What happened to Raxit?

What I am about to tell you is not a story but my personal experience from my early days in Mumbai. This was in 2008. I remember the year correctly because this incident or story (well that is what I will call it just for the heck of it) is based on some entries in a diary which have dates mentioned in them. Before I move on to the dairy entries, I will tell you what happened.

I was living in Matunga, as a paying guest, just a couple of blocks from Hinduja Hospital. We were three people sharing a 2 BHK flat. The landlord also lived in the same building on the ground floor while we occupied the first. There was another house bang opposite to ours a three BHK bungalow with a garden in front and a backyard. Both the garden and the backyard was overgrown with weeds. The inside of the house was however fully furnished and decently maintained. I mention this house because it is at the center of this story.

There were few interesting things about this house which you must know before I move on. Firstly, the house as I just mentioned was huge and well furnished, well that’s really not unique. The backyard opens directly in to the sea beach. So it was like your own private beach right in the heart of Mumbai.

Another very interesting thing was that it belonged to my landlord, a good hearted Parsee widower but a stingy miser. So while we paid Rs. 18000 for the two rooms that the three of us shared amongst us, the rent for that palatial house was (in 2008) just Rs. 8000. His two sons were living in the US, and his daughter who was the youngest had died few years ago.

The third and the most interesting thing which I noticed in the two years that I spent in my PG was that despite the rent being so low none of the families which rented it could spend more than a month before vacating it. Some families vacated the house in less than fifteen days while others could manage for just about a month. I remember two occasions when two separate families complained that their sons had gone missing suddenly and then they left the house.

I could never understand the reasons for this until I came across the diary. It so happened that a friend named Raxit, who I knew through Twitter since a couple of years was planning to move to Mumbai to try his luck in Bollywood as a script writer and director. He was looking for a place and I told him about this house which had just been vacated. He came to Mumbai. I took the key from my landlord and took him to show the house. That was the first time I entered the house, it had an odd feel to it and there was a faint putrid smell which I thought must have been the sea. Even now when I think about the house my brain reminds me of that smell.

There were three rooms, a living cum dining area a huge kitchen, two bathrooms. All the bedrooms had bed, a wooden almirah and wide windows with curtains. The room at the end of the house was the best one as its window offered the view of the sea. The room also had a study table right by the window and a rocking chair. Raxit instantly liked the place and agreed to move in the very next day. He said that he was working on a script currently and the room by the sea would make it an ideal place to write. I noticed that when I was inside that room I could not hear any noise from outside but just the sea.

Next day when I came back from office I called up Raxit to check. He told me that had moved in. I asked him if he would like to have dinner with me to which he said that he was already working on the script and didn’t want to go out so he had order some Chinese food from the café in the corner of the road. The date was 2^nd June and that was the last time I heard Raxit’s voice. We did have conversations after that but those were mostly a few lines text messages. He got busy with his script writing and stopped taking my calls and instead reverted through text messages.

On 12^th June I came home late, it was raining heavily and my phone had conked off due to low battery. When I switched the phone back on, there was a single line message from Raxit, “I think I am losing it. Please meet me asap.” I called his phone but he did not pick up. It was raining heavily so I messaged him that I would meet him in the morning before I left for office.

The next morning, I went to the house and rang the doorbell. There was no response. I rang the doorbell again a few times and yet there was no response. I went around the house to the overgrown backyard. I was hit by that putrid smell again. It was much stronger this time. The bedroom window was open. The only noise that I could hear was the sea. I called Raxit’s phone again. I could hear it ringing inside the house. I stood below the window, jumped up and gripped the window sill and then pulled myself up to peep inside the room. It was empty. The pages of a hardbound notebook kept on the table near the window were fluttering in the wind, the fan was on, the table lamp was on, the mobile phone was on the table, but there was no Raxit.

Remembering his last text message and fearing the he might be in some kind of trouble I decided to get the duplicate keys from the landlord and check things out. I went back to my PG and found the landlord sitting in the pantry having his morning breakfast. I told him about Raxit’s message and my findings of the morning. A cloud seemed to pass over his face. He stared outside the door with his mouth open. I had to shout, “Uncle!”, a couple of times before he was himself again. I told him to give me the duplicate keys so that I could go and have a look. He went to his bedroom and after a few minutes came back.

I asked for the keys but he clutched on to them. Then he shook his head as if making up his mind and said that he would come with me. Together we went to the house. He unlocked the door latch. I rushed in. At that time, I did not notice that the landlord didn’t follow me in to the house, he just stood by the door and looked inside. I went in to Raxit’s room immediately, it was still empty. I checked both the bathrooms, the other two bedrooms and the kitchen they were all empty. I came out of the house.

“He might have stepped out for breakfast.”, Uncle said, but his voice broke as he spoke as if his throat was dry. I thought that to be a possibility, Raxit might have forgotten his phone behind. I decided to wait till evening and went to office. All through day I called Raxit but he never answered the phone. In the evening I went to the house rang the doorbell a couple of times but there was no response. So I went back to my landlord to ask for the duplicate keys again, may be Raxit was back and maybe he was asleep, I just wanted to make sure.

“Why do you want to go there at this time? May be he went off to visit a friend, boys do such things at this age.” Uncle said.

“But why would he leave his phone behind?”, I replied.

“May be he would have forgotten it, when he left in a hurry. Or maybe he was running away from someone from whom he had borrowed money?”, Uncle said.

“Then what about the text message that I got last night?”

“May be he was getting threatening calls from his money lenders and that’s why he sent you the text to ask for some money?”

“Then why didn’t he ask for money straightaway?”

“I don’t know dhikra, relax don’t worry, he will be back in a couple of days. Besides I don’t want you to go poking your nose in to someone else’s belongings, what if something valuable goes missing who will be responsible for that?” Uncle said and went inside his bedroom. His eyes however said that he was hiding something. He never looked directly at me for more than a few seconds. I had no choice but to wait. For the next two days I went to the house rang the doorbell, called his mobile phone several times, left tweets & DMs on his Twitter profile but there was no response from anywhere. I knew no one else who knew Raxit apart from the mutual Twitter followers but even they didn’t know anything about him. I had no contact details of his parents, uncle never bothered to take any contact details of anyone especially those who rented the other house.

On the third day I got impatient and went to Uncle and told him that I was going to the police station to lodge a missing person’s complaint. Uncle got agitated immediately and agreed to take one more look inside the house. He got the keys and we went to look inside the house. The house was as we had left it three days ago. The phone was still on the desk, the pages of the hardbound notebook were still fluttering in the sea breeze, the window was open and there was no sign of Raxit.

I went to Matunga police station to lodge a complaint. A hawaldar recorded my complaint.  I gave him a copy of Raxit’s Twitter profile picture. The hawaldar gave me a carbon copy of the complaint, after which I went back to my PG.

Even after several days there was no sign of Raxit. Then one day my landlord brought me two large duffle bags and a phone to me and said that they were Raxit’s belongings. He said that he had decided to rent the house again to someone else. I was sad to see those things. I went to the police station to check if they had found anything, but there was nothing.

I was sitting on my bed that night when I thought of going through Raxit’s belongings and see if I could find a clue. The phone’s battery was dead so I connected it to a charger. I rummaged through one of the duffel bags, it was full of clothes, t-shirts, jeans, some bedsheets. The other bag was full of old books mostly novels and some hardbound notebooks.

I took out the notebooks. I opened them one by one, all of them were full of what looked like movie scripts, stories and poems. Nothing personal, not even a phone number. The last one was named The Mumbai diary 2008. I recognized it as the same diary which I had seen lying on the study table in that room by the sea. I opened the first page it had dated entries. A chill ran down my spine. Most of the entries were random stuff from his daily life whom he met, what he thought, the opportunities he was after, the times he visited Mumbai before finally moving to the city in June 2008. I started reading his entries from June 1^st onward. The first entry was about the house and how excited he was to move to Mumbai finally. The next few entries were about his meetings with a few people and the progress on his script writing.

The entries that I talked about in the beginning of this story start from 7^th June 2008. These entries gave me some idea about what happened to Raxit. Even though this sounds totally unbelievable but I couldn’t figure out anything else apart from what seems obvious from these entries.

From the diary of Raxit:

Saturday, June 7, 2008

I have been having nightmares. A few days ago I dreamt that it was night and I was sitting on the bed, in this room that I have recently shifted to. I was sitting with my legs dangling and my feet just touching the ground. The window was open, I could hear the sea, I was drenched in sweat and I could feel my t-shirt clinging to my back. I was not looking at the window or at anything else but I was staring at the rocking chair, because there was someone sitting on the chair. A woman with shoulder length curly hair. She was wearing a frock which covered her legs just below her knees, it had frills around the neck and sleeves that almost reached the elbow. She was looking out of the window and then she turned her head to look at me. The moment our eyes met I woke up. My heart was beating fast and that rancid smell from the sea was stronger than ever. I looked at the rocking chair, it was empty. I look at my phone it was 2:13 am.

The next night I had the same dream. When I woke up I checked the time, it was 2:13 am. Last night I had the same dream again and when I woke up it was 2:13 am again.

Each time I woke up from this dream my throat was dry and burning like hell but I was too scared to get up, go to the kitchen to get some water. This has never happened before. And that smell is now always there and I think it’s getting stronger by the day.

Sunday, June 8, 2008

Last night I was woken up by the noise of the windows banging in the wind. As I got up from the bed and sat with my feet just touching the ground, the rocking chair shook a bit. I turned and saw the same lady from my nightmare sitting and staring out of the window. I was petrified. My throat went dry instantly and however much I tried I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. The lady slowly turned her head to look at me. I continued to stare at her. Our eyes met. But this time I didn’t wake up because I was already awake, it wasn’t a nightmare. It was happening right here in my bedroom.

With much effort a whisper escaped my mouth, “who… are you?”

The lady tilted her head towards the left, gave a toothy grin and said, “who are you?”

The windows banged again, shocked at the noise I turned my head to look at the window, then I turned back to look at the rocking chair, it was empty. I was shaking, my body was covered with sweat and goosebumps. I reached out switched the light on. The room was empty. I went out into the hall and switched on all the lights, I checked every room but the house was empty. I checked the main door, it was locked shut from the inside. None of the other windows were open. That smell was there in the whole house. I checked my watch it was 2:18 am.

There’s something weird in this house. I don’t believe in God or Satan or spirits or ghosts. I can’t explain what happened last night only that it was a dream come true.

Monday, June 9, 2008

Last night the lady appeared again. I was wide awake on my bed. I sat up at around 2:12 and she was there sitting on the rocking chair looking outside the window. It was as if I was waiting her to come. She tilted her head again and asked me the same question and disappeared. In the morning I moved the rocking chair to another room. I don’t think she will come now.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

 
 I went out for dinner. I must have been gone for not more than half an hour and I remember locking the doors and the windows securely. When I came back the rocking chair was back in its place, in my room by the window. I can’t explain this. I am losing my mind. I need help.

I decided to stay awake and work on the script. As I was writing it must have been past 2, I noticed some movement from the corner of my eyes. As I turned around the lady was sitting in the rocking chair.

"Who are you?”, I asked in my boldest voice. She did not look at me or grinned her toothy grin, didn’t even tilt her head. She continued to look outside the window and in a sleepy voice said, “Will you come with me?”

“To where?”, I asked in reply.

She turned her head and looked straight in to me. There was such sadness in her eyes. Her eyes seemed to be looking deep inside me, reading all my thoughts, feelings, my desires and secrets. I felt slightly sexually aroused. I felt like she was drawing me in to her. My head started to spin. I don’t remember anything after that.

I woke up on the floor in the morning with the sun shining on my face.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

I can’t write much. I am shivering, I think I have a fever. I can’t sit up for long. The lady appeared again as I was sitting on my chair by my writing table. She asked me if I would come with her. Then she got up from the rocking chair and as she looked in to my eyes, she took my face in her hands. I don’t remember anything after that. I woke up on the floor in the morning. I think I will spend the rest of the day in bed.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

I had fever all day. The lady appeared again in the night, came and sat with me on my bed and asked me to come with her. I couldn’t take my eyes off her even for a moment. I can’t take this anymore. If she comes tonight I will go with her to wherever she takes me to.

This was the last entry in Raxit’s diary. It was on 12^th that I got his last text message and on 13^th morning I went to look for him. I was confused and didn’t know what to think of all this. I didn’t know to whom should I tell all this. The police might take it to be a bull and cock story and might hold me responsible for his disappearance. I put Raxit’s journal back into his bag, and pushed both the bags under my bed and went to sleep.

After a couple of months, I saw a missing person’s ad in the classified section of TOI. I called up the number, took the address, and went to Ahmedabad to handover Raxit’s belongings to his parents. I also showed them his last journal entries. They agreed that it was his handwriting. Both the parents were shocked and broken with grief.

I came back to Mumbai the next day. As I was leaving for office in the morning, I saw some people loading furniture on to a truck in front of the house. Another tenant was moving out.

ख़्वाब

रात को बिस्तर पर
आँखें खोले पड़े पड़े
वो सोचता रहता
न जाने कल की सुबह
कौन से ख़्वाब तोड़ेगी

Companions

Mr. and Mrs. Aiyer had been married for more than thirty years. Mr. Aiyer had worked for several publishing companies in the editorial department. After his retirement, when Mr. Aiyer told his wife of his desire to move back to his hometown, Mrs. Aiyer took voluntary retirement from her banking job and they moved to the house where Mr. Aiyer was born and raised. After that Mr. Aiyer spent most of his time reading books, sitting in an old rattan chair in the patio with his feet perched on a coffee table. He would sometimes smoke a cigarette and sometimes enjoy a couple of pegs of his favourite whiskey. He would write reviews of the books that he read, for a blog that he maintained. Most of the times he would work on the blog till late night, long after Mrs. Aiyer had gone to bed.

Mrs. Aiyer now sat on the rattan chair. The evening sunlight fell on her frail body, her grey hair was tied loosely in a bun, her brown eyes looked into vacuum from behind gold framed spectacles. The wrinkles on her face had not appeared until Mr. Aiyer had his first heart attack six months ago. Even after many warnings from the doctor he did not give up on his whiskey and cigarettes. More than a month ago in the dead of the night after Mrs. Aiyer had gone to bed, he suffered his second and final heart attack while he was writing a blog on his computer. 

The mobile phone rang somewhere inside the house. Sumati, the maid brought the phone and gave it to Mrs. Aiyer. The screen showed her daughter’s name, Ira.

“Good evening Amma!”, Ira said in her morning voice.  

“Good morning! Why are you still in bed? Don’t you have to be in office?”, Mrs. Aiyer said, imagining her daughter stretching in the bed. Mr. and Mrs. Aiyer had saved enough to send their daughter to a university in the US and now she was working for a company whose name Mrs. Aiyer kept forgetting.

“No Amma, I am working from home today. Listen Amma, have you thought about moving to San Francisco? How long will you live alone?”

“I am not alone. Sumati is here. Mr. and Mrs. Banerjee visit every now and then, besides your Aththai (father’s sister) is also moving here very soon. I am not alone.” 

“Listen Amma, I know they are there but I am worried, if you would have been here I would have….”

“Don’t worry, I am absolutely fine. I miss you, but I am fine.” Mrs. Aiyer cut her daughter in mid-sentence. 

“I still want you to move here Amma. Promise me you will think about it again.”

“Yes I will.”, replied Mrs. Aiyer.

“I have a call to attend Amma, I have to go now. I love you.” Ira said.

“I love you too.” Mrs. Aiyer replied and disconnected the call.

PC: pixabay dot com

She sat there for some time with the phone in her hand. She had the whole evening in front of her and more importantly the rest of her life and she didn’t know what to do. Yes Mr. and Mrs. Banerjee did visit every now and then but she could hardly bear Mrs. Banerjee’s constant chattering. Mr. Banerjee however, she thought, only visited so that he could devour homemade savories with cups of instant coffee. Rameshwari akka, Mr. Aiyer’s elder sister had lost her husband a year back and was planning to purchase a flat nearby. This thought had sent chills down Mrs. Aiyer’s spine. Even at this age Rameshwari akka would not let go of a single opportunity to chide her Kolunthiya (younger brother’s wife). She might as well go to the US. Even the thought of living and dying in an unknown land scared her. 

The sun had set. The evening breeze had started to become colder as the year neared its end. Mrs. Aiyer got up from the chair and went inside the house. She could hear Sumati somewhere in the kitchen preparing the evening coffee or the night’s meal whichever she first deemed fit, for both of them.

She went into Mr. Aiyer’s study room. His laptop was on the study table. She now used it to Skype with Ira once in a while. All the walls were lined with bookshelves covering the full height and width of the walls. Mr. Aiyer was never very organized so most of the books were put randomly suiting their height and width.

Mrs. Aiyer had never been a reader, though Mr. Aiyer had many times tried in vain to instill some interest for books in her. Mrs. Aiyer could never find the time or the intent to read a book.

All the books now sat on their shelves staring blankly at her. She starred back and had no idea what to do with them. She could give them away to a library or charity before she moved to the US, but Mr. Aiyer hated giving away or even lending his books.

She gave a sigh and turned to the laptop. She switched it on, opened the internet browser and clicked on the favorites link to Mr. Aiyer’s blog. The logo RK’s Book Reviews appeared on the top left hand corner of the window. RK, is how Mr. Aiyer had always been known by his close allies. The first post that she saw was the last one that he had published. In the comments section of the blog she saw several messages from his regular readers grieving his death. She couldn’t read the first message as her eyes filled with tears and she closed the window. She wiped her eyes with the loose end of her saree and sat starring at the laptop screen.

She opened the folder where Mr. Aiyer had saved all his published and unpublished blogs. She found the one he was working on, the night he died. The title was “The Book I would Read Again Before I Died”. The review talked about the book by an award winning Indian author who did not live in India. Mrs. Aiyer knew which book and author it was. Mr. Aiyer had told her that it had a reference to his hometown. He had tried to make her read the book many a times without much success. She had once, in their early years of marriage, pre-ordered a book by that author as a birthday gift for him. She didn’t have many memories of him except for a few from their early years of marriage when they were still trying to romance each other. Her heart now felt warm. 

She opened the blog link again and began reading the messages that his readers had left. One of the messages caught her eyes. It was from a female reader. She knew he had been in touch with her, they would discuss books on chats and on social media. The message was just one line.

“You will continue to live in the pages of the books that you read.”

Mrs. Aiyer read the line again and again. She looked out of the window, it was dark outside now. Her heart was warm and aglow with fuzzy light, like the yellow light, which Sumati had turned on at some point in time and, which now filled the room.

She got up from the chair and went up to the bookshelves. She searched for the book about which the unpublished blog was. She found it finally, on one of the bookshelves, layered with dust. She wiped it with the loose end of her saree and sat down in the chair under the lamp to read.