidays to finally watch a sunrise.

This very same regret was sensed on the man arriving towards the most popular beach in the suburbs. Situated in the heart of the city suburbs – early morning is a scene of a colourful display of track suits, sneakers, an assortment of ages, shapes and sizes working out to the accompanying of fresh air, a rarity in an already decaying city. He gazed at the beautiful crimson breaking onto the skies and raising the visibility of the great expanse of the never-ending sea.

A vast expanse of shore with the best of international star hotels and real estate gold mines facing the beach. An array of ice cream stalls, snackeries and the very famous pav bhajis, bhel puris and sherbets which were now closed after late night business.

Making his way through the crowd of early morning joggers, he certainly looked like a winner irrespective of whatever profession he belonged to. The manner of walking showed signs of a man who had people making way for him to walk without hindrance. His piercing looks proved that he had a following and he was nobody’s subordinate. Everything about him had success written in capital letters.

Tall, six footish, sprite, hair turned attractively silver denoted that inspite of his youthful looks, he was in his late forties or early fifties. Relaxed strides, breathing in the cool air, planning strategic moves, he regretted that he could not afford to have more of these peaceful moments. He remembered his childhood and the fun filled time devoid of life’s pressures and struggles.

A brisk and sweaty thirty minutes later, he glanced at his wristwatch. Looking at the time, realizing that he had to turn back and face one more busy day, he started walking back reluctantly, smiling at some funny thought that might have entered his mind. He slowed down gradually as he walked his way back to the main getaway. Barely acknowledging the continuous recognition from the people, he encountered, he ducked through the stalls and passed underneath the huge statue of Emperor Shivaji alongside a life-sized cannon.

The limo was parked opposite the Ramada Inn and the chauffeur leapt to attention as he saw his master approaching.

Never-minding the chauffeur with a signal of the hand, he opened the door and stepped into the front seat of the right-hand drive.

The limousine glided past a goods carrier and the master exchanged a glance with the driver of the parked van. On an impulse, he looked back and saw the van starting to move behind them.

The limo was hardly twenty metres away from the main intersection of the Juhu Tara Road when it all happened.

The van suddenly emerged on the left of the limo, the doors sliding open, bullets shattering the window, one of them piercing the shoulder of the master, a trickle of blood emerging from the white sweatshirt. The master was still conscious as he laboriously pulled his cellphone out and touched the screen to life. The limo roared ahead cutting to the left of the road towards the J W Marriott. The morning traffic was light as the limo raced ahead, cutting lanes and jumping the signal as it turned right towards the arterial S V Road. Within minutes the limo came to a screeching halt in front of Dr. Balabhai Nanavati Hospital.

A team of doctors were already waiting at the Casualty to attend to him. Minutes later, he was wheeled in to the operation theatre. He was struggling to remain conscious and stared at the focus of the lights. He imagined silhouettes of people standing around him. At first, they seemed familiar and then the faces were masked. He heard the anaesthetist whispering something to him and felt a gentle prick of the needle. He was being pulled towards the oblivion of sleep and then he heard the voice. The strains of a sweet voice singing a lullaby, emanating from the confines of a tiny home in a chawl. He recognized the voice, smiled, totally at peace and fell asleep.

1942 : The peak of freedom struggle

Centuries had passed. Generations of warriors, clans, kings and emperors gave way to intellects, thinkers, revolutionaries and patriots.

The rajas and the maharajas were busy enjoying life, unaware of their state and that of the subjects. Whilst they hunted deer and women, and drank to the exploitation of the labourer, the enemy stealthily crept in and plundered their riches.

The process is the same as it was then. We had a fight within. Situations changed with foreign invaders from the Afghan giving rise to the Mughals, the Portuguese, the Dutch, the Spaniards and the East India Company.

A handful of brave patriotic tigers were no match for the mighty British who coerced the minds of the majority of flatterers, boot lickers, traitors and the salaried slaves of the East India Company.

The likes of Bhagat Singh, Azad, Dhingra, Chapekar and Netaji achieved premature martyrdom and gave way to a new breed of democratic gentlemen. Gandhiji adopted satyagraha, civil disobedience, non-violence and saw through Jalianwala to help create a congress of paper tigers who led the nation towards independence.

1942 saw the onset of the Quit India Movement which led to the ultimate protest that ended after five years in Independence and one of the blackest days in history called the Partition.

Victoria Terminus, one the most impressive and enduring gothic landmark, was the gateway to an ever-rising influx of immigrants from all corners of India to Bombay, the nation’s all-important port and commerce capital.

A dream of a poor villager to earn money and sustain his family back home.

The fifteen-year-old lad was one of the thousands of arrivals clutching a pair of clothes and a dream of making it big.

He had run away from home leaving behind a widowed mother and had soon boarded a ship carrying some fifteen people from his native village.

He stayed with all fifteen of them in one single room, working during the day and studying by night. He was a dishwasher in a restaurant and attended night school.

He vividly remembered the Saturday, on 8th of August 1942 when the leaders of the country had assembled in Gowalia Tank in response to Gandhi’s call to the British – Quit India. He was eager to volunteer. His body bore the scars of the lathi charge that ensued during the meeting.

The revolution had reached an all-time high and it was just a matter of time for the nation to get real liberation. They were already liberated within at this moment when leaving behind all their internal squabbles; they strove to achieve a united aim of driving the usurpers out.

The ‘50s

Euphoria had died down. People were busy mending and rebuilding their careers and future.

Working his way up, he was in his mid-twenties, working as a waiter. He had passed out of elementary school with an aptitude for the languages. He was one of the rare privileged to go this far in education. He was staying with a relative who treated him like a son. He married in the month of December 1958 to a simplistic village girl.

Peter and Mary D’Souza were later destined to be the creators of a family which would eventually create history.

1

Thursday, March 14th 1985

The Ambassador bearing the insignia of the government screeched to a halt in front of the college gates. The security guards leapt out of the car and the assistant of the local MLA seated inside called to a group of students loitering outside the gate. Where is Jack? The group quickly looked behind and whistled to another group standing inside the college. They made a sign and the message relayed further to the group standing near the canteen area. The relay continued till it ended in the centre table of the canteen which was filled by a continuous chatter of youth. One guy looked up and the person sitting next to him left immediately to enquire about the new arrival.

Jack was six feet tall, slim, long haired with a new beard, the typical rebel student and seated around half a dozen cronies. News arrived with details of the arrivals. Instead of getting nervous or overawed, Jack sprawled back further and reached for a cigarette. Refusing an immediate strike of the lighter, he settled down to wait.

A few minutes passed by and an eerie silence struck the canteen akin to that of a lecturer entering the classroom.

The MLA rushed in, anger written all over his face. He was accompanied by the security guards and his aides. The table cleared automatically and the MLA sat down and banged the table. Who the hell do you think you are? A bloody minister?

Jack smiled and answered, It is always the thirsty that has to go and fetch the water.

If you continue behaving in such a manner, you won’t survive long.

Let us leave that to destiny and start talking. I know your time is very valuable.

"What have you done until now? Tell me. The college elections are barely a week away. I have been informed that you are doing nothing but sitting idle in the canteen and smoking cigarettes and drinking tea. If the situation continues, I will be forced to…

Don’t you dare threaten me, you… Jack straightened up and stared into the MLA’s eyes. His nerves were taut, fists clenched and eyes of deadly pallor that made the MLA shudder for a moment. Waving to the guards who immediately surrounded Jack, the MLA held Jack’s hand and soothingly asked him Why don’t you understand my problem?"

Jack sprawled back again, lit the cigarette and after taking a long drag blew the smoke up towards the ceiling.

I have talked to all the prospective winners of the colleges in the suburbs. I have already arranged for the candidates in the opposition to be taken away safely on a paid vacation which will end only after the elections. I don’t mind even if the elections are held tomorrow.

"That’s it. I knew I could count on you…

"I am not finished yet, Jack interrupted.

Go on. I am listening.

I have set everything for you. But nothing will go ahead unless you arrange for the money.

How much?

Ten thousand bucks for each winning candidate. Money for the getaway cars and a few rooms in a five-star hotel.

What da fuck! the MLA shouted.

Jack continued as if nobody had interrupted. We are not kidnappers. We have to treat the opposition with food, booze and anything else they want to indulge in. Otherwise, once the complaints begin piling up, the elections will stand cancelled and you know what kind of mess you will be in. OK? Where was I? Yes... A few rooms in a five star and a few cars… I think that will do for now. Any problem that arises afterwards… I know that you will be able to solve it easily. After all you are the MLA of the ruling party.

Ten thousand bucks! Have you gone mad? How many winners do you expect?

All of the fifteen colleges that I have covered, Jack said confidently.

One and a half lakhs for a bloody college election! They will throw me out on my bare ass, if I suggest this.

Aw c’mon, you know how important college elections have become. The money will be recovered within a few days when the admissions begin. And what is one and a half lakhs for you and the ruling party? Peanuts! You don’t have to tell me how you will use our strength and backing for the local and the assembly elections, especially now that the voting age has been lowered to 18.

I’m sorry, but this is impossible, the MLA said.

Jack continued again ignoring the MLA’s conclusion. One lakh in advance. Once things begin moving, you will arrange for the cars and get the rooms booked. The balance will be calculated and given to me on the day after the elections are held.

Who the fuck do you think you are? The Chancellor or the Governor? The MLA stood up.

Jack smiled at the MLA. We both know that the day we find alternatives, we will stop recognizing each other. It’s just give and take. I have named a price which might be high, but not that high to make it unaffordable. Besides, you don’t have a choice too.

You know what you are? You are a bastard who’s gonna die a premature death.

I’m like a younger brother to you. Jack got up to shake hands with the MLA.

Why don’t you move your ass and start working on it?

As soon as I get one lakh.

The MLA gestured to his aide who produced a briefcase and laid it on the table.

Throw a lakh on his face. The MLA ordered and turned around unable to bear the admonishing and scornful look on Jack’s face.

One day I am gonna kill this asshole with my bare hands, the MLA thought while walking away from the canteen.

Jack sat down, sprawled again and looked around the canteen. He saw a hundred pair of eyes watching him intently. Smiling, he raised his hand and immediately the decibel level went up as the students resumed their conversation.

The waiter arrived with cups of tea as Jack’s friends regained their seats.

Jack looked at the money and spoke to the guy sitting to his right. Keep seventy-five for the winning candidates. Clear all our dues and stash away the balance. We shall divide the profits only after the elections are held and the rest of the money recovered.

The money was taken away instantly and handed over to the canteen owner who wondered how these kids managed to earn so much money at one stroke whilst he slogged whole day and barely managed to make ends meet.

Jack got up and walked out of the canteen. Barely acknowledging the continuous salaams from students as well as staff, he stopped near the gate.

Hi! Jack turned to locate the Hi. He smiled at the girl approaching him. She was his neighbour and a very good friend too. "Any problem? she asked.

Jack understood that she must have heard about the MLA’s arrival. No problem. They had some work with me.

She seemed to be puzzled but her thoughts were interrupted by a voice. She and Jack both looked at the person calling her and Jack was struck by something when they looked at each other. She was good looking, not extremely beautiful, but something about her had Jack gazing intently. She blushed, confusion written over her face as she looked at Jack’s friend.

OK Jack. I must be going. She is waiting for me. I will see you in the evening. Of course, if you come early. It’s a rare thing nowadays, she laughed and ran to catch up with her friend.

Jack saw them till he couldn’t see them anymore. He turned his thoughts back towards the elections. He had to make it a success now that the money had already come in.

He was turning 20 and time always seemed less enough to fulfil all the dreams he had always dreamt about.

2

Uncle. Your brother Jack has come to meet you.

Send him in. A face bent down into the books of accounts looked up to reveal handsome young features, contradicting the name strongly. Five feet eleven inches tall, strong and muscular, macho looks, sharp features, charismatic eyes, a very sweet rich voice and a temper which hid beneath the countenance like burning lava. Witnesses to its eruption have sworn that the power of his rage was enough to kill a lion with bare hands. The title Uncle might have a derivation for his leadership qualities at a very young age of 23.

Hello buddy Jack said, pushing the chair back and leaning back as was his habit. Uncle looked at him with an expressionless face and sighed within. Jack never called him brother and it was justified as everyone knew that they shared a very close relationship, almost like good friends. There were no barriers or secrets unshared. They had their share of fights but whenever faced with external trouble, they stood together. Uncle was the more tolerant, standing like a pillar of support, helping and guiding Jack through his regular troubles.

Jack was the only one who crossed all limits with him. When shouted at, he shouted back. When abused at, he abused back. During their brawls, Jack was no match for Uncle in hand to hand combat and many a time had to resort to domestic weapons to match him.

And it was Uncle who always offered to patch up after their differences. He knew Jack would not sleep or eat until he talked to him. Both knew they could not live without each other.

Uncle was worried about Jack’s ruthless ambitions and blamed himself for being a leading example to his younger brother. Uncle’s thoughts were broken by Jack’s movement as he reached out for a cigarette packet lying on the table. He pulled out a cigarette and handed it out to Uncle. He pulled one more out and put it on his own lips. Uncle struck a light and passed the burning match to Jack. What happened now?

Jack recounted the meeting with the MLA at the college.

What can I do? You have already accepted the money and it’s your headache now.

I have worked everything out. I just want you to ask your men to be with me till the elections are held. I also want you to talk to the cops.

I am sorry Jack. I cannot help you. I have always pleaded with you to avoid such kind of business where you can get hurt. You don’t realize the kind of guys that you are dealing with. There might come a time when they will have you by your balls and ask you to do all kinds of dirty jobs just for the sake of a few grands.

Stop treating me like a kid. Jack got up in a huff. You know that I cannot and I won’t go back on my word. I will have to think of something myself." He turned to leave.

Sit down. What’s the hurry? What would you like, tea or coffee?

No. Thanks. Jack gave him an angry stare. I must be going. He rushed out of the room.

Uncle smiled for the first time and reached for the phone.

The bar was crowded in the evening like hell and it was becoming a regular sight. With the younger generation preferring to spend the evenings over a quart of whisky / rum or a bottle of beer, trying to ease their respective teenage frustrations.

Jack and his friends avoided the entrance as usual and took the detour, passing through cops in civil downing quick pegs while on duty at the Andheri Police Station bang opposite the bar.

Entering the air-conditioned section, they made their way to the last seat which seemed to be reserved for them.

The waiter hurried towards them and wished them with hearty handshakes. Jack Saab, kaise ho?

Bas, jee rahe hain sabhi, Jack mumbled. The three sitting with Jack jovially exchanged greeting with the waiter. All the three were just out of their teens and possessed one thing in common – an unswerving loyalty towards Jack. Sitting next to Jack was Sunil, the lieutenant. Fair, handsome, short and muscular. He had all the beautiful girls eating out of his hand. Dara, the accountant with ready account of all income and expenditure of the group. Aslam, the silent one, of few words. But the deadliest among them during their warfares.

The waiter arrived with two quarters of Diplomat whisky, soda for Jack, water for Dara and a Thumps Up for Sunil. Aslam always drank a bottle of Pilsner. No less, no more. The waiter seemed well versed as he emptied the two quarts exactly among the three and left to get them some eats.

Uncle has put us in a real fix, Sunil looked at Jack who was nursing his peg, seemingly lost.

Tomorrow we have to approach the local bhais, Jack replied. We have no choice.

He was still angry at Uncle for letting him down. He had always opposed, being the elder brother. Couldn’t blame him, Jack thought. If tomorrow something untoward happened, Uncle would have to face the entire blame and accusations of the family, neighbourhood and relatives too.

Relations were extremely strained at home. Dad was furious and frustrated at his son’s career. Approaching retirement at the age of late fifties added fuel to the frustration. Mom had to bear the brunt as Dad vented all his anger on her as she was always available.

Jack had begun avoiding a confrontation with his father by staying out late in the nights. His intuition warned him though that he was going to face the music, sooner or later.

His thoughts were broken by the sound of glass shattering on the floor.

Simultaneously all of them barring Jack stood up to catch up with the scene. The sardar who was drunk and manhandling the restaurant manager was familiar.