“Hello”, said the gatekeeper to the 53 year old Unkilji.
I stood in the line patiently, judging the others in the line and those who proceeded to the antechamber for personalized interviews. The bespectacled officer at the table kept a scepter alongside him for no apparent reasons. But I assumed it was to cut short the job of the interviewers in case of untoward acts of desperation from those queued up. The myths I heard however claimed it was rarely used.
Unkilji didn’t feel disturbed about the fact that after signing the papers he would never see us or anything earthly ever again. Or that it was the last we would see of him.
The air was damp yet it hardly strained my lungs as it used to in the hospital ward. When I arrived here for the first time (3 days back) it took me quite a while to come to terms with what had exactly happened; to me or to the world minus me. There were two batches of hundreds of cells not exactly jailish but much cleaner and bigger. In one of the batches all rooms were unoccupied. I remember waking up in my cell after I went off to sleep in the ward. Curious and confused, I ventured out to explore the place and gather my seemingly defiant senses.
Soon I realized that the other inmates too were taken aback with their new domicile. There were no messes, kitchens or food centers. But that never worried us because not a single soul felt hungry. The speech volumes were disturbingly low.
Yesterday we were given fliers which, to our amazement, were instruction manuals. It read:
1. You are dead.
2. At least now be yourself.
3. Letters are the only modes of communication here.
4. Sign against your name when asked to do so tomorrow.
5. An interview will follow.
I comprehended that chemotherapy had failed in its purpose and I had succumbed to the cancer that bred in me. And there I was recollecting point 4 of the manual, unfazed, as I saw Unkilji sign the papers and proceed to the Grill. I and my friends had conferred upon him the pseudonym of Unkilji, back during our college days. We used to fondly call him by that name along with some occasional greetings.
He used to sell cigarettes.
…to be continued
March 2, 2008 at 7:36 pm |
Self-actualisation,individualism,objectivism…..
“It has to start somewhere
It has to start sometime
What better place than here
What better time than now
“
March 3, 2008 at 9:21 pm |
I am not much of a reader or writer myself so whatever is coming from me is purely “aesthetic”….it was very well written and on top of that was very well imagined!! keep it up and i’ll be waiting for the sequel………
March 6, 2008 at 12:06 pm |
okay…i m extremely embarressed to say that it didnt follow it much…i just cant figure out the story…its too abstract!!!…may be its not meant for individuals with lower intelligence like me…but still i m waiting 4 its conclusion to see if i can understand it…
July 11, 2008 at 4:48 pm |
i pictured myself to be in prison with Wentworth
(could even hear dim wit LInc in the background) and suddenly could see Robbin Williams with a bright red rubber nose :p . hope the endings good else no therapy could cure me from the trauma of a very conventional “unkilji”.
January 2, 2009 at 4:19 pm |
omg wats my prev comment
..,,,,,,, so odd really. dunno wat happens to me!
. wheres the continuation?
November 23, 2009 at 6:28 pm |
medical science is going places. by the time of our turn, the world will surely see the absolute cure of cancer. it may not come cheap though. so swell your bank balance till then. smoke and be optimistic.
April 21, 2010 at 3:20 am |
nearing the end of another sem, (read end sems coming) and remembring the few occasions when we would be at khokha together at that same unkleji’s shop …. I can well connect to this one!!
It strikes me comic thoug remembring a particular instance… possibly in your last sem…. I was sitting there in your room … and you had a slight pain in the left side of your chest…. and you had put down the just lit gold flake .. scared like a kitten … saying ” abe yaar … ab chordna padega lagta hai ” …