One More Day Before Debu’s Death

There was a long power cut in the evening, something Debu had not seen for a long time. Durga Puja was a week ahead and he smiled to himself, Jyoti Boshu, sala harami, how do you manage to supply power during the festival week when rest of the year it is the bourgeois Rajiv Gandhi whose counter revolutionary forces sabotage the power plants. To be honest, he really didn’t know the meaning of the word counter revolution, even though the word revolution always meant chaos and good business for him. Real good.

It was last month when he heard the other word bourgeois.

Last month the rain finally stopped and the grass between the tram tracks looked green and healthy. He was on a packed tram car heading south, may be Gariahat, slowly closing in on a thin man with a side bag. He liked the man and his conspicuous side bag . He liked the way the man argued with the conductor about overloading the tram, the non-working fans, power cuts and bourgeois Jyoti Boshu. It was a perfect timing, he thought later, that the man uttered the word bourgeois just as he was transferring the packet from the side bag to his pocket. The man was too annoyed with everything to realize what was happening. The word bourgeois had a tremendous hatred associated with it or may be he realized that this funny word had all the potentials for abuse.


Debu lit a bidi squatting on the pavement outside their basti and smiled after the third puff. The lit bidi was bright enough and he could gaze at his new quartz watch - the predictable blinking of the dots between the hour and the minute. He felt powerful that he could predict the blinking of the dots.

"Debuda, have a spare bidi?", Ali appeared from nowhere and squatted beside Debu. With an air of indifference Debu looked away. Then slowly taking his time he meticulously pulled the bidi-bundle wrapped in a red string from his shirt pocket. Pulling a bidi out from the bundle he felt Ali was watching him and he enjoyed that. "How’s it going?", he gave the bidi to Ali and lit it with a gas lighter that said J & B. The first puff is always the best and Ali wanted to enjoy it quietly but today it seemed Debuda was up to something. Ali replied while exhaling his first puff, "Oh nothing much (puff) but what are you up to? (long puff) Isn’t this your peak time for dhanda? Or is it that you are taking the day off?", slowly exhaling the smoke completely. Debu was so quiet and indifferent to what he said that Ali instead concentrated on the bidi and he always preferred the red string ones over the stale black string bidis.

There was a long silence. Debu suddenly became very philosophical and scratching his crotch asked Ali, "Hey Ali, my left eye ball is dancing since this morning. You know all this shit. Isn’t this a good omen. Doesn’t it mean I will succeed in my dhanda today? Or is it the right eye ball that should have danced?".

But Ali had already left as quietly as he appeared earlier. Debu felt good.

A week ago, after about two in the afternoon a thin boy had come looking for Debu at their place. Debu was sleeping. Phuli was out on her usual dish washing job that started at the old house across Naveen cinema and ended in one of the flats in the tall buildings; the ones that recently rose through the coconut trees shooting up straight without bending, unlike any other structure in the basti where little shacks seem to grow in two dimensions . Ali always told Debu that the old house really belonged to a Muslim family who fled to Jai Bangla during partition. Nobu Ghosh, the owner of Naveen cinema, took possession of the house and has been living there since then. Debu doesn’t believe this story. Given the slightest chance these Muslims can make you see white as black. But, the idea of Nobu Ghosh illegally occupying the building did appeal to him once when there was a suggestion that part of the basti be moved to that huge building. And he felt bad about not believing Ali earlier.

Anyway, all this is besides the point. The point is that the boy came looking for Debu. The boy, thin and looking down onto his toe, woke him up. Looking down almost beneath the floor he told Debu that Balaida wants to see him urgently. Then he ran away. Debu was barely awake. Debu could not even remember if the boy was wearing a shirt or not. He hated Balaida. And more than that he was woken up.

Balaida had told him to show up at his house in Madhyamgram when he met him at the Bus goomti. Balaida was the timekeeper at the goomti which was also the party office, at least that is what always seemed to Debu. The remains of an ancient red flag on the Banyan tree and all the free cups of party account tea that flowed under the tree from the chai shop made the place almost look like a party office just short of a picture of Lenin. It was also a rickshaw stand, a notice from the municipality stating the official fares hung from the tree. Below that was the seat of Shani, the goddess worshipped every Saturday. Early mornings carpenters smelling of unseasoned wood would squat on the pavement to eventually be hired by someone for the day.

When Debu went there to meet Balaida the place looked rather bare, it was hot, and Balaida was sitting in the little coup dozing. "Oh! it’s you.", Balaida said waking up, "We need few, very reliable, guys for an action. We will discuss in my house next week. This has to be discreet and we also want people who know their job - not the amateurs that you find everywhere these days." In reply to Balaida’s smile that followed, Debu barely said, "But me? I have given these up for a long time, you know that, and ..." "Debu! I know you have given up, but we need you very badly this time. And didn’t you say you wanted that apprenticeship in Jessop?" Debu accepted the Gold Flake cigarette from Balaida and imagined working with machines at Jessop. He could do anything to get a job.

Debu started walking, first nowhere, then suddenly realizing that it was already four o clock, made a sharp right towards the tram stop. He is late. He could have walked to Sealdah as he always did. He especially enjoyed the walk through the narrow lanes, discovering new ways each day leading to the small stretches of road under the flyover that remained perpetually covered with rotten vegetables. He never thought he would enjoy walking over rotten vegetables with other men hurrying home carrying fresh vegetables, afraid of being late for their trains and thus their wives and children’s home tasks. He enjoyed, now he thought, not the walk so much as the detached observation. He smiled to himself almost watching his face smile with all the wrinkles around his eyes and the yellowish teeth. A tram approached and holding the steel rod firmly he swung his body onto the moving tram. Standing at the door he enjoyed the fresh air, occasionally smelling sweat from the crowd inside.



At Sealdah station Sunondo was nervous as Joyoti followed her through the crowd. They had barely made it for their train - a distinctively brown monster waiting among the more innocuous yellow suburban locals. He was hurrying through the crowd, carrying the suitcase in his right hand, a smaller bag on his left and an empty water bottle slung around his shoulder. Looking back he saw Joyoti following him. On their way to the Sealdah station, Joyoti, his week old wife, and he hardly talked. Two taxis refused to come to Sealdah even though they were not off duty. "Don’t worry, we will find someone else who will be willing to go North", Joyoti whispered as both times he started an argument with the taxi drivers.

"No! somebody has to say something to them, you see. This is how we accept the trash and never protest", Sunondo was very excited like he would be about college politics. His affiliation was to the Marxist one - one that mostly meant singing group songs about freedom in a country that he read had won freedom long ago from the British. Finally he agreed to pay an extra premium before a taxi agreed to bring them to the station. The taxi driver was definitely not his class-enemy, so he showered his anger on all the well dressed passengers his eyes met sitting in adjacent cars whenever their taxi stopped at street lights.

Joyoti was nervous not so much because Sunondo had disappeared for a while to fill up the water bottle but because she felt that Sunondo was nervous. This trip was so different from the ones she took with her college friends. With her friends, by now she would have been unpacking, singing, planning all the possibilities of exploring a new place and drinking tea in terra-cotta cups. But today was the first day of her honeymoon, the word honeymoon itself felt so romantic that she felt flabbergasted.

Her sister-in-law had mediated her meeting with Sunondo about a year ago. She was still a student at the college. She liked him, or rather there was nothing that she disliked in Sunondo. A film in Nandan and a Nandikar show in Academy followed. Their parents met soon and then it was up to the parents to decide. Sunondo had to go away to Bhopal for work and as soon as he returned, they got married. That was a week ago and since then she hardly had any time to be with her husband alone. She wished Sunondo relaxed a little with her when they were alone.

Sunondo returned soon with a full water bottle and signs of victory on his face. As he walked in, he shouted, "The government sucks, they cannot even provide decent drinking water service in railway stations ...". Joyoti interrupted him, "Ei ... shono ", and asked him to sit beside her. He complied shyly. Their semi-cubicle was still empty and when Joyoti, holding his fists firmly with her fingers, pulled him towards her, he kissed her, so fast, that even the fastest camera couldn’t have taken a picture of that moment. Soon other passengers arrived and Sunondo started a conversation with a fellow passenger. Joyoti looked at Sunondo; she felt that by ignoring Joyoti when among a crowd, Sunondo was actually trying to give her attention. It was almost an anthropological observation and Joyoti giggled to herself imagining writing a story about Sunondo sometime. She remembered Shyamal in College who was such a fan of her stories.

Joyoti was looking out of the window, her vision well beyond what was visible with bare eyes. Sunondo was reading a sports magazine. There were two other men sitting on the opposite side. One was older wearing a white panjabi and dhuti while the other was younger.

Sunondo had gone to the toilet when four men approached their coup. Joyoti looked up. It was dark outside and the windows only reflected what was going on inside.

One of them, bearded and wearing a red T-shirt, approached the elder passenger while the other three stood at the entrance of the coup guarding the door. Addressing the old man, the red T-shirt said, "Dhirenda, I don’t think you should go to Siliguri. You better stay with us until the meeting is over", and grabbed his hand. Joyoti was sitting beside Dhirenda and as the red T-shirt leaned over her trying to reach the him, she yelled, "What is going on? Stop it".

"Debu!", red T-shirt shouted, " Take care of her". Debu, one of the three men guarding the door stepped forward. Debu, telling himself, be polite, be cool, told Joyoti, "Didi, please be quiet. We have come here on business and will harm no one; we just take him away and that’s it. This has nothing to do with you, please ... don’t invite trouble". Joyoti looked at the younger passenger for help and found him looking out of the window. Joyoti called for help, " Ei je, shoonchen, hey you", addressing the younger man she continued, "Can you hear me, pull the chain, pull the chain, please ... . At this Debu put his hand over Joyoti’s mouth, still trying to be polite and with the other pulled a dagger out of his side bag.

All this didn’t seem to bother Dhirenda so much, he acted as if he knew this would happen. He asked coldly, "Who sent you here, who, I want to know the name", and as he was saying this, almost to himself, he gathered his bag, neatly folding the evening newspaper and was ready to leave when suddenly Sunondo returned from the toilet.

"What is going on!", Sunondo was stunned at what he saw. Joyoti couldn’t help any more. She burst out crying, "Help, help!", but couldn’t say any more since by now Debu had a full grip of her and covered her mouth with his right hand. Sunondo jumped over Debu but he was no match to Debu, who by now looked more irritated than aggressive by the whole affair. He caught Sunondo by his right shoulder and cornered him, his dagger touching Sunondo’s throat. But Sunondo wouldn’t calm down, he tried to kick Debu on the crotch, and failed. As he defended himself from the kick, Debu started to feel a strong hatred growing within him; he started slapping Sunondo indiscriminately. Red T-shirt stopped Debu, and almost had to drag Debu out of the coup, but not before, in a continuation of his rage Debu snatched whatever he could from Joyoti, including a necklace.


Phuli was sleeping when Debu returned home. It was well beyond midnight. His dinner was cold, covered with a net in the corner. It was late even for the mosquitoes to bite; they sat quietly on the net covering his food oblivious of Phuli sleeping with her bare arms and right leg sticking out of the undone sari. The room always transformed itself into the most tranquil place on earth at night. The oil lamp was turned down and because it was also at the corner, on the floor along with the food, it cast long and distorted shadows of everything that stood up in the room. Shadows moved about on the walls and the ceiling, all mutually perpendicular as if computer generated.

Kneeling down, Debu observed Phuli for a while. It had been a long time since he spent any time with her.

Recently Phuli was very busy with her work; she usually left the house early when Debu would be still sleeping and when he returned, Phuli was exhausted from cooking at other’s houses. Debu would be exhausted too from his dhanda.

She would feed him, he would eat. She would shout at him, he would listen. Occasioanlly he would shout at her, in return she would curse herself. He would go out to smoke, she would go out to watch TV in Jamal’s house. With only minor day to day variations this was Debu’s life with Phuli. But it was not like this when Phuli moved in with Debu three years ago. To Debu it seemed Phuli was a completely different person then, a lover, almost out of a Hindi film without the songs and dances. But then Debu had his job then at the Kangaria Biscuit Company. He would come home early and they would occasionally go out for walks and phoochka in the maidan.

"Ei Phuli", Debu whispered nervously touching her bare knees. On a second call Phuli turned around and said, " What’s your problem, your food is on that corner", and continued sleepily, " by the way, Jamal gave you Biswas Babu’s address; it’s there under the picture of kali". Phuli turned back to sleep almost with a self declared statement "Do not disturb". "Look, what I have for you today", taking the necklace out from his pocket he said, "it’s real gold".

"Let me see", Phuli immediately woke up. Debu was looking at her eyes. Phuli was looking, still very sleepy, at the necklace. "Phuli", Debu tried to draw her attention as his hands were now confidently roaming over her thighs. "What?" Phuli was still looking down on the necklace that she was holding and without looking up raised her eye brows to acknowledge. Debu was almost upon her as he said "Let’s do it". She offered no resistance, just collapsed under him and for Debu it was the strangest form of intimacy, if one can call it, he ever had with Phuli. He felt a subdued aggression within him - a continuation of his anger that he felt in the train. He was angry but didn’t know who he was angry with.

Debu watched Phuli grabbing the necklace firmly in her left fist even as she was taking him inside her with all the mutual skill that they had honed over the past three years. Even making love was now a mere skill, like picking pockets, a skill that made Debu feel like throwing up.

Eight days later Debu was arrested for robbery after a police raid found the necklace under the picture of Kali. Later a police statement declared Debu dead after he allegedly committed suicide in custody.