'A Legendary Singer Retires' is a comic short story about an ever-bungling person who unwittingly triggers a bizarre sequence of events that culminate in a popular singer announcing her retirement.
I have reproduced, in the post below, only the first two sections of the story.
You can read the full story by downloading the pdf document from here.
I have reproduced, in the post below, only the first two sections of the story.
You can read the full story by downloading the pdf document from here.
A Legendary Singer Retires - A Short Story
It had been a while since I was last invited to a respectable home for a dinner party. After all, what host, worth his Himalayan salt, would countenance a guest who, after feasting on his expensive single malt and gourmet food, blithely goes ahead and mocks his beloved ancestors? And that is what, my dear readers, I did some two years ago.
It made me a social outcast for a good seventeen months!
#
Ravi, a former business-school batchmate of mine, and his wife, Sai, had hosted a housewarming party one evening. In attendance were a bunch of people from the corporate world, a drab world I had stopped inhabiting many summers ago. They all looked the same, had the same hairstyle, wore similar dresses, and talked and behaved in much the same fashion. It was difficult to tell one from the other from even ten feet, if you know what I mean.
Later, the hosts, with their not-so-subtle intent to show off how many millions they had splurged, took us around to give a guided tour of their fancy new nest. The interiors were opulent, and the place was dotted with artefacts, which, they claimed, they had picked up during their travels around the world. A claim I seriously doubted since I had seen similar artefacts being peddled to gullible collectors in the numerous curio shops at Hathipole bazaar in Udaipur.
The assemblage of corporate clones moved in unison from one artefact to another and offered similar words of admiration in unison, “Amazing! Splendid! Awesome! Fascinating!”
I separated myself from the group to take a dekko at the goods at my own pace. Presently, I paused, a trifle amused, before two large, ornate photo-frames. I thought they, too, were part of the assorted artefacts. So, in a state of inebriation (a blissful state in which the weight of all worldly cares lifts from one’s chest), I professed my honest opinion of the gentleman and the lady whose visage, each, occupied the gilded frames.
“Say, Ravi, wherever did you get these frames from? Hahaha! The old bird in the left frame sure does remind me of the blighter who ran our college canteen. Hahaha! You remember, the one who had more chins under his meek jaw than he had hair on his pate? Hahaha!”
Ravi harrumphed. Sai rolled her eyes.
“And the lady, well, she has a leering look, much like that Italian pornstar whose films we used to watch in our college’s computer lab. Hahaha!”
Ravi bridled. Groaned. Or had he moaned, thinking of the scenes from those films? Hard to tell, given my state of intoxication. Sai’s face flushed. In a trice, I saw it go from pink to red to mauve. The assemblage of corporate clones was silent, as if in mourning.
Ravi, now shaking like a peepal leaf in summer breeze, raised his right fist; preparatory, I thought, to shouting, “College days, zindabad!” Just then, Sai clutched his left wrist. Ravi dithered, lowered his fist, and stuttered, “They are my late grandparents … they passed away a few years ago … I – I - I loved them very much.” His eyes were moist with unshed tears.
The place went silent as a tomb. The assemblage of corporate clones swivelled their heads in unison round the axes of their necks, fixed their gaze upon me and looked with disdain and bemusement. Much like the look the supercilious staff of the Gymkhana Club would have given to the chappie who arrived dressed in traditional attire.
While half a bottle of the finest amber rested in my innards, my exterior was now, clearly, in a soup – a hot soup! It was providential, perhaps, that a few neurons were still active in my otherwise putrid brain. I gathered my wits and mumbled, “I am awfully sorry, Ravi. I didn’t know.”
“It’s too late. Let’s call it a day,” Ravi told the gathering in a dignified tone; like a mummy, un-tombed only moments ago, giving tongue.
The assemblage of corporate clones bade Sai and Ravi goodnight in unison and ambled out of the home in, well, unison. I hid myself in the assemblage and made a quiet escape, avoiding eye contact with everyone. Had a prying neighbour mistaken the proceedings for a funeral procession, a cortège, I would not have blamed him.
I don’t know how fast the word of such episodes travels around the world these days. It seemed, on my journey back home, that even the auto-rickshaw driver was aware of the heresy I had just committed. He looked surly every time our eyes met in the rear-view mirror.
A stream of thoughts started flowing in my head.
Was the episode, at this very moment, a topic of television debates (or harangues) and social media trolling? Had I been anointed as the ‘national shame’? Gulp! Hopefully, after a few hours, the dopamine-seeking multitudes will find some other hapless fellow to replace me. Sigh! But dash it! I was only trying to be funny. The resemblance of pictures was plain for all to see. Had he been in neutral territory, even Ravi would have made the same remark, wouldn’t he? Damn, damn, damn!
You can read the rest of the story by downloading the pdf document from here.
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