If there was any planet I ought to have been on, it should have been either Neptune or Mercury. One year on Neptune is equivalent to 164.8 years on earth and Mercury on the other hand, does not have any seasons. Similarly, my life has just one season- the season of boredom, inactivity and the lack of purpose and a plan of action, and for that reason seems to be a singular ignominious act of infinite drudgery.
It is not as if I lacked ambition; just that the opportunities that I got did no justice to my ambitions. Or rather, they did not occur at the right time.
I had always wanted to be a great writer. I did not care whether I was critically acclaimed or not but I wanted to be famous, to make it big- the kind that gets contracts worth millions for a movie on their book. But as luck would have it, I was born in the small town of a state where the supreme source of entertainment oscillated between Bhojpuri hip-jerkers and extortion based murders. You’re disgusted by my interest in bloodbath, aren’t you? But honest as I am, I see no harm in embracing my inner hooligan because it is what that defines me. In fact, whatever I am today is because of the hooliganism that runs in my family. In our family, no one went to school; the school came to us. My father always told me with great nostalgia how he got to know that he had graduated in philosophy and not parapsychology after 10 years of graduation and that how he always thought that in order to be a scientist one needed to be into Scientology. You wonder how he pulled it off without getting caught? Well, the trick is to bite as much as you can chew. Show a little honesty in being dishonest and seriously no one cares how 80% of the mediocre students passed. Obviously, if you go to extremes you might get into trouble like that topper girl who put the axe on her own feet by saying that one cooks food in political science. Now that is another level of idiocy. Fortunately, my family has been bestowed upon with loads of common sense; they know when to keep quiet and when to roar like a lion.
Coming to myself, as I was telling you earlier, I had always been ambitious which meant that I was not to take forward the family legacy of my teacher writing my answer sheets. I still remember the day with pride when the teacher of English, who my cousin had kidnapped from the adjoining village, told my family with great exhilaration, “Yaar daater ij a daaimand. Nobody wood have thought that someone who lubs studeej so much wood have been born in thij family.” My grandfather had tears in his eyes. Had it not been for the class difference, he surely would have hugged the English teacher. So happy he was that he allowed the teacher to travel to his village every weekend and also dropped the idea of kidnapping his wife. In this manner, my family always ensured that I got the best education possible. But once my formal education was complete, there was again a big question mark about how I should proceed further in my career. This time my brother, Pappu bhaiya, came to the rescue. Since, there was no question of pursuing a career in Chambalpur, as there were no careers except my family business, it was collectively decided that I would be the first person in the family to grace the insipid national capital. I know there are people who call Delhi the crime capital but then they have not been to Chambalpur yet. But what would I do? This was where Pappu bhaiya helped. He personally paid a visit to a local news channel with his henchmen and held the head of the news agency captive in his own cabin until he agreed to hire me as their lead reporter. You must be wondering why they went to a local news channel when there are all those big news channels in Delhi, well, there are bigger hooligans too and every hooligan is aware of his or her status. And Chambalpur hooligans are like the middle class of hooligans. And then, there are the dons, bhais and not to forget the politicians and one has to remember one’s place in the food chain with docility. So, I was more than content in getting what I thought was my dream job. It was an exciting first year. I still remember the fondness with which Pappu bhaiya bought me a Prada dress for my first interview; only that I could not wear it because it was actually a wedding gown, but then you cannot really blame us, the simple folks of Chambalpur; make it frilly and flowy and you got our attention. That was two years ago. Coming to my current existential crisis, I liked my work back then but frankly, now I was bored. Just the other day, I interviewed a man who made it to the Guinness Book of World records by growing the largest pumpkin and the day before I interviewed a woman who actually was a man but didn’t know it for 30 years. While I have known people to have interest in both pumpkins and uncommon gender variations; and I respect them both, frankly, these are not subjects that usually hold much of an interest to me. When I had started my career, I thought I would do some serious stuff like interviewing famous personalities or reporting matters of national importance like terrorist attacks and assassinations, and then they would give me ideas for the book that I wanted to write, but then, that’s not what you do on local news, right? Not that I didn’t try switching, but none of those big news channels would take me. According to them I knew neither correct English nor Hindi (and not even Bhojpuri) and they wouldn’t consider the certificate awarded by my wonderful English teacher from Shri Kroor Singh Chambalpur University (named after my great-great-grandfather) either. So I had no option but to continue to work in the same news channel. And my personal life was going just as bland as my professional life, although that was not something unexpected. After all, for a woman with my kind of ambition and drive, it is but difficult to find an equally ambitious and talented partner. So, I had come to terms with this predicament as well. Not that I never had a love life, I had a boyfriend for about a month, who I thought was a lovely creature, but then he turned out to be a little effeminate. One fine day he did not turn up for our usual date and when I enquired, I found out that he had dislocated his shoulder. And to my shock he blamed me for the injury. He said that it was I who had pulled his hand which such a force that had caused the dislocation. Now tell me, have you ever heard of something this ridiculous? Caring as ever, Pappu bhaiya tried to soothe this situation as well by offering to kidnap Sucharitra Guha, family and all, but then I refused. It made no sense sticking with a man who dislocates shoulders on a delicate woman’s mild tug. Besides, today he was accusing me of causing injury, who knows, next he might accuse me of attempt to murder. Obviously, I was sad for a while because imaginative as I am, I had already started weaving dreams of our future, but then c’est la vie. I did get over Sucharitra Guha but did not come across anyone else who would catch my eye. I did make very good friends though. I live in a wonderful flat in South Delhi and the man, Susanskaar Gulia, who lives immediately below my appartment, is an extremely amicable and kind man. We hit it off within the first week of my moving in and we love going out for walks and talking about our lives, our ideas and our ambitions. He is extremely sensitive and thoughtful too. Once as we were walking, all of a sudden he started giving me a nice neck massage. I was pleasantly surprised by this kind gesture and thus, thanked him but then he got a little nervous, which I didn’t understand why, but perhaps the man is a little shy. Anyway, each one of us is wired differently that way; some of us like growing pumpkins, some like giving neck messages, some are dainty, and some like me, are talented and ambitious, even though their life is stuck in a rut. But then there is one more remarkable quality that I possess and that is the quality of perseverance. So what if I work in a local news channel? I swear by my English teacher, I will find such breaking news for my channel that all those big news channels will regret the day they insulted my Chambalpur pride by rejecting me. Looks like it’s time to up my game.

*******

Six young women have been murdered in the past seven weeks. The news bulletin of every news channel is continuously flashing details of this gory series of crime. All six deceased were daughters of wealthy businessmen. No one knew their whereabouts at the time of their murders. They were all single, and none of their friends or family knew where they were heading out to, who they were going to meet or who they were seen last alive with. Their dead bodies were found in dense, less-visited parks, always among the bushes. It was beyond anyone’s comprehension why such rich and beautiful women were killed in this cruel manner. If you ask me, had I been in place of that serial killer, I’d rather have kidnapped the women and held them either for ransom or for my personal entertainment. After all, it’s been quite a while since tik-tok has been banned and nothing inspires me more than seeing people who are facing a far greater existential crisis than me and have no clue about what they are doing with their lives, twitch their tormented limbs in a disoriented fashion in front of the camera. But sadly, the person who dissected these poor things did not think like me. I kept on thinking about this incidence and then it hit me- what if I solved this case? There couldn’t be a bigger headline than that. Forget my news channel; I myself would become a sensation. After all, solving a case which not even the crime branch is able to crack would be a feat worth awarding a bravery medal for and capable of garnering loads of media attention. And if the woman to receive such attention is as refined, talented and gorgeous as me, the attention shall never wane. Finally, after an eternity, I could say that there was some purpose in my life. Now the question was how to catch the killer. The pattern was evident, but replicating it was not. There must be thousands of young, beautiful, and single girls who were daughters of rich businessman in the city so how do you select the one who had the highest probability of being the next victim? Surely there must be one more link which everyone else was missing. If I could figure that out, I could also figure out a way to find who the killer was.

********

A fortnight has passed ever since and I have not got a single lead. Besides, I have my regular work to take care of as well. I think I should focus on my work at the moment and perhaps something will strike on its own.

*********

Today my dear brother, Pappu bhaiya, came to me with a problem of his own. Last month, a naive police inspector issued an arrest warrant against him in Chambalpur, so he decided to while away some time in the national capital while the transfer of this greenhorn was being worked out. We are a family of hardworking individuals and without an important assignment to complete, my brother was but getting gradually sucked into ennui. Some well-meaning friend pointed out that this was a god-given opportunity to focus on his personal life and no matter how many virtues Chambalpur and its people may hold, you have to admit that the girls of NCR are much more interesting than that of Chambalpur. And they have variety. But even then, you need a good reason to interact with these creatures. It was then; another well-wisher suggested that he should register himself on a dating app. So naturally, Pappu bhaiya thought it wise to consult me while making his profile. “Male, 31. Fitness freak.  Has keen interest in politics, human resource and wealth management. Loves horse-riding, long and short range shooting and martial arts. CEO of KS & Sons.” My brother was overwhelmed. “I knew I had many qualities but I never knew I was the CEO of KS & Sons! Did the kind people of KS & Sons make me some kind of honorary CEO or something like that?” It was then I explained to him that it was just another way I had rebranded our family business that was started by our honorable and benevolent great-great-grandfather, Shri Kroor Singh.
I swear by my teacher of English, I had not seen my brother that happy in ages. Sometimes all you have to do is make someone aware of their talent, traditions and glory. My brother then had another request; he wanted me to teach him how that app worked. Although, I had kept this time to investigate the murders, but then family comes first, so I started explaining him how it worked. “All you need to do is keep swiping the profiles. If you find a profile right, swipe ‘right’, else they have be ‘left’ behind. If the profile you liked, liked you back, it’s a match and comes under this section”, I said and showed him the match section. “Let us do the initial matches together”, I suggested and started swiping across profiles. Afer going through 6-7 profiles, a particular profile caught my attention. I had seen that face somewhere. I thought for a while and then checked the article that I was reading just before Pappu bhaiya had arrived. It was the girl who had been murdered last Saturday! Obviously, her profile might not have been deactivated so soon, but what if this was not just anther coincidence? I did not want to take any chances so I took out the entire list of the serial-killer’s victims and kept on swiping more profiles.After swiping around 20-30 profiles, I came across another victim, and then after swiping another 5-6 profiles, another one. I swiped till I found a total of 8 murder victims on the app. Now there was no speck of doubt that this platform was indeed the place where the serial killer had been hunting for his victims. I realized that in the process of helping my dear brother, I had completed the first step towards solving the murders – identifying the pattern! Now, I was wondering what I must do in order to draw the murderer out of a sea of lovelorn men, and then I realized what better way to lure a serial killer than becoming a potential prize hunt myself! And after all, I fit the criteria beautifully too!  I was young, attractive and rich. What I needed next was patience because there might be hundreds of other girls which the serial killer might come across and want to bump off before he came to me. Now you must be wondering that isn’t it cruel of me to wait while this psycho keeps on murdering harmless young creatures, but then the first principle of solving a murder is to trust no one; not even the police. What if the serial killer was someone influential? In fact, it could be someone from the police too. After all, policemen are also human beings, and we know that to err is human. So after all this careful deliberation, I decided to singlehandedly lead the investigation myself. Next I made a profile and in no time was my inbox flooded with messages from men of all variety and from all walks of life. I must admit that after looking at some profiles, I felt tempted to put the murder investigation on hold and proceed to go on a real, romantic date, but like a woman of steel, I managed to rein in my emotions again. Lives were at stake and I needed to act fast.

I agreed on a date the very next Saturday and started off my preparations for it. Although I am no weakling, one still must be fully prepapred when dealing with a prospective murderer, so I started with building my self-defence mechanism. Procuring a gun was never a difficulty, but considering how gun-fights always ended in a scuffle with the gun passing into the villain’s hands, I quickly ruled out this option. Pepper spray seemed to be the safest bet. I would immobalize the attacker with it, punch his face and then wrap a gunny bag (that I would be carrying in my hand bag) around his head. I would then tie his hands with a rope (also in my hand-bag) and also secure it around the gunny bag, without strangling him (I know how to do it, regular Chambalpur business 🙂 ) Seemed like a perfect plan. The next part was the dress – now, this was a real heartbreak. Instead of all those glamorous, physique-flaunting, curve-accentuating, toned-midriff-baring attires, that are the hallmark of a ‘perfect date’ dress, I had to settle for the melancholy T-shirt and track pants combination. And after all, how do you do martial arts in a backless dress without the risk of it falling off altogether, and considering the fact that I come from a highly renowned, dignified and respectable family, this idea was in itself potent to induce thoughts of self-immolation. So, with great sadness and disappointment, I decided to stick to the unattractive but useful track pant combination.

Now, I was prepared. The only thing that was now needed was the serial killer to be my date. It was only a matter of time when the man who had killed so many would be in my talons. Not even God could save him then, for the women of Chambalpur show no mercy.

*************

I can’t believe that this could be happening! Normally, a woman of my age is happy when she meets an accomplished, well-mannered man- I was disapoointed. Doubly disappointed to be precise, because neither were the men I was meeting turning out to be killers, nor was I able to elicit any interest from their side after turning up decked like an overgrown crow, with a hand-bag filled with rope, sack and pepper spray. God! If there was a frog princess, there couldn’t be a better contender than me to fit the role at the moment. I went on dates and dates and more dates but only with men who suddenly seemed to have been shipped in bulk from the Gandharva loka to test my patience and determination. I prayed to all the Gods that the people of Chambalpur prayed to so that I could be put out of this misery. And I prayed for weeks on end while the Gods shut their eyes and ears to the prayers of those poor, young things that were being brutally murdered. I decided that if I could not catch the murderer this month, I would go to the police with the information that I had. It was a disappointing thought, but perhaps, the best thing to do. (Broken heart)

Finally, this was the second-last Saturday of this month and my heart was already buried in deep disapoointment and despair. My spirit was in tatters, and mind weary. With a heavy sigh, I got inside the car of my next date. After some small talk, I asked him where we were heading to, and he smiled, took a deep breath and poetically began, “Far from the maddenning crowd of obnoxious men and women, far from this caocophonic jungle of concrete. Where there is only solitude, seclusion and wilderness. Where the words we utter are lost in the sounds of birds and beasts, and where the howling wind mingles with our breaths in such style that you cannot distinguish which is which. Where no one can see or stop us.” I swear by my soul, I felt like sleeping beauty brought back to life after the recitation of this highly creepy poetry. This  man sounded like the archetype of a serial killer. It was evident that he was taking me to a secluded park. Why  would he do that unless he wanted to do me in. I was perhaps the only person on Earth who was revelling in the knowledge of a prospective murderous assault! But so it was, and really, never in my life had I felt so alive as I was feeling right now. After fifteen minutes we reached a park that looked more like a jungle, inside which we ventured. It seemed like we went right to its center where there was absolute solitude, seclusion, wilderness and the sounds of birds, beasts and the howling wind. I was on my alert. I kept a hand inside my bag throughout, clutching the pepper spray. Shall I be the hunter or the hunted- it would be decided in a few moments. He started to talk- that’s a common practice to divert the attention of the victim and catch her unawares. Well, that was not going to be the case with me at least; even if I was martyred, I would still be a martyr who knew what was coming, I thought with a gulp. He talked for another 10 minutes. Now, I was really getting bored. I realized this was an even more lethal trick- bore them to sleep and attack. This was a risk that I could not really take, so I decided to act now. One of the best mechanisms to induce an attack is to provoke, so I decided to do exactly that. “Mr. Suvichar Gupta, do you know what this place reminds me of?”, I asked innocently. “What, my  cooing cuckoo?” “The recent serial killngs.” “Ah, I know. Plants and animals are being serially killed by demonic humans. You realize it when you come here. Why can’t every place be like this”, he said. “No, I mean the serial killings of young women of the NCR. Twenty young women have been found strangled in parks like these, and on the basis of a tip from my informer, I daresay they had come on a date with the murderer.”, I said. “Disgusting! This is all a result of non-vegetarianism! What you eat is what you become. I think all non-vegetarian people are somewhat mentally unstable. How can you otherwise wring the neck of a harmless, docile bird and eat it. In fact, I don’t even approve of vegetarianism. Depriving the cow of her milk is a singular act of cruelty. Why don’t you let her keep it for whom it is intended, her poor calves? I tell you, 99% of  this world’s problems can be solved by veganism. Now look at me…….” Now, I did agree with what he was saying for I was a non-vegetarian and right now my mind was brimming with thoughts of violent nature. If he did not shut up in another minute, I swear by the Gods of Chambalpur, I would bash him on his head, roast him, and feed him to the birds and the beasts. But he was saved from that fate, not because he stopped talking, but because his phone rang. The color of his cheeks drained out and he looked greatly troubled. Once his call was over, he quickly began, “My cooing cuckoo, I hate to say this but I shall have to desert you like a heartless man, but I am helpless.” “Oh, that’s alright”, I said with a sigh of relief, having been saved from the sin of indulging in a cold-hearted assault. “You must be having some personal emergency”, I asked out of courtesy. “Indeed! My pet cockatoo has bitten the neighbour’s cat and I have to rush to the veterinarian.” “Oh, you must be taking the injured cat for the treatment then”, I remarked. “No, my cuckoo. It’s my cockatoo. It is allergic to fur and is experiencing a life-threatening allergy this very moment. I’m afraid I can’t stay more. Meanwhile, you enjoy the howling winds, the beasts and birds of this sanctuary of nature and pray for my bird”, he said and rushed (like a swallow, I must say). All the hopes that had build up in the past hour came crashing down like the city of Troy and now, not only was I disappointed but furious as well. It felt so close, so close to sweet victory and then stupid, rotten fate! In a moment of great anger I picked up a huge stone and hurled it with a huge roar to some distant bush, but to my shock I soon heard a blood-curdling scream. Had I murdered someone with the stone! I thought of running as fast as I could from this wretched park, but then I have always been a woman of morals and ideals, so with a heavy heart I started walking towards the bush instead with the hope that the creature I had just unwittingly assaulted was alive. When I reached the bushes, I was shocked to see not one but two creatures; a petrified woman and a man who was sprawled on the ground on his face. I was even more mortified. Injuring creatures when mating was a greater sin; everyone who has read or seen the Mahabharata knows that. Before the petrified woman could open her petrified mouth to curse me, I folded my hands ardently and blurted out, “Please forgive me, I came here to catch the serial killer who has been strangling unfortunate beauteous women and injured your lover by mistake.” Now she fixed her gaze on me and opened her dumbfounded lips – “He was not my lover. He was my date and he was trying to kill me. You just saved my life.” I could not believe my ears. Were they playing tricks on me? I have seen in movies and read in unnumbered books that people who have suffered a great heartbreak, begin losing their sanity too, bit by bit. Was that happening to me too after my great dream had crashed? I was not sure so I said, “Sorry madam, can you please repeat?” “I am telling you the truth! I met this man on the lonely hearts app last week and he was all sweet and nice. He brought me here and I liked the idea because it’s so nice and quiet, and just when I thought he was about to kiss me, he started trying to kill me instead”, she said and started sobbing. I cursed myself for losing faith over my Gods and Goddesses so easily and raised my hands in thankfulness towards the heaven. In return, I was bestowed upon with another wave of common sense- it was time to tie the guy up because he was very much alive-just unconscious. So, I took out the sack and the ropes from my bag, tied his hands behind his back and turned him over so that I could also put the sack over him (No, he wouldn’t suffocate, Chambalpur experience, I told you earlier too) Now, it was my turn to be petrified for it was none other than my sensitive and kind neighbour Susanskaar Gulia, the same man I used to go on walks with, discuss my ambitions and thoughts with and who had once attempted to give me a neck massage- which now I realize it wasn’t. He was trying to strangle me too! I could not resist myself and punched him on his nose. He moaned and groaned a little but I didn’t care, and neither did the girl. “Can I punch him too”, she asked. “All yours”, I said, “At least, till the police comes.”

It was obvious that I was applauded for my bravery and all those channels that had earlier mocked my English, Hindi (well, Bhojpuri too), literally fell at my feet to have me. Sucharitra Guha came running to my house, apologizing to me for his past sheepishness, and I forgave him of course but never took him back. I now run an immenesly popular crime show. In fact, I am conceptualizing the idea of a travelling-crime show, in which I will travel the entire country and telecast gory crime sagas that have happened in those places. But then that’s work and we all know that’s not all that we need. So I am back where I got it all from – the ‘lonely hearts’ app, for even though it can kill, it kills with love.

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