Buffering Love Page 7

  Salah told Yousuf that he needed someone quickly as there were six separate missions. He didn’t want to involve his trainees for these bookings. The reason why Salah needed innocent people unrelated to the operation to do these bookings was because many IP addresses of suspicious neighbourhoods were specifically profiled and tracked by the Interpol and Indian intelligence agencies alike. If these bookings were not done by disparate people who were non-Muslims, their operation could come under the scanner.

  Shashank Raman perfectly fit the bill of the kind of guy Salah wanted and the job was nothing special. Just a bunch of train, flight and hotel bookings.

  ‘All you need for this is to be constantly connected to the Internet,’ Yousuf called Shashank and explained. ‘Every morning, for the next three to four weeks, you will get a mail with names and dates that you need to make bookings for. There could be cancellations and rescheduling, but that’s it.’

  ‘Who are these bookings for?’

  ‘Traders. Rich businessmen from countries like Morocco and Turkey who come here every spring and buy expensive jewels from Hyderabad. The firm I work for provides them with the best options for diamonds and pearls and other gems in these cities. We function as their de-facto trusted travel partner to show them around, hence the bookings.’ This was the standard decoy handed down from Salah to Yousuf.

  ‘And these booking requests come in every day?’

  ‘More or less. We are planning our calendar for summer right now. It’s a busy time. Our most trusted travel agent shut shop last month and the company was soliciting new agents. I honestly don’t think it takes anything special to book these names, which is why I recommended your name. They will give you Rs 10,000 for a month of co-ordination. Can you do it?’

  ‘Of course, I can. Thanks a lot, Yousuf. This is a big help. Can they pay me in advance?’

  It sounded too simple a job to ignore for Rs 10,000. It would help him get that suit! The money came promptly into Shashank’s bank account and the booking requests began to pour in from a specific email address. The passengers, whose scanned copies of passports accompanied every booking request, were of diverse nationalities—Algeria, Syria, Turkey, France and even Switzerland.

  Shashank wasn’t the only one making travel bookings for terrorists. There were two others in different parts of Telangana. How and when a peace-loving city like Hyderabad transformed itself into a hideous but effective web for such extremist activities was anyone’s guess. Little did Shashank know that these bookings were for hardened terrorists with multiple passports travelling within India. Over the next week, Shashank dedicated all the time required for these bookings.

  Most mornings, Shashank would get a mail and all he had to do was follow instructions. Sometimes he was asked to do a little research and send back a set of recommendations for flights and hotels. Within hours he would get a reply with the selected options from that email address.

  With the money from this odd job, Shashank ordered his suit. There was a minor scare about the specific unit not being in stock, but the customer department cleared it over an e-mail saying they could get the extra inventory in the size required.

  Spurred on in anticipation of the possibilities that the new suit would bring, Shashank fulfilled all the requests that came his way in a jiffy. In a millennial’s world, he would have been called efficient AF. One day, as he got set to finish his last booking request, he got a call from Yousuf.

  ‘Hey, man, I have one more booking for you for the day.’

  ‘Go ahead, shoot. I’ll take notes. Am I not getting a mail for this?’

  ‘No, it’s for me with one more passenger. So, I figured I’ll call you. It’s on the Bangalore to Hyderabad route. No hotel bookings. Just a couple of tickets on the Shatabdi train.’

  ‘Wow! You are going to escort the touring party this time, huh?’

  ‘Yeah, about time.’

  This was the trip for which Yousuf had been receiving training for over a month now.

  Shashank quickly completed the booking and thanked Yousuf for putting him in touch with the good folks at Aegis Exports, the company on whose behalf Shashank was making the bookings. As soon as Yousuf received the tickets, he called Shashank back.

  ‘Do you want to come with us? It would be a good diversion for you.’

  Shashank looked at the dates. It was the eve of the farewell dinner. He politely declined.

  In a couple of days, Shashank’s suit arrived. Despite all the hurdles, this thing of beauty was worth it. He sent a few pictures of his suit to Aalia. She was delirious with excitement. She had already booked the photographer for their evening shoot on the day of the farewell.

  The evening of the farewell party, Shashank was decked in his fashionable grey suit by 2 p.m. After trying to call Aalia a few times, he left a message for her. Having not heard from her, he decided to hop over to Belgium Beer House for a drink before leaving for the university. He didn’t ever mind getting to any place early.

  The usually quiet Belgium Beer House had its television blaring. It carried the report of an attack on a Shatabdi train by two terrorists. While the reporter gave out details of the attack, it also carried Aalia’s picture on one half of the screen. It was she who had bravely overpowered a supposedly novice terrorist who couldn’t bring himself to fire a gun at the passengers. His other accomplice was overpowered in the scuffle led by other passengers and handed over to the police, but the novice terrorist, identified as a certain Yousuf, had lost his life.

  Shashank could barely comprehend the depravity of what his part-time job entailed. With hands shivering at the thought of what he might have helped accomplish, he logged into his e-mail. It had a mail from Aalia.

  ‘I am taking a train back from Hyderabad, honey. As soon as I landed, got to know that my meeting with Sonam Carvalho at Cosmopolitan had been cancelled because she was dealing with some crisis with the current edition. Had an urge to see you as soon as possible and no prior flights were available so took the last train out at night. Can’t wait to see you in that grey suit soon. Love, Aalia. XoXo’

  The Telangana government announced the state’s highest civilian honour for Aalia in recognition of her bravery. She had succumbed to her injuries on the way to the hospital.

  On the day of her funeral, Shashank looked impeccable in his new grey suit.

  Last Seen

  ‘The problem with modern dating is that most people would hang a comment here and a question there for the opposite party to respond to on WhatsApp, without making the effort to talk or meet in person,’ the wise-looking gentleman, whom we shall call Bertrand, said to a teenager nursing a drink at Plan B after an apparent breakup over WhatsApp.

  ‘Teenagers don’t realize it yet, but this heinous app is sounding the death knell of romance in this world at an alarming pace,’ he continued.

  ‘It’s cruel. She broke up with me on chat. Our generation deserves better,’ the teenager replied.

  ‘You are sagacious,’ said Bertrand. ‘But let me tell you a story that took place in this very town; it might make you feel a little better.’

  It’s not easy to woo someone on WhatsApp. Yet, it has invariably become the cradle of flirting on college campuses. Everyone is lured by the ease the darned app offers. Venu was no different. After graduating from IIIT, Hyderabad, he had just joined the 2016 MBA batch at the Loyola School of Business, Chennai. From the very first day, he couldn’t take his eyes off Menaka. When on Freshers’ Day he noticed her clapping rather generously after his solo performance of the popular song Tu Hi Re, he thought the ground to be fertile enough to initiate a WhatsApp conversation.

  When Menaka received that joke from Venu about Subramaniam Swamy, she broke into a hearty laugh. But the vexing dilemma that an app like WhatsApp imposes on a fledgling relationship is this: all Menaka replied was, LOL.

  It was a different matter altogether that the doe-eyed Menaka had received at least six memes from different boys in her class, but she deemed
only Venu worthy enough for a reply. ‘LOL’ was the only expression she could come up with.

  Poor Venu, who had sifted through so many jokes before sending this one, was heartbroken. LOL is the least common denominator in a budding relationship. It’s a cyanide pill disguised as laughter on a chat, a thoroughbred conversation killer. What could be the best comeback to a LOL? Nothing!

  Shakespeare might as well have given Romeo and Juliet a smartphone each at the end of Act 5 and asked them to type LOL, such is the poison contained in those three letters.

  And there the relationship could’ve died. But there was more to that LOL. Menaka went up to her sister Dhara who had come to their parents’ home to pack for the honeymoon she was leaving for with her husband, Gopal.

  ‘Dhara, listen to this joke,’ Menaka demanded.

  ‘Later, da. No time. Gopal is on his way to pick me up,’ Dhara replied, pushing her swanky blue frame up the bridge of her nose. Gopal and Dhara had dated for a year after she accepted his proposal. It was only a matter of time before they started planning their honeymoon. And here they were, all set to go to New Delhi.

  ‘Listen na, this guy sent me this joke. It’s damn funny,’ Menaka insisted.

  ‘Okay, shoot.’

  ‘What’s the opposite of Subramaniam Swamy?’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Give it a try, be a sport.’

  ‘I don’t know. Out with it,’ Dhara, completely occupied with her packing, couldn’t care less.

  ‘Are you ready?’

  Menaka waited for a response from Dhara while she flung another old pullover into her suitcase.

  ‘You aren’t even interested. You’ve changed since your marriage.’ Menaka walked out of the room in a huff.

  Dhara followed her and caught hold of her. ‘I am a little short of time, honey, that’s why. Okay here’s my guess. Opposite of Subramaniam Swamy? I see. Maybe Jayalalithaa?’

  ‘No, silly. It’s Subramaniam didn’t see me,’ Menaka chortled.

  That got the sisters laughing for a while. ‘Is there anything you want from Delhi?’ Dhara asked her sister.

  ‘Nothing for me but I will ask my friend Venu if he would like something,’ Menaka said.

  She went back to her room and stared at Venu’s profile picture. He was tall, his hair was a little frumpy, but he had a Napoleon of a nose and a face that could belong to a ramp— a near-perfect combination of tall, dark and handsome with bad hair. The singing was a bonus.

  She wanted to write to him that the joke cracked her sister up. But then she wondered if she would be giving too much leeway to a guy she barely knew.

  It would be two more days before classes for the first years at the Loyola School of Business would resume. She looked at the time stamp on his chat.

  It said, ‘Last seen 11.32 a.m.’

  Venu slunk into his beanbag and once again looked at her reply. ‘LOL.’

  Granted it was not an ingenious, original joke but she could’ve done better than that. He was going nuts thinking of her. It had only been a month since he knew her, a fellow classmate from his neighbourhood, Saidapet. Both twenty-two and single, as acknowledged by themselves at that Freshers’ Day party last week.

  Before the celebrations began, the seniors made the first-year batch line-up, asked them to pick up tags of whether they were single or committed and keep them on for the evening. Both Venu and Menaka had picked up badges that read ‘single’.

  ‘You sang that song really well,’ Menaka told Venu right after his performance.

  ‘I am glad you liked it,’ Venu blushed.

  ‘I could be presumptuous here but did you take a picture of mine while I was singing or was it my imagination?’

  ‘No, I did click a few for the college report on Freshers’ Day. You might not have realized, but I am in the culture committee.’

  ‘Of course, I know,’ Venu back-pedalled. His hopes were dashed because he thought she was taking his pictures for herself.

  ‘Could you please send them to me? My mother would love to see them,’ he added.

  ‘Done. What’s your number?’

  It turned out well eventually. He had her number without coming across as a creep.

  Yet right now, all he had from that number he so fervently plotted for was an ‘LOL’. Come to think of it, her house was only a ten-minute ride from his place.

  Should he ask her for a coffee at Hot Breads in the evening? But it’s only been a month since they knew each other. Too soon, he concluded. WhatsApp was safer. But what do you ask over chat? What is the right message to send without coming across as too blunt and thus falling by the wayside?

  Also, it had been raining since morning. Who knows what the weather would be like in the evening. He was going to give it a couple of hours. If the rain stopped, he would think about how to frame that message. It would need masterful construction.

  A couple of hours later, Menaka picked up the phone again to see if there was any response to her ‘LOL’ from Venu. Such a perfectly legitimate response to a good joke, she thought. Yet, he couldn’t come up with a conversation starter? Why should she? The ‘last seen’ time was now 1.34 p.m.

  ‘If he’s on WhatsApp and connected, why can’t he ask me something about my day or my plans for the weekend? I have even seen his house. A little coffee at Hot Breads wouldn’t hurt. Once the rain clears up, the weather is going to be cool and breezy. Why do all boys have to play so hard to get?’ Menaka kept thinking about him and fittingly spent the afternoon in the company of a Nicholas Sparks novella.

  When Venu woke up from his siesta, it was 4 p.m. The rain showed no sign of abatement. It occurred to him that going to her place might be a better option than asking her to come out.

  He plotted his decision-making on a flowchart on a whiteboard.

  She replied to my message at 11.32 a.m. It’s been raining since morning.

  She doesn’t have a car, so she couldn’t have stepped out. She told me that last week.

  I am dying to see her. I can’t go through two more days without seeing her.

  If I visit her place, maybe bring a book or something, I can’t be doing anything wrong.

  She stays with her mother. Mothers are normally sweet. I can have a cup of tea with them and come back home.

  Meanwhile, hearing that familiar swoosh of an incoming message, Menaka rushed to her phone. She hoped it was from Venu. It wasn’t. It was Dhara. She and Gopal had reached the airport. A few flights were cancelled, but the Delhi flight was on schedule.

  She messaged Menaka that they were all set to take off. She also told her to get the domestic help to wash Gopal’s Honda CR-V every alternate day. Since Gopal was running late, he didn’t want to go back to keep the car at his apartment. It was a temporary arrangement. Dhara and Gopal stayed at another end of the city but it was closer to get to the airport from Dhara’s family home, hence Gopal thought it best to leave the car with Menaka and her mother.

  But this message from Dhara interested her. She suddenly had a car at her disposal. She could swing by Venu’s place for coffee. It was only a few blocks away.

  If Menaka asked permission from her mother, it could turn into a slug fest. She was desperate to see him. This was the first time Venu had messaged her directly outside of their group. She wanted to tell him in person what a funny joke it was. With a decision made, she turned on the ignition of her brother-in-law’s CR-V and set off from her house on 12th Avenue towards Venu’s house in Raghava Colony—a trifle matter of a few blocks.

  Six blocks ahead, Venu concluded that there was no point asking if he should come over. They had briefly spoken about Jim Collins’ Good to Great as being a great read and he had that book with him. He had even told her that he would bring it for her someday to college. The alibi was watertight. It would go thus: ‘I was just passing by so thought of dropping this. I have read it. Return it whenever you feel like.’ He drooled over the thought.

  There was no point calling her in a
dvance to take time and all that. That would make it seem very serious. He picked up the book and set off for her house in his rickety old Maruti Zen.

  As soon as Venu stepped out on 1st Street in Raghava Colony, he couldn’t believe what hit him. The Nagathamman Koil Main Road was flooded in knee-deep water. A handful of men were crossing the road very carefully and no other cars were around. All he had to do was drive straight for five minutes on this main road and take a right on 12th Avenue. But it seemed an impossible task to undertake. Such was the fury of the rain.

  Venu tried to turn his car around but it was a little too late to go back. The engine just wouldn’t crank up enough to move ahead or even turn. He pressed the accelerator hard. The engine roared all right but there was an underlying sense of surrender. Soon, it spluttered into silence.

  There was only one way out from here. He had to get out of the car and walk back home. Desperate, he felt like calling a friend and reached out for his phone in his pocket.

  Normally, he would simply place his phone in his right pocket but was it possible that it had slipped out under the seat today? He looked but his phone was nowhere to be found. In his excitement to carry the book for Menaka, he had forgotten it at home.

  He started the engine again. A whimper is all he got. It was time to step out in the water. But his side of the door was stuck. Murphy’s Law was having a field day with Venu. He reached out for the other doors. None of them responded.

  A few blocks away, Menaka was taken aback with the brute force of water that thudded into her car when she passed the KFC outlet on 12th Avenue. She pondered about going back, but the SUV was a good beast to have on your side. It was barely knee-deep on her side of the street. Besides, she had enough practice with this vehicle to trust herself around it. She carefully navigated the CR-V for the next five minutes and reached Nagathamman Koil Main Road where Venu’s car was stuck.