Despite knowing that he lived in the dusty plains, his first thought upon waking up in the morning was that of snow. He was also aware that he was thinking of the snow just because the weather was cold and rum had been expensive since the year began. Bundled up inside the quilt, he tried to keep warm with his own body heat. He stayed silent, as PK, for the third time now, reminded him that his tea was getting cold. He reached out to pick up the cup but realised that all his body heat was escaping into the atmosphere via his hand. Cursing the cold, he hid back inside the quilt, wrapping it tightly around himself.
Before going to sleep the night before, he had decided that he would talk to PK first thing in the morning. But he now realised that bringing it up this early in the morning would be a waste of time, especially when he had so little of it. He needed to reach the office; he didn't have any casual leave left, and his boss was sort of off his rocker.
When he came home last night, PK was lying face down on the bed. For a long time, he stood leaning over him, and when he was finally assured that the quilt was breathing, he took the bottle of sleeping pills from PK's coat pocket, swallowed a pill himself, and threw the rest out the window.
PK had finally given up on the tea. He thought he must be staring at the walls now, sitting cocooned inside his quilt. From inside his own quilt, he asked, ‘PK what might the time be right now?’
‘You're the punctual one, even when it comes to winding your watch,’ PK said. ‘Why don't you use it to check the time?’
‘Because I’m lazy; but I’m glad you aren’t.’
‘What am I then?’
‘You won't like the answer,’ he said.
He got up, sipped a mouthful of tea, and started swirling it in his mouth, swallowing it only when it had warmed up.
‘The moment you wake up, you start thinking about the office. Doesn't it all seem pointless to you?’ PK asked.
‘Staying stuck to the bed seems pointless too,’ he replied.
‘And what are your thoughts about flattering the boss?’ PK was trying to dispel his lethargy.
‘Afterwards, I wish to throw up,’ he said. ‘But that’s my personal business.’
‘If you want, you can sleep for another ten minutes,’ PK said and started walking around the room.
‘This room is too small for you to take a stroll,’ he said.
PK sat down, pulled the quilt up to his knees, and started reading the newspaper.
He lay curled up in the quilt for a bit longer, but when a bus full of school kids hurtled down the road, he sat up and slowly started peeling the quilt away from his legs. PK was looking at him as if he was the most pathetic person in the world. He couldn’t tolerate the fact that his guest was looking at him like that. He said, ‘You’re staring at me like a jackal.’
PK said, ‘Now you’ll rush towards the bathroom, reach your office on time, and think that you’ve won at life; you’ll laugh at somebody’s joke, or feel sad about an accident, and when you return all tired in the evening, you’ll take letters from your past lovers out of your suitcase and reread them.’
Even before PK was done with his tirade, he jumped out of bed and started looking for his slippers. He wished he could slap PK right now. He liked PK’s opinions about things but not when he was running late for his office. When he had no casual leave left and was fully aware that his boss was kind of insane. Either the way he jumped out of bed scared PK, or PK thought that he was annoyed, so he carefully changed the course of the conversation: ‘Isn’t it good that Ramesh isn't back yet? The scoundrel snored all last night.’
PK knew how much he hated snorers.
‘His feet smelled terrible. I had to keep my head out of the quilt the whole time. I think I’ve caught a mild cold.’ Then he pulled the slip of paper which he’d taken from PK’s coat pocket last night from under his pillow. He wanted to clear this up with PK. He’d just bring it right up, without any pretext.
‘I was thinking that you would throw him out, but then he fell asleep and started snoring,’ PK said.
‘I would’ve but it was really cold outside. The idiot would’ve frozen to death.’
PK hadn’t seen the slip yet. When he sensed the conversation was coming to an end, he looked at the newspaper and remarked, ‘No planes crashed in the world today.’
‘Why?’ He was thinking about the slip of paper.
‘You haven't slept well. This is how you talk when you are tired.’
PK saw the slip in his hands and was surprised.
’Where did you get that?’
‘From your coat pocket.’
‘You go through my pockets?’
Now he was getting angry.
He nodded his head and calmly asked him, ‘Are you thinking of committing suicide? This slip has been in your pocket for quite a while.’
It was a small piece of paper with a single sentence hurriedly scrawled on it in English: None else be held responsible for my death.
PK looked as if he was about to cry. His voice shivered, and he kept repeating the same thing again and again: ‘You go through my stuff.’
‘I’ve thrown the sleeping pills away,’ he said. ‘I don't feel comfortable if there's poison in the house. And what's the guarantee that…’ It didn't feel right to complete the sentence.
PK muttered for a while, then stopped. After a small stretch of silence, he said in a composed tone, ‘I’m sure you weren't snooping in my things; you must have been looking for cigarettes in my pockets.’
He would’ve said many things as a reply to this if he were still wrapped in the quilt, but it was getting late. And yet, he didn't feel like going into the bathroom. He stood pitifully in the cold, arms wrapped around his chest, as if the profundity of life had just dawned upon him.
‘Don't take it seriously, does anybody make a plan to kill themselves? And then these people,’ PK spat the words out like a curse, ‘they’re everywhere in the city, like ants. I tried to jump in front of a truck at Curzon Road, but they caught me and beat me. There’s a blood-soaked handkerchief under my bed. I had planned to either wash it or burn it after you left for the office.’
‘They didn't take you to the police station?’
‘They would’ve, but they were all in a hurry.’ PK said happily, ‘Isn’t it such a good thing, how people are always in a hurry?’
He was staring at PK like a statue. He was silent because all his arguments now seemed dead and superficial.
When he spoke again, he knew that he was making no sense at all, but this was all he could say when he was in a hurry: ‘Look, if you’re adamant about suicide, don’t do it in my room. It’d be even better for me if you weren’t in this city and didn't have my name and address on you.’
‘I'm not that careless,’ PK replied.
He put on his slippers and dragged his feet to the bathroom. He slowly undressed and turned the tap on. The water was freezing and he broke into hiccups. He started whispering, The water is very cold, but he needs to bathe; he must bathe, like a mantra. When he picked up the towel and sniffed it, it too smelled like Ramesh's feet. He threw the towel away, closed the bathroom window, and sat with his arms folded under his knees.
He was shivering.
*
Ravinder Kalia (1939-2016) was an acclaimed Hindi novelist, short story writer and editor. Born in Jalandhar, Punjab, he chose to follow in the footsteps of his mentors, Mohan Rakesh and Upendranath Ashk, and write in Hindi rather than Punjabi. Kalia published six collections of short stories, three novels, four memoirs, and two volumes of satire in his lifetime and was honoured with numerous awards.
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Vaibhav Sharma is a poet and translator from Saharanpur, India. He is currently pursuing his MA in Comparative Literature from Delhi University. He translates between Hindi and English, with a particular interest in works of fiction dealing with regional dialects of Hindi. He was selected as the 2023 Saroj Lal Hindi Translation mentee under the NCW Emerging Translator Mentorship Program and is currently being mentored by 2022 International Booker Prize-winning Hindi translator Daisy Rockwell.