A CHRISTMAS CAROL (Short story)

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

‘Premji, I should go home today afternoon,’ my friend Suman informed me over mobile phone, somewhere around eleven O'clock in the morning.

‘What's the matter?’

‘My wife is not feeling well... It seems, she has vomiting sensations’

‘Is she pregnant?’

‘She supposes so,’

‘God bless you…Suman... Congratulations...’

‘Thanks... Premji... Mostly, I will be back by tomorrow morning.’

♥

"Making an urban girl pregnant is not an easy task now-a-days! The pizzas, burgers and all sort of junk food she eats, can easily decay her ovum like pumpkins in a compost pit; where sperms, move around like earth worms, can only accelerate the disintegration!" Suman used to repeat this line almost on daily basis.

Suman and I, we shared a small rented house in the outskirts of that town.

It was nearing seven O'clock in the evening. The chillness of December started her silent torment and it was really boring to go out, all alone, for food. Luckily I could locate some semi-ripe bananas, kept in a container away from hungry rats. I chopped them into small pieces and kept for boiling.

‘Boiled bananas will be fantastic with black tea,’ I told myself.

The induction cooker started making noise and I switched off the power.

‘Shit..,’ two or three fire-flies were lying above the water surface, well cooked, along with boiled bananas! ‘What to do?’

It was pitch-dark outside and the petrol tank of my Yamaha bike remained empty like the breasts of a hunger-struck third-world country mother! And to add more darkness to the situation, pen torch batteries were also drained out!

‘Premji... in China, sports-men eat insect fries... you know... they are protein enriched food!’ someone told from memories.

‘Is it?’ the literary sportsman in me doubted!

‘Yes’

‘Here we go..,’ I threw the fire-flies away. ‘nhum... bananas, boiled in fire-fly stock, is a variety food during Christmas…’

♥

I closed all the doors and settled with my laptop to write another episode of autobiographical fiction. But, I was interrupted by a mobile ring. Poetess Angelina was on the line.

‘Hi Angel… Happy Christmas in advance’

‘O! Hi Premji… Thank you… Same to you’

‘Then?’

‘I got in contact with a key person from Mac-Millan publishing company… She told me to submit the manuscript named ‘Universal call for peace’… with an introduction’

‘Sounds great!’

‘I have selected one poem each, of our poet friends and mailed to her’

‘Let’s hope for the best… None is there to publish poetry now-a-days…!’

‘So true… I will let you know if there is any improvement… Bye…Premji… Good night’

‘Bye Angel… Good night’

Poetry! The crest jewel of art is left unread and unsold! A deep melancholy started encompassing my soul.

♥

Solitude is the best friend of an artist! I reserved a bullet for that bastard who told it! I started reading a PDF book… 'Celestine Prophecy'… I fell in love is his philosophy and critical mass theory. Again my mobile started ringing.

‘Premji, tomorrow is declared as a holiday,’ Suman was on the line.

‘You are lucky, my friend!’

‘Happy Christmas’

‘Happy New Year too… we won’t be meeting again till Jan 2nd.’

‘Yes… same to you’

‘Suman, how is your wife? Is she?’

‘No… it was due to some dirty junk food,’ his voice became pale. 

♥        

                                   
‘It’s nine O'clock,’ the display of the mobile phone informed me. Suddenly, the songs and drum beats of a Carol group fell on my ears, approaching, and its intensity kept on increasing.

Our house was located at the dead end of that narrow lane and fortunately we didn’t have any neighbors nearby. The sounds were approaching closer. I then checked my wallet. Fortunately or unfortunately, one and only ‘five hundred rupee’ was left with.

‘This is going to be a problem,’ I told myself.

‘Christmas Carol is a money making business now-a-days…Premji,’ our ‘local Santa Clause’ Lonappan Chettan told me yesterday, while having break-fast at Sam's restaurant. ‘Twenty five years… for twenty five years… I was the Santa of this small town… You see my long white beard… It’s my commitment to Santa… But’

‘But?’

‘I was kicked out last year… when people started paying cash as gifts to Santa!’

‘Cash gifts to Santa!’

‘Yes… to make him also greedy!’

‘Really sad’

‘I know… but..,’ Lonappan Chettan stopped for some seconds. ‘Premji… one should give a chance for the gangsters too... to repent!’ He started laughing.

♥        

‘Tomorrow is going to be a holiday… Nobody will be there in my office… My ATM account is already empty… I got an e-mail  yesterday… New generation banks are so cunning! If I give the Carol guys this five hundred rupees note… that’s all! My entire programs will collapse! How can I go home? From whom I can borrow some money from this city quite new to me?’ Millions of thoughts started evolving from my tormented soul! Is there a way out?

Yes! 

I switched off all the lights and sat there silently in the darkness. The lights, the drum beats were approaching. I watched them diverting their journey to the cross-lanes through the key hole. Gradually the drum beats nullified and I switched on the room light.

What to do now? Shall I watch a comedy movie?

‘Life is beautiful,’ that Oscar winning Italian comedy movie failed bitterly to make me laugh. 

Jesus, where did I lose my laughter? 

Jesus, where did I lose my happiness?

♥       

It was nearing eleven in the night and the drum beats started approaching again.

I stood out, wearing the best clothes of mine, waiting for the jingle bells… that five hundred rupees note was there in my shirt pocket, so close to my heart.

Why should I worry when you are with me…Jesus!

Why should I be afraid! 

Yes… I could see the red cloak and white beard of Santa… I could see the gas lights… the drums… and the tall boys… singing and rejoicing…

"Come… come… come to my house… Let’s sing and rejoice…"

But, they took a sudden turn to other cross-road and walked away.          

♥       

PREMJI