#TheWritingProject
© PoonamDesai
I have an eccentric roommate. Ahriman.
Parsi guy, loves to cook, fawns over me all the time, lazes by day and works by night, and has some disturbing taste in movies, at least they sound disturbing.
“Aman stop daydreaming! Breakfast is getting cold and you’re getting late.”
Ahriman’s voice pulls me out of my reverie. I touch my watch and jump to my feet. I am late. I push my goggles up my nose and
walk to the breakfast table.
“Eggs, toast, swallow. I’m off to sleep. You got all your things?”
Ahriman half yawns through the sentence.
“Yeah, Yeah. Mom, am good.”
He smacks my head and leaves.
I eat my breakfast and walk to the nearest bus stop. On to the bus, a metro ride, and a short walk later I am in front of Soul’s Music store.
Gautam, the owner is humming, probably hunched over something that he is repairing. He is a busy body.
“Hey Gautam.”
“Good morning, Aman,” he replies.
“Aman, Anita’s mother called. She wants to meet you. She will be here in a while.”
I follow the path to the studio at the back of the shop and settle in. Tuning the guitar is the best way to calm my nerves. A student’s parent wanting to meet isn’t new. I have taught music for a few years now but somehow people still doubt my abilities.
“Is Mr Aman in?”
I hear Anita’s mother from the counter at front. I brace myself and put on my best smile.
“Aman sir, Meera here, Anita’s mom.”
I shake her hand.
She sounds stern. Her handshake is firm, she means business. Her lavender perfume contrary to her body language is alluring.
I shake my thoughts and focus.
Her voice fills with pride as she talks on.
“Anita is talented and has a bright future ahead and I want the best teacher for her. You came with high recommendations but am not so sure now. Are you sure you are capable of teaching my daughter?”
I clear my throat.
“Ma’am rest assured. I have trained with the best and have been training students for the past ten years. Anita has had just 3 classes. I suggest you give it some more time.”
She seems to consider this.
“Okay, I will sit through her class today and then we shall see.”
I can hear Anita gulp. She is not comfortable I can sense it.
“As you wish.”
I take my guitar and motion Anita to sit on the stool beside me.
“Anita lets practice the chords that we learnt in the last session. Play.”
I listen as she plays.
“Ok check your finger position. Play again.”
She corrects herself.
We do this for an hour till she has gotten all her basic chords right.
Her mother’s impatience hits me in waves from across the room. As soon as the class is done, she drags Anita out without a word. Half an hour later Gautam peeps into the studio.
“Anita’s mom cancelled classes.”
I sigh.
“Some people just don’t get it.”
Gautam mumbles under his breath.
“Yeah, some people can be real….”
He walks away and I miss the end of the sentence.
I try hard to forget the incident and to focus on my other students. But somehow it keeps niggling in my mind. I am wallowing in self-pity by the time I reach home. Ahriman is already gone, and I slip onto the couch taking in the lonely house. Next thing I know I am fumbling around for my watch. I toss over a glass. It clangs on the floor, and I sigh.
Its way past breakfast time.
“Finally! I thought you were dead for good.”
Ahriman’s quip lifts up my spirits.
“Plate. Food. Eat.”
I quietly take the plate he offers and gratefully swallow the food. In my misery I have skipped my meal the night before.
“So how was your day?”
I ask.
“It was great. Met a girl today. Very interesting. And her perfume was alluring! Lavender, I think.”
I pause mid bite. The mention of lavender brings back the memory and my appetite is gone. I begin to place the plate down and he swats my shoulder.
“Ah ah ah! You better eat it. I come home from work, find you passed out on the couch and the dinner in the fridge, untouched. So now, You. Eat. It. All.”
He punctuates the last words in a warning. I don’t want to cross him, or I wouldn’t hear the end of it, so I eat.
“How was your day?”
He asks from inside the fridge. I am sure he is scavenging for fruits.
“Umm.”
“Umm? What Umm?”
“Nothing.”
Ahriman gasps. The fridge door shuts, and I am sure he has a frown on his face and his hands are folded over his chest. I am annoyed at his theatrics and in no mood to share my thoughts. I put the plate away and stalk to my room.
“Not so soon mister. You are clearly upset.”
His voice softens.
“What is the matter?”
I relate the incident to him, and we both sit in silence. He holds my hand and smiles.
“Don’t worry she is gone for good. Such people don’t deserve you. You focus on the others.”
With that he is gone, and I scurry to get ready for work. I can hear his snores by the time I step out. I smile. Speaking to him has lifted the weight off my chest.
It is pouring and I can barely manage walking the footpath. Mumbai smells like heaven in rains, but it’s difficult to navigate the barrage of umbrellas that hit the street. Everyone is running, pushing past each other. I reach the studio barely unscathed.
The smell of fresh elaichi assaults my senses.
“Tea?”
Gautam offers me a cup as I hang my raincoat. His stool squeaks as he settles his burgeoning body. I sip the tea and think back to another rain-soaked morning when I had first visited Gautam. He had heard me play and hired me in a minute. His heart was big too. And five years later I am no more the scared boy from Nashik. Mumbai has become home.
The news on TV catches my attention. Gautam swears.
“What is it?”
“It’s Anita’s mom, the lady who came that day.”
“What about her?”
Gautam raises the volume.
“At 6am today the police found the dead body of Mrs Meera Rahniwal at the basement of her home in Bandra west. Her housekeeping staff discovered the body early morning today. The police are investigating. There are no suspects at the moment….”
The sound trails off and my thudding heart fills my ears.
“Oh my God poor Anita.”
Gautam sighs in response.
We soon get to work, and the news is temporarily forgotten.
At 5 pm Gautam hollers.
“Aman, come to the front!”
I walk out and immediately sense the tension in the room.
“Aman this is detective Aniket Upadhyay. He is here in regard to,” Gautam fumbles, “….to the news we saw today morning.”
I nod because I don’t know what else to do.
“Mr Aman, had Mrs. Rahniwal visited you yesterday?”
“Yes, she did.”
The officer moves closer. I can smell the old spice cologne and gold flake cigarette. My mother would smoke it. I knew the smell well.
“May I ask why?”
“She had some concerns about her daughter’s classes, and she sat in the class yesterday. She cancelled her daughter’s enrolment.”
“Did she seem distressed?”
I think back to the moment.
“No, I didn’t feel it”
I can hear the alertness in Mr Upadhyay’s tone.
“Feel it?”
Gautam chips in and saves face.
“Aman here is visually challenged, yet he is one of the best music teachers I have seen.”
Detective Aniket is silent for a moment, I can feel the cogs in his head turning. Finally, he relents.
“Ok Mr Aman, Mr Gautam, I will be in touch.”
With those words he leaves.
That night I toss and turn in my sleep. I see a woman sitting on a chair. Her hands and legs are tied, and her eyes look drowsy. She tries to speak but her mouth is stuffed.
The smell of bleach invades my senses. I notice a man standing with his back to her at the far end of the room. She tries to call out to him, but only a whimper escapes.
The man stops his work and chuckles.
“I was hoping you would be out for some more time. I have merely arranged my tools.”
She whimpers again.
“Now Meera, we wouldn’t want to spoil the fun, would we?”
She tugs at the ties on her arms furiously as he approaches her. The room smells like a hospital, all white walls and steel table at the end of the room, dull bulbs shining overhead. The man stalking towards her is wearing scrubs, his head and face is covered.
She shivers.
“Lavender, its an alluring smell you know.”
He continues his monologue whilst circling her. She shrinks in her seat, trying to put more distance between them but she is tied down, where would she move?
“But your attitude? Not at all alluring. You need to be taught how to see the world in a more positive light.”
He caresses her cheek, and she gags.
“Let me help you see the world better.”
Her eyes widen as she notices the carver in his hand. Her shriek fills my head and I wake up sweating, my hands, and feet cold. I am blind, I remember my experiences by sounds and smells. But I have always had dreams, to be specific vivid nightmares. They started right after my mother’s death. I lost my eyesight in that incident. I don’t remember it much, but just my mother’s face, all bloodied up, and her howling fills my ears even today.
I splash my face with water, trying hard to calm my heart. The nightmare is very surreal, like I can see it all happen with my own eyes and I can’t shake it off. I attribute it to today’s discussion of Meera Rahniwal’s death and decide that this isn’t worth my worry.
I hear soft snores from Ahriman’s room as I walk to the kitchen.
The guy works, takes care of me and sleeps. Has never got home a friend or a girl. Sometimes I wonder why, but then I let it go. Now I am used to having him around and I don’t want to spoil that with my awry musings.
I gulp water and get back to my room. I pick up my guitar and tune it. The feel of metal on my fingertips soothes my nerves. I strum lightly into the night, waiting for the hours to pass and the feeling of impending doom to dissipate.
I wake up the next day, my mouth dry and my head heavy. Ahriman is knocking stuff around in the kitchen. I wait for him to holler for breakfast, but he doesn’t. I hear the door shut and sound of his disappearing footsteps. Must be off for a chore, I think.
I come to the table and smell the breakfast laid out on the table. I am famished and I eat heartily. I reach Soul store to find it locked. I know Gautam leaves the keys three shops down so I start walking.
I can hear a small tinkling a few steps ahead of me. I turn my head to listen carefully. It’s a pleasant sound. I follow the sound unknowingly.
“Hey! What do you think you are doing?”
The reprimand jerks me back to my senses. I must be looking bewildered because the source of the reprimand is now closer.
“You see a good-looking girl and drool,” she shouts, “I know guys like you very well.”
Just then a new voice adds.
“What is the matter sister?”
She rants again.
“This guy was following me! God knows what he has in mind.”
The owner of the second voice takes a threatening tone.
“Mister what are you upto? Are you troubling young women?”
I put some distance between us.
“There is some misunderstanding. I am a musician and I was only….”
“Oh! I know you musician types…”
By then a crowd had gathers and a cacophony of sounds breaks out. I push ahead trying to make my way out, but the noise doesn’t help my sense of direction. I shrivel under the their words. Just then I feel someone grasp my arm.
“Lets get out of here.”
Its Ahriman. I am relieved and we head towards the music store. He drops me outside Soul’s store.
“You really need to stand up for yourself, how long will I rescue you?”
I am offended by his tone.
“I have managed, most of the times.”
He shoves at my shoulder.
“Yeah? Like when? With Meera? With that nutjob a while ago? With your mom? With your teacher? With the landlady in Nashik? When did you rescue yourself.”
I am dumb founded. I had never told him about Nashik or about Mrs. Dhawan, my high school PE teacher. I start trembling.
“Great now what you plan to piss your pants!”
I gasp.
“Why are you being so mean?”
Ahriman screams.
“Because I am fed up with cleaning up your shit.”
“No one asked you to.”
I whisper.
“That’s it we are done. I am not sharing your life anymore. You get the hell out of my life.”
After that everything goes silent. I don’t hear his footsteps. I am still standing at the shop door when Gautam walks in.
“Aman are you okay? You look sick?”
“Um-Uh.”
Gautam leads me inside.
“Come sit. Have some tea.”
He heads in.
But I am too worked up. I storm out and get on the metro. I come home to an empty apartment. The table is empty. No dinner.
“Ahriman am sorry. Listen please.”
No reply.
Suddenly there is loud knocking on the door. I turn and tread back. I smell Old spice before I hear the detective.
“Mr Aman, we need you to come to the police station.”
“Is everything alright?”
“Let’s talk at the station.”
He guides me to the waiting car. I can feel the presence of other officers. I settle in and we drive away.
The police station is noisy. I feel an overload of sounds. Detective Upadhyay guides me to a silent corner of the station. It must be a conference room as there is absolute noise proofing. He settles me in a chair and walks over to the other side of the table. I hear the wheels screech as he drags a chair.
“Now Mr. Aman, how do you know Ms. Swati Shastri.”
“Who?”
“Let me rephrase. Do you remember the girl you got in an altercation with today morning?”
I straighten up. He is talking about the weird girl who apprehended me.
“I did not get into an altercation sir. Let me explain.”
“Go ahead.”
I ask for a sip of water and continue.
“Sir today, Gautam, the store owner, hadn’t come in, so I decided to walk down three shops to where he leaves his keys. This girl was walking before me, something she had made a lovely tingling sound. I am a musician, I got curious and stood there to listen. Now as you know I can’t see. I may have been staring at her unintentionally. But she misunderstood and raised an alarm. Had it not been for Ahriman, I would have been beaten up.”
I hear the detective’s chair squeak again.
“Who is Ahriman?”
I smile.
“My roommate, I don’t know what I would have done without him. He is my support in this city.”
The chair squeaks again and the detective’s footsteps fade. I can’t hear anyone else, so I assume I am alone. I lean back and let out the breath I have been holding. The clock on a wall nearby tick as I count the hours.
The door opens and the detective is back.
“Mr. Aman are you sure there was someone living with you?”
“What do you mean detective?”
The detective settles in his squeaking chair.
“There is no Ahriman on your lease and there is no Ahriman seen by any of your neighbours. We searched your entire house and just one room is occupied and that I assume is by you. However, it is what we found in your refrigerator that is of interest.”
I gulp. My heart is racing. His tone hold despise.
“What did you find?”
He bangs his hands on the table and I push back.
“What did you find!”
I shout.
“We found eyeballs, all human, at least 10 sets.”
I gag. He offers me a glass of water.
“But-But I don’t know anything about this?”
“Are you sure Mr. Aman. The house belongs to you, the things in it belong to you. There is no one on your lease and there is no sign of another person to have ever lived there.”
I stare. My mouth is open, but no words come out. How could this be?
“Mr Aman?”
I clear my throat.
“Trust me sir he lived there. Ask the neighbours.”
The officer leans closer, I can smell his cologne.
“Mr. Aman either you are fooling us or fooling yourself. Whatever it is I am getting to the bottom of this, till then you are in our custody.”
The officer walks out before I can protest.
I count my heart beats as I spend time in the Lock up. I strain my memories, am I really that deluded? But true to what the detective said, I can’t associate any smell or sound to Ahriman other than the sound of his snoring. In fact, I can’t place his touch either. There was neither warmth, nor coolness.
My heart thuds. A waft of jasmine fills the air and I hear a female officer talking to her colleague.
“Madam, can I please make a phone call.”
The people around laugh.
“What?”
The woman’s voice is filled with contempt.
“A phone call please.”
She walks closer and bangs on the lock up rods.
“After killing three women you expect me to trust you? Sit quietly till sir comes.”
She walks back and tells her colleague.
“Look at his audacity! Asking me for help! Lowlife!”
Next thing I know I am on the floor and hands are holding me down. I hear detective Upadhyay call my name.
“Aman! Aman!”
I stop struggling and they let me sit up.
“Sir I need a phone call please.”
He walks close to me and hands me a phone.
“This is your phone. I however want you to tell me the number you want to dial.”
I parrot Ahriman’s number.
I hear him dial it.
My phone starts ringing.
“What the…. How the…”
Am speechless.
The detective speaks again.
“Now Mr. Aman, can you explain that.”
I am still perplexed.
“Also, I want you to listen to this audio clip.”
He plays the clip, and my throat goes dry. Its my voice for some time and then it morphs into Ahriman’s. But he isn’t here.
I fall to the floor.
That evening a psychiatrist visits me.
“Mr. Aman you are aware of the charges against you by the state?”
I nod.
“Under the circumstances it is mandatory that you undergo a psychiatric evaluation.”
“Hmm.”
“So, let’s go back to your childhood. Can you tell me about some memories from there?”
“It was just me and my mother. We lived in Nashik. My mother, she worked hard, she also drank hard. It was difficult.”
I hear the doctor’s pen scribble on paper.
“Was she good to you?”
“Yeah, she took care of me. I was her reason to live.”
“How did she die Mr. Aman?”
By now my heart rate is up and I am sweating.
“I don’t recollect, I had lost my vision the same day.”
“Ok, can you remember what you heard?”
I begin to tap my leg.
“She…She was screaming. All I could hear were her screams and a humming, like someone was singing.”
“Do you recollect the song?”
“यह नयन डरे डरे ये जाम भरे भरे.” *
“It was her favourite song. She sang it whenever she drank.”
Breathing becomes hard and I can barely speak. But somehow my voice alters and becomes loud.
“She hummed it whenever she hit me. She hummed it whenever she locked me into the trunk. SHE LOVED THAT BLOODY SONG.”
Everyone around me is quiet.
I am panting.
“Aman, I didn’t want to meet you like this.”
Ahriman’s voice fills the silence.
“Tell them I didn’t kill those women.”
He is quiet.
“Tell them please.”
I take a breath and close my eyes. When I open them, I fall off the chair.
I can see. Everything.
My mouth moves of its own accord.
“I thought I was protecting Aman. Those women did not see him in the right light.”
The psychiatrist intervenes.
“Who did you hurt first.”
“His mother. She was the first. Then the landlady. Then his teacher. By then we became too conspicuous, so we moved here. But women are unseeing unknowing everywhere! Even the constable here.”
The woman constable excuses herself from the room and I feel my lips curl up in a smile.
Ahriman talks as the psychiatrist questions. After a few hours the detective and the psychiatrist step out to speak. I can hear them, though I suspect whether they know that.
“Why Ahriman?”
I whisper.
“For you. You needed me, you will always need me.”
“We will never get out of this mess.”
He chuckles and I am shaken.
“They can’t charge you with murder. They will charge you with insanity. At max it’s the mental asylum and then you and me can live in peace.”
My trial goes on for several months. Both sides argue and discuss. Finally, the defence wins and am placed in an asylum. Ahriman has been absent.
At the asylum, I hear everyone whisper as I am placed in solitary confinement.
I am let out for showers when all the others are done. In the passage I hear a nurse tell another.
“Be careful. He is not actually blind. I read his file. He is a whacko.”
I have turned the corner and I can’t hear them anymore.
Next thing I know I am in cuffs and being pounded by the guards. Through my bloodied mouth I smile, and I hear Ahriman’s voice before I black out.
“यह नयन डरे डरे ये जाम भरे भरे.” *