Who are you? A short story by Sudeshna Chakravarty
It was almost midnight when Prabhat returned home. Darkness hung on the porch like a shroud of secrecy leaving nothing visible. “Shucks! A load shedding at this hour,” he cursed as his choicest expletive left his lips. Rummaging his pockets with his right hand he tried to locate his key while he tried to feel the door knob with his other hand. As his hands fell on the door it creaked open. “It’s open!” his heart leapt with fear and surprise. But, since he was few pegs down, his thought process was quite sozzled to let him think clearly. Had his better sense prevailed he would not have left the room. The living room was dark but a faint flickering glow which filtered in from the kitchen made the room semi- visible. There was someone in the kitchen! He could almost see his shadow swaying from the pantry door to the refrigerator. He cautiously made his way through the dark silhouettes of the furniture strewn across the room. Picking up a vase from the centre table he progressed careful feline steps. “For self defence,” he explained to himself. These days he needed to explain such things to himself. He could not often understand himself. Sometimes his own violent streak surprised him!
It was almost midnight when Prabhat returned home. Darkness hung on the porch like a shroud of secrecy leaving nothing visible. “Shucks! A load shedding at this hour,” he cursed as his choicest expletive left his lips. Rummaging his pockets with his right hand he tried to locate his key while he tried to feel the door knob with his other hand. As his hands fell on the door it creaked open. “It’s open!” his heart leapt with fear and surprise. But, since he was few pegs down, his thought process was quite sozzled to let him think clearly. Had his better sense prevailed he would not have left the room. The living room was dark but a faint flickering glow which filtered in from the kitchen made the room semi- visible. There was someone in the kitchen! He could almost see his shadow swaying from the pantry door to the refrigerator. He cautiously made his way through the dark silhouettes of the furniture strewn across the room. Picking up a vase from the centre table he progressed careful feline steps. “For self defence,” he explained to himself. These days he needed to explain such things to himself. He could not often understand himself. Sometimes his own violent streak surprised him!
“Hi, back home finally?” said the person suddenly showing up on the kitchen door. He stood against the light camouflaging himself from Prabhat. “I thought you would never come,” he said cheerfully.
“Who are you?” asked Prabhat, still clutching on to the vase.
“Who am I?” came the amused question from the other end, “Good question. Ask yourself who you are? And by the way, put down that vase please. I don’t like violence.”
Prabhat stood undecided for a while.
“I said put it down please!” he said rather firmly, “thank you,” he added as Prabhat set it down.
“Come, come now let us talk?” he said, “Hope you will have dinner? I am famished.”
“No, I am not particularly hungry,” said Prabhat, walking into the kitchen. It seemed that this person had prepared dinner, set out the table and drunk his wine. There was a familiarity in the way he conducted himself. But, still Prabhat could not recognise who he was. “If you don’t mind,” he said at last, “I just can’t place you. Could you tell me who you are?”
“Can’t place me, eh?” he said laughter dancing in their eyes, “strain your brains. Strain your brains.”
“Sorry,” he shrugged.
“l could be no one you know. I could be someone you know. Let us move from darkness to light.... from ignorance to knowledge. Who am I will unfold in the journey. In the morning light the morning will find out who am I. But, presently, we shall eat.”
“I told you, I am not hungry, “said Prabhat irked.
“ Since memory is not your strong point....I suggest carbs. Pasta?”
“ Read my lips.....I said I am not hungry.”
“Your Mom would be very angry, if she knew you are skipping dinner, wouldn’t she?”
“You knew Mom?”
“Yes, I could know her. I could not even know her. Isn’t this something all moms tell to their children?”
“Just don’t try to play games with me,” shouted Prabhat, “Who are you?” he was again on his expletive drive letting out some of the choicest ones.
“Ever heard your dad using one of those?” he asked looking straight into his eyes.
Prabhat staggered a bit moving back as the dining chair brushed his calf muscles. He sat down on it wondering.
Prabhat remembered the gentleman his dad used to be. Of course he would never swear the way Prabhat did. His image danced before his eyes – calm, collected, soft spoken. You could never call him a towering personality with his five feet five inches frame. His soft delicate features and long fingers made him pass off as a doctor. But, even if he tried being one, he could not become one. He could not tolerate the sight of blood. He led his own sedentary life running that small bookstore, letting his ladle wielding mother take most of the decisions in his life. Prabhat looked up to his father till he reached his adolescence years. As he broke open the shell of his childhood to manhood he began feel that his father lacked courage.
“So, let me repeat, ever heard your dad using one of those?” the man asked once again.
“No,” said Prabhat, “ Never heard him doing many things, in fact,” he said.
“What are those many things?” he asked arcing his eyebrows.
( To be continued)
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