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Creepy

About Tapan Mozumdar

Tapan is an engineer by training and a real estate builder by profession. His interests lie in poetry, short stories and now, in photography. Caught between disparate pulling forces, he finds his balance. Writing is catharsis for him. Voyeurism, too! He is 50 now and live in Bangalore with parents and wife; his son is 20 and studies digital design. Recently, Tapan had been shortlisted for Star Writer’s Programme, a national competition for writers organised by Star TV.

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No one in our clan, or anywhere in our species, or as far as I have personally eavesdropped or overheard from the other lazy-looking, quick-swerving gossipmongers in our neighbourhood, that is, as much as my three year old life has shown or taught me, no one has, or ever had a name.
It’s not only a girl as lissom and sticky as me has no name but even a boy or any other gender that may care, are all nameless in our tribe. No name, no family, no commune, no society, bloody no tension, no jhik jhik.
I mean, look at you, Santosh, I have heard you lamenting over phone, often, that your parents do not visit your home. They don’t like that your wife is called Mariam. What? I find her pretty good, especially the fact that she is dead scared of cockroaches, and since I caught one flying, she leaves some food or the other at the corner of the room which is the warmest.
I know she is more scared of me than the slithery fliers, who still have the vane impression of being a bird, idiots! One day, in no mood for sex and chased by a long, dark and handful fellow in heat, I slipped on the watery surface of the picture frame that hangs in your drawing room – Arre, the one you stand before and touch your forehead with your right palm ten times before going anywhere, that one – and I fell on her left shoulder, plop!
Sebastian, your neighbour, actually had to ring the bell and ask, Bhabhi, everything alright? And she pointed at me, still shivering. What? No! Do you take me for a fool? I was gone below the sofa long before. Sebastian… confused; smiled, asked, ”You want me to wait here, Mariam?” Your wife looked lost, and how pretty she looks when looks lost, and nodded.
These parents of yours, they walk on two legs, eat and shit like all of you do, right? Then, what the hell is their problem with a sweet name, Mariam? I mean it sounds so nice, and sweet, when you call her early in the morning, kissing and waking her up with a tea. Our bastards? Wag your tail, five times with the clock, five times against clock, mount, and once the work is done, who are you?
So, why such slow, lingering love that you make with her vanished this morning? Last night, you guys were singing, happy, happy all of you, you, Mariam, Sebastian, and you drank, and drank, and then couldn’t get out of the couch, kept cheering those images creeping on the television, confetti showering on their head, and shouted, happy new year, yayy, and slipped there, asleep.
Sebastian, I saw, tried to put you to the bedroom, failed, smiled at Mariam and asked, now? She shrugged, served him some food, left enough crumbs for us as well. Then, I saw, and I can tell you if you will listen, Sebastian shook hands with her, went to the door, which she opened, and left.
Now when you shout this morning, “New year, with a new man, is this how you people are, witch?” after you find Sebastian’s scarf on your wedding bed, do you know, you look like the rotund, dark, striped bastard of a lizard that has a permanent nest in your loft. Have you ever seen that? Or, yourself, when you take out your belt and attack the nice, bright lady who is kind enough to feed me bread crumbs? Me, a lizard she is afraid of, yet friends with. Is it because she knows, somehow, that I am a girl and I won’t hurt her, ever, like forever?
We, all seven of us on your walls and loft, don’t like when she cries, picks up the phone after you leave, puts it down, cries again. We have conferred, and agreed, a rare unity, I must say! We have decided that the next time we see you making our friend cry, we, the nameless, seven of our kind, shall let loose of our glue, and fall on you, one, by, one…

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