Shanti Mausi ki kahaani

A lot was wrong with the world. They were showing a censored version of Tropic Thunder on television. It hurt every time there was a missed fuck on the soundtrack, so much so that I was wincing at what a “fuck” less word on the soundwaves be like.

The T20 match had just ended. And it’s just 9:00! What of Saturday night?

The house phone was ringing. I acknowledged the sound. The problem with the conclusion was that the house phone ringing is not a normal occurance. The house phone is an internal phone for communication between the residents of this official quarters. However, the house phone of 502 rings only when there is someone at the gate who isn’t dressed well enough to get in without being questioned , or  the plumber is summoned.

It was a soft female voice on the line, “Shanti Mausi hain kya?”

As Sharma said on the cellphone later, “Yaar ye kahani mein naya character kahan se aa gaya?” I was flummoxed.

Shanti Mausi? Haven’t I been searching for Shanti Mausi too?

Someone from 1006 was searching for her Bai.

I get attached to concepts time and again, sometimes so passionately, that those become part of me and my personality. Specific movies, a city, a book, something. And whenever that happens, I discover unexpected connections in my head. Hunter S. Thompson, for example. Biker. Rolled with Harley Davidson gangs. Crazy motherfucker. Had at times more drug cocktails in him than people would deem possible.  A very big fan of Bob Dylan. Infact acknowledgement of his book Hell’s Angels goes to two people, one for something personal, and another to Bob Dylan for the song “Mister Tambourine Man”.

Also was reading about Papa Hemingway the other day. Ernest Hemingway. Considered a butch man by all his wives. A man who doesn’t cry. And a cancerian at that. Wrote in simple small sentences which pushed the story forward.

He shot himself.

Suicide at an older age.

All words that would fit Hunter S Thompson. Butch man. Extremist. Cancerian. Self confessed to having been inspired in his writing from Hemingway.

He shot himself too.

Shanti Mausi has been difficult to come by 502 these days.

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