A study in scarlet ( ... apologies to AC Doyle)
The unperturbed Mumbai evening rains continued to beat down. The windows were open and a steady stream trickled down the wall. Even the drops from without seemed to reflect and shimmer the spreading pool of red on the white tiled floor. The large knife on the table gleamed crimson.
In retrospect, seems out of place that the mind registered slow motion graphic detail because I had much more pressing issues at hand. Literally.
The white office shirt was streaked red. There was no such fancy design on my right palm; it was plain soaking red. There was a splattering of red across the wall (the raindrops continued to tingle red .. what if the stains didn’t get washed off ..). The liquid and the mind apart, the chief body of evidence lay on the kitchen floor, completely bloody and hardly recognizable now.
I had read somewhere that it required training and practiced strength to wield a knife with any tangible effect. I now had practical experience to refute that theory. One strong primal thrust was all it took .. quite simple really. At least in the physical sense. Maybe I did not know my own strength. Or my own latent talents ..
The rushing water was surprisingly effective – for both the mind and the body. I had been standing in the shower for what seemed like an eternity. Apart from a few stubborn stains, my hands were now clean and only a couple of thin red streams coursed towards the sink now. The pulse was slowly coming back to normal; I needed to figure out the next steps. Fast. It was already dusk. The bet which had started everything seemed so far away now ...
Psychological thrillers. They had always been a favourite starting topic with MH and me. Uncannily, a month earlier, between puffs of Gudang Garam, MH had put forth his theory on the essential evil of all human beings .. “Its like in Hannibal .. when he tells the detective … ‘You are perfectly capable of everything I do, because you imagine everything I do .. that is the only way you are able to trace me .. there really isn’t much different between the two of us’ .. “ .. he then leaned forward, smiled and cast the die .. “in fact .. y’know what, I’ve seen you react to a lot of imagined ‘evil’ intentions .. you clearly have a gift for conceptualizing evil .. how bad does that make you?” … MH then began attempting to blow concentric smoke circles, with usual lack of success ..
“Hmm .. I don’t know .. The greatest mark of an educated mind is the ability to entertain any thought without getting affected by it .. I forget who said that or the exact words .. but that’s my point .. the act is what ultimately matters .. “ I had retorted. I did not get any reply and the matter remained open. Anyway it was 2.30 in the morning and the city of Chennai sleeps early ..
It was my mistake. I should have washed the knife first. The stains were much harder to remove now. Time was running out. The rains had stopped; calm dropped like a shroud over the meager lights of the Mumbai evening.
It was then that I could hear the faint strains of the Magribh azaan. There was nothing much else that I could do now. I started eating some dates and poured some tetra pack litchi juice. There was nothing else to eat.
The watermelon which was supposed to have graced the aftaar, lay deformed and mutilated on the kitchen floor, sad testimony to my fruit cutting skills.
The unperturbed Mumbai evening rains continued to beat down. The windows were open and a steady stream trickled down the wall. Even the drops from without seemed to reflect and shimmer the spreading pool of red on the white tiled floor. The large knife on the table gleamed crimson.
In retrospect, seems out of place that the mind registered slow motion graphic detail because I had much more pressing issues at hand. Literally.
The white office shirt was streaked red. There was no such fancy design on my right palm; it was plain soaking red. There was a splattering of red across the wall (the raindrops continued to tingle red .. what if the stains didn’t get washed off ..). The liquid and the mind apart, the chief body of evidence lay on the kitchen floor, completely bloody and hardly recognizable now.
I had read somewhere that it required training and practiced strength to wield a knife with any tangible effect. I now had practical experience to refute that theory. One strong primal thrust was all it took .. quite simple really. At least in the physical sense. Maybe I did not know my own strength. Or my own latent talents ..
The rushing water was surprisingly effective – for both the mind and the body. I had been standing in the shower for what seemed like an eternity. Apart from a few stubborn stains, my hands were now clean and only a couple of thin red streams coursed towards the sink now. The pulse was slowly coming back to normal; I needed to figure out the next steps. Fast. It was already dusk. The bet which had started everything seemed so far away now ...
Psychological thrillers. They had always been a favourite starting topic with MH and me. Uncannily, a month earlier, between puffs of Gudang Garam, MH had put forth his theory on the essential evil of all human beings .. “Its like in Hannibal .. when he tells the detective … ‘You are perfectly capable of everything I do, because you imagine everything I do .. that is the only way you are able to trace me .. there really isn’t much different between the two of us’ .. “ .. he then leaned forward, smiled and cast the die .. “in fact .. y’know what, I’ve seen you react to a lot of imagined ‘evil’ intentions .. you clearly have a gift for conceptualizing evil .. how bad does that make you?” … MH then began attempting to blow concentric smoke circles, with usual lack of success ..
“Hmm .. I don’t know .. The greatest mark of an educated mind is the ability to entertain any thought without getting affected by it .. I forget who said that or the exact words .. but that’s my point .. the act is what ultimately matters .. “ I had retorted. I did not get any reply and the matter remained open. Anyway it was 2.30 in the morning and the city of Chennai sleeps early ..
It was my mistake. I should have washed the knife first. The stains were much harder to remove now. Time was running out. The rains had stopped; calm dropped like a shroud over the meager lights of the Mumbai evening.
It was then that I could hear the faint strains of the Magribh azaan. There was nothing much else that I could do now. I started eating some dates and poured some tetra pack litchi juice. There was nothing else to eat.
The watermelon which was supposed to have graced the aftaar, lay deformed and mutilated on the kitchen floor, sad testimony to my fruit cutting skills.
posted by Faiz at
2:52 AM
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