The morning was too cold for a morning in Palakkad. I was standing in front of the mirror shirtless, slightly shivering and looking at my swollen nose. I noticed that my nose resembles that of David Thewlis, Mammooty and Adrien Brody. Yet is uniquely mine. What a wonder! I thought.
I put my finger on the middle of the nose and tried to push it. It hurt so much that I pulled back my finger immediately. Last night, a guy hit me in a cafe. ‘Stop staring at my girl,’ he said. I wanted to punch him back, and I would have, if I were as immature as him. Violence is the tool of the dumb and I was late to the college.
The students were fidgety when I walked in. None of them rose and wished me. I was the only professor who was not strict with them. I was the first professor to suggest that the college needed boards with v oice assistants. ‘It's 2030, not 95!’ I had raised my voice in that meeting to the principal. Not to brag, but he was always slightly scared and respectful of me.
‘So, why do we like certain movies and why do we not like certain movies?’ No one said anything. Everyone was looking at their iPads and some had their airpods on. Some even their VR Headsets on. (Porn? Games?)
‘Saran?’ I called out.
Saran was sitting in the back row. He rose and adjusted his thick-framed glasses. ‘Can you repeat the question, Sir?’
‘Why do we like certain movies?’
‘We like a movie when we see ourselves knowingly or unknowingly in one or many of the characters…’
‘And what if I said I disagree with you?’
‘I’ll ask you to prove me wrong, Sir.’
His tone was very cocky. I wanted to tell him to use his cocky tone with Srinda Madam and not me (I’m not a sexist by the way; in fact I’m a hardcore feminist).
‘Very well then, I’ll prove it wrong…. Have you cried at a war movie?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you been in a war?’
‘No.’
‘There, I proved you wrong!’ I turned and looked around the class, hoping for the kids to cheer and applaud for me. None of them did.
‘No sir, you didn’t. We cry at war movies because we relate to the emotion and not the context. We see ourselves in a similar emotional situation as the character. That's why I said ‘knowingly or unknowingly’.
I couldn’t reply. I didn’t have anything to reply with. He was right in some ways, but at that moment I wanted to thrash him down somehow. And I didn’t care how dirty I played. But I was silent. What could I say to that?
‘Sir, can I sit now?’ A round of applause arose in the classroom.
‘Silence!’ I shouted at the whole class, then turned to Saran, ‘I will advise you to read masters like Tarkovsky.’
‘But Tarkovsky himself said that cinema is about relating one character to the whole world.’
‘So you have read Tarkovsky too?’
‘Can’t I read Tarkovsky?’ Fucker thinks he is the film professor.
I left the class in humiliation, anger and agony. I started believing that I suck at everything. I suck at making films, I suck at writing them and I even suck at teaching them. If I had to come up with a list of things I suck at, I’d suck at that as well. If I was gay, would I have sucked at sucking too? I’m not homophobic by the way. I took a minor in Harvard about gender fluidity called ‘Gender: A Problematic Social Construct in the Modern Era’ and received an A grade.
To relieve myself of the extreme frustration caused by a fucking teenager, I walked into the canteen. I saw Akhil sitting alone at a table. All the other tables were taken by college kids. I went and sat next to him.
‘Do you know Saran?’
‘Film student?’
‘Yes ... second year.’
‘Ah yes, nice kid he is.’
‘Nice? He’s the opposite of that. He’s evil.’
‘What happened?’
‘He is so fucking full of himself.’ I accidentally raised my voice.
‘Keep it low,’ Akhil advised. I didn’t.
‘He thinks he rules me.’
Akhil calmed me down somehow. After a while, I stopped barking. Poor Akhil, he always has to keep up with me.
‘Do you wanna come over tonight?’ I asked him
‘You forgot about the party?’
‘Which party?’
‘Ratna Sir’s retirement party?’
‘What? I wasn’t invited-’
‘Saran is conducting the party…’ Akhil seemed to find it hard to make eye contact with me.
‘What the actual fuck? You’re going to that fucker’s party so that he can kiss all of your asses?’
I got up and stormed out of the canteen.
*
During my travel home, on the bus, I noticed the hologram advertisements and felt proud of my city. Last year Palakkad became a Full-Hologram city. The billboards were not allowed to use plastic flex anymore. Only hologram projections on as large a scale as billboards. And thus, Palakkad became the first city in India (or Hindustan as they’d like us to say) to completely ditch traditional billboards. Which is one of the few good things the government did according to me. When I was in IIT Madras, I minored in a course called ‘Billboards: The Evil We Barely Notice’. I was the topper in the class. So I know how bad these are for the environment.
My house is pale blue with washed up interiors, which resembled the interiors of Mike Leigh’s Naked (Great film, one of my favourites). Or as if I read too much Nietzsche and couldn't get him out of my mind while painting my house. Which was kind of true. Out of all the professors in my college. I was the only one well-versed in philosophy. I think, as a film professor, it is important to know philosophy.
I made myself some coffee and sat down to finish my script. I started writing this script five years ago. It is called The Sleepless Nights. It is about a professor who fights against a world which oppresses him. Every night, I’d come and sit in front of the laptop and just struggle. Seems as if I’m in a constant writer’s-block-induced coma. I sat and looked at the laptop screen as if piercing empty space. Blank.
Suddenly, I heard my doorbell ring. I looked at the clock as I walked up to the door. 10:30. Who could it be at this time? I opened my door and didn’t see anyone. But someone had left a package for me. It read: ‘FOR ARUN NAIR’.
I hated seeing ‘Nair’. I changed my name from Arun Nair to Arun Kumar three years ago. And I hated my parents for the casteist surname. Anyway, I picked up the package suspiciously and took it inside. It was a plain black box about the size of an iPad. I opened it and found nothing but a memory card inside it. I placed the memory card on top of my Alexa Echo Ultra Pro Max Mini.
‘Alexa, scan it for viruses.’
‘Okay.’
It took three seconds to scan the Memory card. ‘No threats found.’ I was relieved. ‘Alexa, project it on the tv.’
The tv screen showed that there was only one file, named ‘For Arun NAIR’. Nair was in all capitals. Was the person trying to mock me for being upper caste? Did that person not know that I ditched my caste surname three years ago? My girlfriend said that I only ditched my caste surname, but not my caste privilege. She was right, I felt. It's hard being a privileged liberal these days.
‘Alexa, play the video.’
I sat back on the couch. Alexa turned off the lights in my room. And suddenly, when the movie started, I couldn’t move. It was as if I was strapped on to the couch. And then I was in a state of bliss for the next two hours. That was the best movie I have ever seen in my life. Probably the best I will ever see. And this movie was not released. I was the only one to see this. Who made this? There were no credits. As soon as the movie got over, I called Akhil. Akhil was at the party getting drunk when he picked up. The loud music ate into my brain through my ear.
‘Can you hear me?’
‘Tell.’
‘I saw the best movie ever made. No one has seen this before!’
‘What?’
‘I saw the best movie ever made!’ I shouted into the phone.
‘I can’t hear you!’
‘Myre, go outside!
‘I can’t hear, I’ll call you in the morning.’ Akhil hung up. For some reason, I wasn’t frustrated, but anxious. I wanted to share it with someone, with someone I trusted. What if this was my break into the industry? What if I got to present this as a film I made? Would anyone notice? What if I became famous for discovering this masterpiece? I pictured red carpets and Pulitzer Prizes. Palme d'Ors and Nobel Prizes. What if I wrote a novelisation and published it and got a Booker Prize as well? Was I thinking too much ahead? I couldn’t wait. I kept dreaming and fell asleep somehow.
I woke up, still in the catatonic bliss the movie had given me. But for some reason, I couldn’t remember anything. Anything!
I could remember getting invested in the movie, but nothing from the movie. Not a single frame. I remembered the feeling I got while watching and after watching it, but not the film itself. Not the sound, not a plot point, not the face of a character.
I ran towards my Alexa to check for the memory card. But what I saw was horrific. The memory card was burnt, along with my brand new Alexa Right there on the table. I felt my legs shaking, my knees weak. My eyes got watery, and I was on the verge of crying (I am very anti-toxic-masculinity and I believe every man should cry). I fell onto the couch and buried my face on the pillow. I wet the pillow for ten minutes straight. I decided to take a day off from college. I called Akhil. ‘Myre Naayinte mone, kazhiveeri, pandaarakkaala!’ I spoke only in swear words when he picked up the call. He must have wondered why.
‘What happened?
‘What happened? I’ll tell you what happened. You ruined my future you fucker. Did you enjoy that ass licking scumbag teenage faggot’s party?’ I am not homophobic by the way, did I tell you that already?
‘Calm down, and meet me at the cafe at ten.’ Akhil hung up.
Was he angry at me? I assumed that from his tone. I did calm down after a while and I decided to go.
*
Bindu’s Coffee House had the usual morning rush. I batted my eye at the lady at the counter every once in a while.
‘Are you sure it was not a dream?’ Akhil asked me.
‘What do you mean? You were the drunk one, not me! I even called you last night. Check the log…’
‘Yeah but I don’t remember you mentioning any movie or memory card.’
‘Because your head was too far up Saran’s ass.’
‘You can be a little more respectful towards him. He’s half your age. Show some maturity man…’
I slowly started hearing less of his lecture as my attention wandered towards the huge Hologram advertisement outside Bindu’s Coffee House, behind Akhil. I stopped making eye contact but he kept on going, advising me. The advertisement read:
Do you have a loved one suffering from Amnesia?
Do you wish to see them happy again?
Contact Us and be a Part of Amnesiogen.
Second Floor, JRJ Complex, Opposite Palakkad Fort
*
‘Your name?’
‘Arun Kumar.’
‘Age?’
‘Thirty-eight.’
She was wearing a lab coat and she looked to be in her early thirties. Her nose was big. Like mine.
‘Are you a Mammooty fan?’ I asked her.
‘What?’
‘I love Mammooty. Mainly because he has a similar nose to mine.’ I told her, laughing.
She looked up from her typing, surprised. Maybe even a sense of awkwardness was in the air. She returned a really strange smile and went back to typing.
‘Please wait, the doctor will join you in a few minutes.’ She told me without looking up. The waiting room was small and painted blue in colour. I was the only patient waiting there. All the other chairs were cold to the touch. I wondered when the last time was that someone came in here. While waiting, I started going through their brochure. It was filled with old people’s photos with their thumbs up and arms held towards the camera, all of them staring into the lens with big smiles on their faces.
‘You can go inside now,’ the girl told me after a few minutes.
I got up and went inside the room. The doctor was sitting in front of her desk with a confident look on her face. She seemed to be in her early forties. She was wearing a hijab. I wanted to tell her that I have a Muslim girlfriend. What if she took me for an Islamophobe? But I can never be an Islamophobe. When I was doing my PG in Oxford, I took a minor called Demonisation of a Billion People: The Worst of Islamophobia. And I got an A- in that.
She smiled and gestured at me with her hand to sit. I sat in front of her.
‘You came alone?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m the lead neurologist here. Shahana.’
‘Urologist?’
‘No. Neurologist.’ Shahana emphasised the ‘N’. ‘How can I help you today?’
‘I want to remember something.’
‘Very well then, you have come to the right place. How about we start by asking some questions?’
‘Sure, I’m ready.’
‘How often would you say you have memory problems?’
‘Um ... never.’
‘Never?’
‘No ... I don't have a memory problem problem, I just can’t remember a movie.’
‘Why can’t you watch it again?’
‘It's hard to explain. It doesn’t exist anymore.’
‘The movie?’
‘Uh huh.’
She went silent for a moment. ‘Why do you think you need help with memory?’
‘Because I just watched it last night and I still can’t remember it!’
‘The movie you just watched last night doesn’t exist anymore?’
‘Yes!’
‘What’s the name of the movie?’
‘If I could remember that I wouldn't be here, would I?’
She went silent again. She sighed and looked at the pure white tiled floor. Then she looked back at my face. ‘Do you know what Amnesiogen is?’
‘No.’
‘It’s a new technology devised by our scientists to help retrieve forgotten memories.’
‘Absolutely great then! How does it work?’
‘Get up.’ She led me to a long chair. The kind that you see in a dentist’s office. I lay down on it. Then she brought a helmet-like machine with a lot of wires attached to it and placed it on my head. Then she turned on the screen. The screen displayed lots of green, yellow and red dots.
‘When we forget something, it's not because it has disappeared from your brain. It's somewhere there, deep and buried, we just need to bring it back to the surface.’ She walked towards the screen and pointed her finger at it.
‘So this is the memory map of your brain. The green dots are your most recent or strong memories. They can be memories from yesterday or even something from twenty years ago, but since you remember them strongly, they are reliable memories and hence in green colour.’
‘Okay…’
‘And the orange dots are partially reliable memories, can be somewhat old or very old ... and the red dots represent memories which you barely remember. These are usually very, very old memories or recent but highly insignificant.’ She paused, and then continued, ‘most healthy brain maps will show more oranges than red and green. And as you can clearly see, your brain is on the healthier side.’
‘Okay so how do I remember the movie?’
‘You're an impatient man, aren’t you?’
I didn’t reply. I felt embarrassed at myself for the irrational desperation.
‘So what we first do is,’ she continued, ‘we segregate the red dots, and then further segregate them based on the timestamps. By getting closer and closer we find the exact time and memory. This will take about half an hour for you because we already know the time. And once we have located your specific memory you want to dig up, we will go through an extreme process of anaesthesia-dependent-reprogramming.’
‘Will it have any side effects?’
‘No, not that we know of yet.’
‘Not that you know of?’
‘Don’t worry, I guarantee you.’ I don’t know whether I trusted her or not, but I was ready to give in. It was my one and only chance at getting back at everyone. Proving myself to the world which constantly spat upon me. The world which keeps me rolling over and over on the ground and dancing over my body. Like I’m some sort of a doll for them.
‘So when do we start?’
‘We can start today, but first you will need to sign some agreements.’
‘Give me a pen then’
*
The process started in the afternoon. They made me lie down in the long chair again. ‘What is the last thing you remember before the movie?’ Shahana asked me.
‘I asked my Alexa to play the movie.’
‘Any image you remember from the movie?’
‘None.’
‘Are you ready then?’
‘For?’
‘To sleep.’
‘Yes.’ I adjusted myself on the long chair. The doctor came and anaesthetised me.
It was dark. I could see myself in third person in a completely black void. Similar to the white void in The Matrix (very overrated movie, in my opinion). I was looking around calling out ‘Hello?’ At that moment, I realised that I was the hero in the movie. Was it like that in the real movie which I saw last night? Was I the main actor? Or am I just seeing myself as the main character?
Suddenly in the movie, I (the character) noticed a person walking towards me from miles away. As the person got closer, it was clear that it was a woman. I started running towards her. There was a huge shadow on her face, that slowly passed as I got closer. First her eyes were revealed, then her nose, and then …
My entire body jerked in a swift motion and I woke up.
‘Wake up. Time’s up,’ Doctor Shahana told me as I tried to keep my eyes open against the harsh light in the room.
‘What? Already?’
‘You signed the agreement ... forty-five minutes a day.’
‘But I was barely five minutes into the movie.’
‘So it's working?’
‘But a small problem … I see myself as the main character, not the actual actor…’
‘You are full of yourself.’
I left the room in a dazed, slow walk, partially happy about the fact that I could retrieve the movie through this process but partially annoyed by seeing myself. Was Saran completely right? Do we see ourselves in the movies we love? Is that why I felt this was the best movie ever? Is that why that feeling of bliss never left me even when my memory of the movie was completely wiped out randomly? I sat down and wrote down what I saw quickly and then picked up the phone to call Akhil.
*
We met at a bookstore near the college. The bookstore was mostly empty. Do people even read books these days? Akhil was browsing through the bestsellers when I arrived. I was never a bestsellers guy. It was too mainstream for me. I’m more of a Jonathan Franzen guy for whom you won’t find many fans in India. Akhil was holding The Huge Disappointment Which is Life by Hanya Yanagihara when I approached him. I poked at his shoulder rather stiffly. He got scared and turned around. ‘I have to tell you something.’
‘Para…’
‘Did I tell you about the debate me and Saran had?’
‘Yes, the one which you lost.’
‘Not lost, but I found it futile to fight with a teenager half my age…’
‘The way you spoke about it didn’t reflect that, but continue…’
‘Will I be belittling myself if I went to class and told that I agreed with him?’
‘Seriously? You are going to admit that you’re wrong? And to the whole class?’
‘No, but to him personally.’
‘Go on … if you can…’
‘Arun Siree!’ Someone called me from behind. I turned around. It was Saran with a girl.
‘What’re you doing here?’ I asked him as he approached us.
‘I came for a movie date.’
‘Oh, which movie?’
‘The Pillage.’
‘The new Nolan movie?’
‘Yes Sir, kando?’
‘Eey no, too mainstream for me.’
‘Hating something just because its mainstream is a bit elitist, isn’t it?’
What did that fucker know about elitism? Who did he think he was? I wanted to punch him and say that I have written a very long essay titled ‘The Working Class Goes to Heaven: Elitism, Aristocracy and the Problematic Depictions in Cinema’. I got an A for that essay in Cambridge. I knew all about working class struggles and here, some teenage boy was telling me what is elitist and what is not? I didn’t reply. I transformed my grudge into a smile and rubbed it off. I had to show that I was the mature one. Not him.
‘Which book is that?’ He turned towards Akhil. Akhil showed him the cover.
‘I love her works, Sir! She’s so good!’
‘I think she’s overrated.’ I interrupted them.
‘Who's your favourite author, Sir? I’d love to know.’
‘Let me see...’ I acted like I was contemplating, ‘I think I like Thomas Pynchon the most.’
‘Oh! He’s too postmodern for my tastes. I prefer Don Delilo in postmodern.’
Another overrated author, I thought, I am surrounded by fake intellectuals! Get me out of here!
‘Oh I forgot. This is Aiswarya, my girlfriend.’ Saran pointed at the girl standing next to him. I smiled at her. When I heard her name, I was happy that I was not dating a privileged Hindu girl like he was. I wanted to tell him that my heart and priorities lay with minorities, unlike his.
‘What’s your favourite book Aiswarya?’ I wanted her to answer with some famous mainstream book, ideally something like Chetan Bhagat so I could show how shallow he and his girlfriend were.
‘Inherent Vice.’ I was taken aback ... was she also a Pynchon fan or was she trying to show off in front of me?
‘Finally, someone intelligent here.’ I smiled at her. She smiled back at me. Was she flirting with me? I let my smile go on a little longer until she broke eye contact with me.
‘Sir, so we will see you.’ He left, with Aiswarya, towards the bestsellers in the New Arrivals section. Have we, as a young generation completely let go of complexity? When did youth only embrace the mainstream? Are they that shallow?
*
I sat on the chair, waiting for Doctor Shahana’s anaesthesia.
‘Ready?’
‘All ready.’
As she put the helmet over my head, I gripped the armrests of the chair tightly, just like I had clutched my couch while watching the movie.
It started from where it had stopped. I was running towards that girl and she was walking towards me. The veil of shadow on her face was getting removed faster today, revealing her facial features one by one. As I got closer, I realised that she was Aiswarya. As we got close to each other, my character started slowing down. So did Aiswarya. We got very close and she put her arms forward as if she was inviting me. I walked towards her, surrounded by black void. She held my face gently. Both of her palms on either side of my cheeks. Huge palms. Then she moved my face towards her face, pressing her lips on mine. I put my hands around her and pulled her closer towards me, tighter. Then, from the close up of our faces, it suddenly cut to a wide shot. We were standing there kissing, while the black surface we were standing on, started becoming less solid. As if it was a huge block of black ice melting fast. We started sinking into the black void slowly. But both of us kept kissing, not caring about getting swallowed by the surface. We sank further and further until our bodies disappeared from the black void and it was just a void with a dark ocean for a surface. This empty shot held on for a few seconds until it cut to a barren desert.
First our heads came out of the sand, still kissing, then our whole bodies. We were so casual about it. As soon as our bodies came out, it started raining. Far away, I could see a cactus standing tall, as tall as me probably. Once it started raining, she gently removed her lips from mine, pulled her head back a bit, stared into my eyes for a few seconds and gave a sly smile. Then she turned around and started walking away from me. I stood there and watched her. It was a close up of my face. While I stood there, the background started changing from the desert to a bookstore. Then another cut to the wide, and I was there with Akhil in the bookstore.
‘Arun Siree!’ I turned, and it was Aiswarya and Saran. ‘Sir this is Aiswarya, my girlfriend.’ I smiled at her. Then Saran excused himself, and went into the New Arrivals, Bestsellers section with Akhil. And I was standing there alone with Aiswarya. She looked down at the floor as if she was shy, then looked up at my face. It was intercut with extreme close up shots of our eyes.
‘Sir, are you holding Inherent Vice?’
‘Yes, have you read it?’
‘Read it? It's my favourite book of all time!’
‘Seriously? Pynchon is my favourite author!’
‘Sir, do you want to talk somewhere quieter? This book deserves a lot of discussion.’
‘Absolutely.’ I led her outside the bookstore, leaving Saran and Akhil behind. There was a Café Coffee Day just opposite the bookstore. Then, the movie cut to the next scene in which we both were sitting inside the café. In the first shot, the camera was outside the glass. We were talking but the dialogue was inaudible. Then it suddenly cut to inside the café. ‘...can’t agree with you more,’ she said laughing. Then I looked outside, and my expression changed. The camera cut to show who it was. It was my girlfriend. For a second, I didn't recognise her without her Hijab on.
‘Aiswarya ... I think I need to leave.’ I was clearly anxious now, and had started sweating.
‘Call me, 9944665792.’ Aiswarya told me as I was getting up.
‘Time’s up.’ Doctor Shahana woke me up abruptly. I jerked in the chair.
‘How was it?’ she continued.
‘Give me a pen fast!’ I demanded.
‘What?’
‘9944665792’ I mumbled to myself, ‘Give me a pen and paper fast!’
Shahana went over to the table to pick up the pen.
‘994466-fast-5792...9944665792’ I hungrily grabbed the pen and the prescription sheet from her hand and jotted down the number. I looked at the number and released a sigh of relief.
*
I unlocked the door to my house in a hurry, ran inside, took off my shoes and socks, threw my bag onto the couch, took out my phone from the pocket and jumped on to the sofa. And I dialled Aiswarya’s number. She picked up after three rings.
‘Hello? This is Aiswarya, right?’
‘Yes ... who is this?
‘Arun aanu ... Saran’s professor.’
‘Oh parayu sir…’
‘So I was making a documentary on Thomas Pynchon, to be released later this yea-’
‘That’s wonderful!’ she cut in.
‘And I need your help ... when can we meet?’
‘Um ... I’ll be busy for the next couple of days ... how about I text you when I’m free?’
‘Works ... no problem.’
‘Okay bye.’
‘By-’ she hung up before I could finish.
Did she see right through me? What was the meaning of the kissing in the movie then? Did any of it happen in the actual movie I saw? Was the Amnesiogen machine giving me false memories of the movie? I waited for Aiswarya to call and missed three of my appointments with Doctor Shahana. I hung up every time my girlfriend tried to call me. I gave her reasons like, Amma is in the hospital. I’m working overtime tonight. But what did was stay back at home, watch my favourite movies, while waiting for Aiswarya’s call. I could not rationally explain to myself why I was so smitten with her. Was it her smile? Was it the spark between us which I felt when I remembered the movie?
After three days, I realised that she might have forgotten about me. I decided to call her. I picked up my phone and felt my hands to be very sweaty. I kept shaking my legs to relieve myself of the anxiety. Then I did it. And she picked up.
‘Hello?’
‘Arun aanu...Saran’s professor.’
‘Oh yes, I’m sorry, can we meet today evening? At Joby’s mall?’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I knew I was quite a charmer among the ladies, but I didn’t expect things to move this fast. I didn't expect her to suggest the meeting. ‘Definitely, I’m free for the day, that’s why I called.’
‘No problem, we will meet at Pizza Hut at 6?’ I got confused whether it was a statement or a question.
‘Yes,’ I replied, containing my excitement.
‘See you then.’ She hung up.
I jumped out of the couch and started dancing. ‘Alexa, play Yesudas Hits.’ No reply. ‘Alexa, play Yesudas Hits!’ I commanded louder this time. That’s when I remembered that it had died. Burnt, rather.
*
She said she would come at six, but what she didn't say was that she would come there with Saran. When I reached the mall, I excitedly ran up to the elevators but the evening crowd was too much so I decided to go for the escalators. Even though they were moving up automatically, the pace didn’t match my excitement to meet Aiswarya, so I started running up the escalators till the fourth floor. When I reached outside Pizza Hut, I looked inside through the glass door just before pushing it open to see where she was sitting. When I saw her sitting with Saran, I got so angry that I wanted to smash the glass in front of me. But like a gentleman (which I am) I started walking backwards and left the mall, containing my anger and frustration.
I didn’t contact her that evening. Neither did she. I assumed she had a nice outing with her boyfriend and was successful in humiliating me. I wondered which part of her evening made her feel more satisfied, the boyfriend part or the humiliation. Maybe she enjoyed both equally. Or maybe Saran enjoyed humiliating me more than her. Maybe it was his idea to come with her, just to see my expression.
I didn’t give that fucker that satisfaction. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that it was him. He watches Nolan films, and I would be a fool if I expected anything better from him.
The next morning, I had to walk into the college and see that faggot’s face first thing in the morning. (I’m not homophobic by the way, did I tell you that before?). There was a fairly large stage with a huge projection of Ambedkar. Hundreds of students were sitting in front of the stage, on the ground. And there was another projection of someone who looked like he was in his early twenties. I didn't know who it was.
‘Whose picture is that next to Ambedkar?’ I asked Akhil.
He swiftly looked up at me with an ‘are you serious’ expression. ‘It's Rohith Vemula, don't you know him?’
‘Of course, I know, I just didn’t recognise him from this particular angle,’ I replied and looked back at the stage.
Saran was speaking into the mic. ‘Today marks the fifteenth year since the tragic death of Rohith Vemula, and has anything changed since then? No. Today, I can stand here and shamefully say that Dalit Lives Matter slogan is still as powerful as it was a century ago.’
I slowly walked towards the stage and went behind it. Then I gestured to one of my students who was standing on the stage towards me. She came towards me quickly. ‘As your professor, I want to show solidarity.’
‘Sure Sir.’ A wide smile crossed her lips. Then I waited for them to give me my opportunity to speak. After a few minutes, when Saran was done talking, there was a huge round of applause, he thanked them and passed the mic to the girl. ‘Now I’d like to invite Arun Sir, who is showing us solidarity with our cause.’
I walked up the stage, smiled at her and took the mic from her. ‘I’m assuming a lot of people know me as Arun Kumar. Three years ago, I was Arun Nair, but then I realised how regressive it is to have a caste surname. And I went and officially changed my name and removed the Nair and put it in the dustbin.’ I expected some claps, but no one clapped. ‘And we see a lot of people who don’t even realise that their caste surname is casteist. I would actually urge everyone to look into your names and change it. At least change it from social media platforms.’ I stopped and looked around the crowd. And wondered why they were all so silent. Suddenly Saran came up to me and started whispering in my ear.
‘Sir, please don’t make a fool of yourself and pass the mic to people who actually have suffered. It’s not called Nair Lives Matter.’
I took the mic away from my mouth, hoping that no one heard what Saran told me. And then I looked at the crowd and there were a lot of murmurs between them. Maybe they heard what he had said. I was humiliated publicly. I dropped the mic on the floor and stormed off the stage. I heard some kids booing me. Did this myran think that I didn’t know anything about Dalit struggles? I did my PhD on the same topic and my thesis was called 'Dalit Representation in Cinema (or the lack of) and Why We Should Care'. I was on the verge of crying, and left the college and directly went to Doctor Shahana’s.
*
‘Where have you been?’ Shahana asked me as soon as she saw me. ‘Can we fucking get to it already?’ I walked towards the chair and lay down on it. She put the helmet on my head.
It was a scene in the middle of an ocean. Two chairs and a table. Me and Aiswarya were sitting on either side of the table. The chairs and table were somehow floating on top of the water. On the table, there were candles lit and two plates with steaks on them. Probably beef steak.
The next shot was a close up of Aiswarya’s face. Beautiful face. She smiled at my character with her wide lips, showing off her pretty white teeth as if she had just come out of a Close-Up ad shoot. Then she picked up her fork and pointed it at my plate. ‘Aren’t you going to eat it?
‘You first,’ I replied with a blushy smile.
She picked up her fork and started slicing her steak as I watched her with my mouth watering.
‘Sir, one doubt.’ Suddenly I turned to my left and it was a medium shot of Saran sitting between me and Aiswarya in front of the table. He had suddenly appeared in the scene.
‘It’s not the right time Saran,’ I told him coldly.
‘Sir, I’ll keep it quick and then leave you and my girlfriend for the date.’
‘Okay, two minutes.’
‘So, I’m writing this new script inspired by anti-heros like Taxi Driver…’
‘Oho,’ I interrupted him, ‘have you read my essay called ‘An Anti-thesis about Anti-Heroes and their Anti-world Outlook in an Unjust Universe’?’
‘No sir, in fact, I have not even heard about it.’
‘Are you trying to humiliate me again? In front of Aiswarya now?’
‘What do you mean again, sir?’
‘Did you forget the Dalit Lives Matter incident already?’
‘That’s because you were being a Nair Saviour.’
‘You were being a Nair Saviour?!’ Aiswarya shouted from the other side of the table. She stood up quickly, pushing the table forcefully as she did it. ‘I never expected this from you.’ She turned away and started walking away.
‘Aiswarya…’ I called out to her but she kept walking away.
I turned towards Saran. ‘It's all because of you, you stinking…’ I pulled him up by the collar and threw him on to the ocean surface. ‘I’m done with all your humiliations!’ I punched his face. ‘This ends now.’
He pushed me down and we both started sinking into the ocean. He punched me on my face and I started bleeding from my lip.
Then the scene cut to an extremely wide shot of us both fighting each other in slow motion. Sinking deeper every second with an eerie music in the background.
Suddenly the scene abruptly cut to another scene where I pulled myself up quickly from a bathtub and started gasping for air. When it cut to the close up of my face, the bruise on my lip was evident. My character touched it gently. Then I got up from the bathtub and left the bathroom. The scene ended there.
Then the next scene: It was night time and I was standing outside Saran’s house, looking up at the balcony where the door was open and the light was on. My character had a hammer in his hand. I ran towards the huge wall and climbed up on it. Then from there, I jumped on to the railing of the balcony and climbed onto the balcony. The lights were off now, but the door to his room was still open. I started sneaking into his house. A tight shot of my hand showed that I was gripping the hammer really hard. I found Saran lying on his bed in front of me, possibly sleeping.
My character increased his pace and moved towards the bed where Saran was sleeping. I raised the hammer really high and with a swift…
‘Wake up. Time’s up!’ Shahana woke me up.
‘I’m going to kill that fucker Saran,’ I said as I got up from the doctor’s chair. She looked puzzled. ‘What?’
*
I was at home, waiting for dusk to fall. I knew how to get away with murder. I had once written a New York Times opinion piece called ‘Confessions of Dangerous Minds: My Experience with Serial Killers’. For which I Interviewed the most notorious serial killers for months. And because of my hard work, not only did I write an excellent article, I also wrote down some personal tips in case I wanted to murder anyone in the future. And now the day was here.
I found my father’s old rusty hammer from the storage room and brushed away the dust. It didn’t look as good as new. But it was good enough to do the job. There was no need for me to suffer through Saran’s humiliation anymore. I had had enough. And the movie actually prophesied this. He was meant to be killed by me.
At around 11 pm, I went outside his house. His house was exactly the same as in the movie. I looked up at the balcony and the door was open. I waited till the lights went off. And when they did, I climbed up on the wall, and grabbed onto the railing. Climbed up. Exactly like in the movie. The door was still wide open and I entered the room. It was a full moon night, and the room was bright enough for me to see. I looked at the bed and Saran wasn’t there.
I heard a few clankings from outside the room. Maybe he was in the hall. I went and stood against the wall right next to the door, waiting for Saran to enter and smash his skull. The room was ghost-quiet and I could hear my own breathing. Suddenly, I heard the door opening. I gripped my hammer tightly, watching the door slowly being opened, waiting for Saran to enter the room. As soon as the figure of a man came into the room, I swung my hammer as hard as I could. The hammer completely missed his head and hit the edge of the door. I lost my balance. And before I could raise my hammer or retrieve my balance, Saran punched my face hard. I fell back against the wall, dropped the hammer and covered my mouth. My lip was bleeding.
Saran turned the lights on and my face was exposed. He looked astonished to see me there. He stared at me without saying anything for a few seconds. An uncomfortable silence befell the room.
‘Were you trying to kill me sir?’
I couldn’t reply. I didn’t make eye contact. I knew my humiliation at this point had surged. I looked down at the ground for a few seconds. Uncomfortable silence again. Without saying anything, or looking up, I turned around and sped outside through the door, jumped off of the balcony to the wall and ran home.
I came home and trashed everything in my room. I picked up my laptop and threw it on to the wall. I tore down posters of Tarkovsky from my wall. I picked out books from my shelf and tore them up. Nothing helped me calm down. At that point I was angry at myself as much as I was angry at Saran. Then I went to the kitchen and searched for an old thick rope I had. I pulled out all the old utensils and finally found it.
I watched a video on how to make a noose. After three failed attempts, I figured it out and got it the way they have it in the movies. I got up on my rolling chair and tied the noose to the fan. Then I got down and took a picture of it in my phone and posted the picture of the noose on my Facebook with the caption: Done with life. The world pushed me into doing this. I don’t see any other way. Goodbye. I got back on the chair and waited for people to call me. Every three seconds the likes were increasing. Within the first five minutes of posting, I received three heart reactions, four laugh reactions and eight thumbs ups. But none of them called me. I double-checked the network range in my phone. Full range. Then I decided to wait for five more minutes.
This time I put my neck through the noose. In the next five minutes I got more likes and hearts and laugh reactions. More than thirty-five people had shared it and liked it within ten minutes. And only one comment. ‘Will Miss You.’ But no one called.
All of a sudden, the chair rolled off. My neck didn’t snap. But I was hanging there, gasping for breath. I started peeing and my legs were cycling in the air. I tried to grab the rope above my head and suddenly, I hit the floor and the fan crashed on my head.
*
I am writing this from the hospital bed. I woke up two days ago in this room. There are fourteen stitches on my head, the doctor said. Today, I am able to sit up and type a bit. I have an appointment with a psychiatrist every other day for my mental health.
My neighbours heard a loud thud and they found me passed out. I had left the door open in case someone who saw my Facebook post wanted to rush in rescue me. So it was easy for my neighbours, even though it didn’t go according to plan completely.
I am alone and I wish someone would come and visit me. My girlfriend (who is Muslim, did I tell you that?) is not picking up my calls anymore. But she had liked my Facebook post according to the notification. Suddenly, someone opens the door to my room. It is Saran. He has a paper bag in his hand. He smiles at me when he sees me. He starts moving towards the bedroom and places the bag on the table next to my bed. He has bought me apples and oranges. Knowing this fucker, I guess he has poisoned them.
‘How are you feeling now?’
‘I’m okay.’
‘I thought I’ll come see you before going to class.’
I don’t say anything. I try to smile back.
‘How’s your lip now?’
‘It’s alright, I have had fights with stronger guys than you.’
Saran just smiles (sarcastic?). He looks at his watch and then looks back at me. ‘I should head to the college now, I’ll drop by later.’
‘Okay.’
He turns away and moves towards the door. He pulls it and is about to go out.
‘Saran…’
He turns back.
‘Thanks for the fruits.’ He just smiles at me (sinister).
*
Athul Kishan is a writer and filmmaker from Ottapalam, Kerala. His writings range from political essays and articles to screenplays and short stories. Athul is interested in exploring topics pertaining to caste, class and other intersectional social issues which form systematic hierarchy.
His main hobbies include watching movies and reading about them.