INSECTA

M CAME AWAKE WITH a jolt to a loud buzzing. He cracked open his eyes with difficulty. Damn. Had they taken to invading his room during daytime as well? The room was dim, but the curtains on the large window were edged with a dazzling brightness. It must be past noon. Had he slept through the knocks and thumps on his door or had they for once allowed him to sleep his fill in peace? The buzzing had stopped. Then he remembered – today is the day. He threw back the bedclothes hurriedly and sat up. Something prickly and hot churned in his gut. He felt dizzy and exhausted, his eyes burned, his feet were icy. Sleeping a little longer for a single day cannot make up for the lack of sleep night after night for years.

Ever since the nightly invasions had begun, he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep. Hell, there haven’t been any good nights. They’ve invaded the room every night, night after night, through gaps and cracks and holes and crevices – countless, unstoppable, relentless. And I fighting them all alone … a losing battle, one against the hordes overrunning the room. All I can do is clamber on the bed and try to knock them off as they trail up the bed frame. Like bloody Abhimanyu surrounded by enemies in the chakravyuh. But Abhimanyu had to fight only once, not night after bloody night. M ground his teeth. At least Abhimanyu’s father taught him to fight. Or was it his mother? Anyway, whomever taught him, no one taught me anything – neither attack, nor defence. They don’t even believe me. ‘There’s nothing. It is all in your head. You need to focus on your studies and stop imagining this nonsense. No one else has ever seen anything.’ M clenched his fists until his nails left bloodless moons in his palms.

How would they see anything? As soon as night falls, they disappear into their bedroom and shut the door, the world outside could burn for all they care. Stay in my room one night, see how they climb up from the garden and slink back when the sun rises. But no. They won’t. That would spoil their fun. They can’t be expected to babysit a seventeen-year-old, they must have time to themselves. They don’t realize what would happen if one morning the invaders don’t retreat. Or if I open my door and let them loose in the house to leave their slimy trails all over the oh-so-precious teak furniture and the old silk-brocade sofas, the antique walnut china cabinet. And would the fucking door of their bedroom hold up? Not a hope in hell. The only reason this house is safe is me, because I fight a war night after night. But I can’t go on much longer, I won’t last. Already my head aches constantly and my heartbeat’s like a hammer in my own ears. I have cold sweats, nausea. My eyes burn, sounds startle me … My body is giving up, I can’t hold out much longer, I can’t…

INSECT INVASIONS WERE not new to M. He had coped with occasional invasions by bugs for years now. The old garden and the deep, low house might seem picturesque to outsiders, but M knew what an insect-ridden hell it was in reality. There was a chronic damp problem in the walls. The windows of his room opened on to the old, dank garden, their wooden frames were warped from years of rains and the shutters did not close properly. In any case, closing the shutters would be of no avail. They’d still find a way in. They always have. The room is filled with their stench night and day.

‘It is only a bit of damp. People are ready to pay millions in this city for tiny, open spaces. You have a whole garden, and all you do is complain about it. We got the waterproofing done because of your complaints. Now what do you want us to do? Cut down all the old trees and pour concrete over the grass?’

Yes. Cut the damn garden down. Destroy it. What good is waterproofing? As if they don’t know that the third night after the treatment, termites had entered my room. Armies of them, and moving at such speed. Within minutes they destroyed all my notes, practice sheets, quick revision sheets, all the hard work of the whole term. Fucking creatures chewed up everything just right before the exams. And what did they say when they saw the shredded books and papers?

‘Waste all your time with worthless boys, don’t study for exams, tear up all your books yourself and then blame imaginary insects. You should be ashamed of yourself, you should hang your head in shame for doing badly in exams and then lying to us…’

They don’t care whether I live or die so long as I get good grades … I can rot among the horrible creatures night after night so long as they can boast to everyone that I got a 100 per cent in Physics. ‘He is just like me, going to ace science and math!’ No, I am not fucking like you. I am better than you. With no sleep I still manage to pass, remain among the top ten in class, but that’s not good enough for you. Nothing I do is good enough for you.

THERE WAS A time when M did not have a problem with insects. In fact, they had interested him in the beginning. He used to observe what they ate, when they mated, how they nested, who preyed upon whom. He read books and learned about their orders and families, genus and species. He collected them, the shelves in his room were lined with cardboard boxes containing caterpillars, painstakingly segregated by species and labelled, ladybirds classified by the number of spots, earthworms, dung beetles, crickets, bees, wasps, and at one point of time, a fine selection of centipedes. He knew what to feed them, when to raise the lids and let them get some sunlight, how moist the earth and dry the leaves in the boxes should be for eggs to hatch.

They were proud of my hobby then, telling stories about how I would bring unusual creatures, a bright burgundy millipede or an ashen strangling beetle, in a matchbox or in my knicker-pocket to puja ceremonies and family get-togethers. ‘He even tried to give a rather large and handsomely coloured jewel beetle to his grandmother as a gift once!’ they’d recount at dinner parties, laughing, looking at me proudly. ‘It was her birthday, and all the family was gathered. Everyone recoiled, but to her credit, Ma merely smiled and declined politely!’ It was a long time ago. There was no insect problem then. They stayed safely in collection boxes and jars. I used to be top of my class then; they were always talking about me. Now they don’t talk about me with anyone. Because I am bringing shame upon them with my bad marks. I am no longer their golden boy, and I don’t give a flying fuck about it.

THINGS CHANGED AFTER M won a place in his father’s old school. They had insisted he write the entrance exam and were very proud when he passed. ‘It is a hundred-and-fifty-year-old school, everyone from our family has studied there, every single one has been on the honour roll and at the top of their class, and if someone stood second, it was because a sibling or cousin was in the same class! Now the third generation is taking the family tradition forward.’

Third bloody generation, hundred bloody fifty years. No one cared about what I wanted. Did anyone ask me whether I wanted to leave my old school for a weird school halfway across the city? I knew no one there; all the cool boys already had their groups. And all those snooty, snide, sniggering girls, swarming like bees, but unlike bees, stinging for fun. I missed my friends, the teachers who liked me, my sports coaches.

Everyone laughed at me there – at my old school, at my insect collection, even at my hair. Once Headmistress Ma’am got a barber to cut my hair because they reached my collar. She made me stand in the quad in front of everyone and, with a straight razor, the barber cut my hair, a circular cut, like someone had placed a bowl on my head and cut all around it. How they laughed at me…

Then there was the incident of the stag beetles. M had taken a pair of stag beetles to the school for a nature project. It had been difficult to find a pair; they live underground and only emerge for a few weeks in a year. The lights and noise had scared them, and they had huddled in a corner of their box, clambering over each other. The teacher had raised her eyebrows. ‘This seems to be their mating season!’ The whole class had laughed. Ignorant bloody fools. That’s when they started calling me ‘Mating Season’. Especially the girls. ‘Oye, Mating Season…’ they’d yell. Everywhere I went – in the playground, in the corridors, even in a mall if I ran into them – it was always ‘Oye, Mating Season…’

I told them I was being bullied, but they wouldn’t hear a word. ‘Why take such insects to school at all? You know not everyone likes them. At the parent-teacher meeting, your teacher said you collect grasshoppers and praying mantises from the playground. If you do foolish things, you’ll have to bear the consequences.’

Now I’ll see how they bear the consequences, always defending the school, always blaming me.

The buzzing began again. It was the mobile ringing. M had bought this cheap handset a couple of days ago. He had to give his iPhone to Dedha. He had had no choice. Perhaps it was Dedha calling. His legs shook as he got off the bed and picked up the mobile. It was Mayur. ‘What the fuck, man! Dedha has called you so many times. What the fuck are you doing, not answering his calls?’

Mayur was his only friend at the new school. They didn’t approve of him of course. ‘He is the wrong kind of company, wrong influence. He is involved with drugs…’ They didn’t know that it is Mayur who had kept him sane all this while. Without Mayur he wouldn’t have survived.

‘Saale, MC, say something. You are off your fucking head or what? You’ll get into a bunch of trouble yourself and get me into trouble too.’

M disconnected the call and, with trembling hands, dialled Dedha.

‘Motherfucker…’ Dedha whispered.

‘Dedha Bhai … everything will be ready, just as you had said, everything will be according to the plan … There won’t be any trouble, Dedha Bhai…’ There was a moment’s silence followed by a metallic click. The phone disconnected. M glanced at his wrist and remembered that Dedha had his watch too. Anyway, it seemed late. A quick shower, something to eat, and he would be all set to carry out the plan. Today is the day. Everything will be solved today. He stepped into the bathroom.

HIS FIRST REPORT card at the new school had shocked them. Their golden boy, the one who was to carry on the family tradition of gold medal and honour rolls, fifth in the class? How was it possible? He had tried to tell them then: ‘Daddy, Mummy, nothing’s right … Insects come into my room every night, swarms of them … swirls of lacewings and dragonflies, cicadas and crickets crackling like dry twigs, slugs and snails oozing slime … They make so much noise I feel my ears will burst … They fill the room to the ceiling, I can’t breathe, I can’t see … During the exams, every night, clouds of emerald moths flew in, they blotted out all light … They entered my mouth, my ears, I couldn’t shout for help … I can’t sleep, Mummy, there’s always a rustling in my ears, Daddy … They come every night … Sell this house, Daddy. Let’s live somewhere else, close to the sea where the salt breeze would kill them…’ But did they listen? No fucking way. He had begged and begged them but all they did was scold him. ‘You’ve gotten into wrong company, you don’t focus on your studies and now you are making up these absurd stories.

‘You’ve thrown out your collection, we get the garden fumigated every other week, there are insect-nets on all windows. How can there be insects in your room? You should be ashamed of yourself for making up these childish tales. The bungalow has been in the family for three generations. We were married here, your grandparents breathed their last here.’

Well, so would their only grandson, unless something is done and quickly. I am tired of their disbelief. And their lies. They lie to everyone about my results. ‘He has topped the class, as usual; he is on the honour roll…’ And if someone asks, ‘But isn’t the Vashkars’ girl in his standard too? She tops the class every year, no?’, they get angry with me all over again. ‘Not a single good university has accepted you yet. We spent lakhs on your tuitions and counselling, and this is the result. You are such a disappointment … The family tradition…’

M turned off the shower and held his head in his hands. Everything will be resolved today. Dedha and Dedha’s ghoda will solve his problems. He will finally be free of the insects he had once kept captive, and free of this house too, of its closed doors and rigid disbeliefs, of its suffocating expectations.

WHEN MAYUR HAD introduced him to Dedha the first time, M had been a little disappointed. Dedha looked like a shop assistant in a readymade garments store or a clerk in a trading concern. He was puny, short and bow-legged; his scrawny neck and skinny ribs peeped through the open buttons of his shirt. Only when you looked closely did you notice his alert, shooter’s eyes and broad, strong hands.

‘He is the person to solve all your problems, bro,’ Mayur had said. ‘Don’t go by his physique. He looks like a sheep, but he is a lion, with or without his gun. Just like his name, he is more than one man.’

Dedha hadn’t smiled. ‘You want some work done?’

‘My daddy, mummy … I mean my, mmm … parents … my…’ M had stuttered.

‘You are not the only one to have parents in this world, everyone has them. You want me to off them?’ M had frozen, unable to utter a single word. His voice had vanished, words stuck in his throat. ‘You want their full-work done?’ Dedha had asked negligently. ‘I only do full-work; no hassle, no trouble. You are not the first one with a mummy-daddy problem.’

‘No, no not to … I mean I only want them out of the way for some time…’ M had mumbled. ‘You know, like out of action … I will sell this house then and everything will be okay … There are so many insects here … termites and … and centipedes…’

Dedha had glanced at Mayur. ‘Is this one crazy? I’ve only ever done one half-work. The woman was paralysed, but her brother couldn’t get his hands on the property. Half-work is devil’s work, no good to anyone.’ He turned to M. ‘Your head is crammed with cow-shit if you think you can touch a brick of your house unless your parents are offed.’

No, I don’t want that, he had wanted to say, but no words emerged from his mouth. Instead, he had stood silent as Mayur agreed with everything Dedha said. ‘Solid, Dedha Bhai, solid. You are absolutely right. Look here,’ he said to M, ‘when you are sick and go to a doctor, you don’t tell him which medicine you want to take. Dedha Bhai is the doctor, you have come to consult him. Now leave everything to Dr Dedha. Just follow his prescription.’

‘You are a shithead,’ Dedha had said quietly to Mayur. To M, he said, ‘Listen up, pappu, you want the work done, yes or no? Don’t waste my time with your puppet impressions.’ M had stopped shaking his head and twisting his hands. ‘I will take full payment now. Otherwise I would have to do your own full-work for free later on for not paying.’ Dedha had smiled a brief smile.

‘I don’t have money … I mean … I just have pocket money right now…’ M had stammered.

‘Dedha Bhai, his parents are rich. Big jobs, this bungalow.’ At Mayur’s suggestion, they had all met at M’s home one afternoon when his parents were at work. ‘All this is his only. Take whatever he can give now. I am there, no, where will he run? He will pay the rest later.’

In the end, M had given Dedha his iPhone, his iPod, his watch, his new sneakers.

‘I will come through the gate at the back and through the garden. Leave the house-door open. It will take no time. I will be in and out like that.’ Dedha had snapped his fingers. ‘Afternoon, between one and two.’ M had memorized – back gate, leave the door open, in and out, Saturday afternoon … Saturday, that is today.

AS HE STEPPED out of his room, M was struck by the unnatural quietude. By this time, usually, the whole house would be smelling of mutton curry. Old songs would be playing on the music system, and they would be in the living room, pointedly turning away from him as he entered. He crossed the living room and peered down the corridor. The door of their room stood wide open. The room was tidy except for a half-folded saree flung on the bed. Mystified, he returned to the dining room. The table was set with only one place. The maid emerged from the kitchen.

‘Saab-Memsaab left for the races, Baba, they will come back after lunch.’

M froze. Fuck. Bloody race-Saturday. How could he have forgotten? He had never known them to miss the races, whether he had exams or was sick with typhoid. Without uttering a word he raced back to his room. There wasn’t a minute to be lost. He must stop Dedha.

‘Dedha Bhai, there is a small change … Today’s horse racing. They’ve gone to the club, but not to worry. They will be back after lunch. So if you come between four and five…’ As if I am inviting him to bloody tea.

‘Maadar…’ Dedha growled abuses, filthy abuses from the gutter. M held the phone away from his ear. ‘I don’t give a shit if the fucking firang-fuckers are at the horse race or pigeon parade. We have our setting for today, the plan must be carried out today or you must pay regardless.’

‘Dedha Bhai, it is just the time … Everything else remains same … back gate, front door … Just between four and five…’

There was the trademark silence. Then, ‘Don’t fuck it up, or I will auction off your ass.’ The rest of what he said was lost amid loud street noises. M hung up and breathed deeply.

The maid was still hovering in the dining room. ‘Baba, dal-chawal is ready. Will you eat now?’

‘Forget about dal-chawal. Actually, take the rest of the day off and take the dal-chawal with you. No need to come tonight.’

‘But Memsaab said…’

‘I spoke to Memsaab. She said I can order pizza. Go.’

The door closed behind the maid and M slumped down on the floor. His brain felt coated with something sticky and his ears still buzzed from the chirruping of the crickets that had trooped in last night.

When his breathing evened, he called the nearby restaurant and ordered two pizzas and a large bottle of their sweetest, fizziest drink. Then he dialled Mayur’s number. ‘Come over. There’s a slight change in the plan.’

‘Son of a b… Because of you I was abused and threatened. Dedha properly chewed me out, and here you are talking calmly about change of plan, you fucker…’ Over his torrent of abuse, M hollered ‘pizza’ and hung up.

Mayur arrived at the same time as the pizza.

‘Yaar, I was shit scared. You must be careful with Dedha. He has a fucking temper.’

M opened the pizza-box. ‘I forgot today was race-Saturday…’

‘Anything could have happened.’ Mayur swallowed a mouthful. ‘Do you think he’ll think twice before shooting you or me if he thinks we are up to something funny? You need to be damn careful.’

‘They don’t talk to me these days except to say Mr Joshi’s son scored this much, the Vashkar girl got an offer from that uni … As if I am nothing if I don’t get a good grade or a uni acceptance…’

‘Don’t worry, bro, it will all be okay soon.’ Mayur rolled and lit a joint.

THEY RETURNED A little after 3 p.m., laughing and chatting. M was in his room. He had heard the car come up the driveway.

‘Mehul Bhai’s horse never wins but he doesn’t give up hope!’

‘It is not hope, it is tax-chicanery that brings him to the racecourse!’

‘Really? There’s a strange smell…’

‘Yes, there certainly is.’

They wrinkled their noses. M sat sweating. Could they still smell the pot? Mayur had left half an hour ago, and he had opened all the windows. He pretended to study. They changed their clothes and read the weekend editions of newspapers in the living room. A little before four, M rose and walked through the dining room to the front door. The doorbell rang just as he got to the foyer. He trembled violently; for an irrational moment he thought it was Dedha who had arrived early. Perhaps he wants to shoot me too … The moment I open the door, he will whip out his ghoda … Breathing hard, he managed to undo the latch. Their next-door neighbours stood at the doorstep, the only ones left from the time when the street was still full of bungalows.

‘How are you, beta? See, who is here…’ The old woman pushed forward the two little children who were hiding behind her. ‘They just arrived yesterday. Arti and Aditya have gone to London for fifteen days.’ They entered the living room.

‘The little ones are visiting? How perfectly wonderful!’ M’s mother hugged the woman and then scooped the kids in quick embraces.

‘They have grown quite a bit. I can’t remember when our son was this age…’ M’s father smiled and shook hands all around.

M’s throat felt dry. The rustling and buzzing in his ears rose. These people shouldn’t be here. Any moment now Dedha will be here … What should I do? Call Dedha … The woman held him by the hand and gently pulled him towards her. ‘How are you, beta? You’ve lost weight. Are you not eating properly?’

‘He is working very hard,’ M’s mother supplied, ‘studies all night. Preparing for university admissions.’ She peeled an orange and offered the juicy wedges to the two children. They ducked their heads shyly and sat holding each other’s hands.

‘You will get into a good university, beta. You are so brilliant. But look after your health too,’ the man said, smoothing the children’s hair. ‘I still remember how he used to collect all those bugs and things when he was small.’

The woman laughed. Light bounced off her spectacles as she turned towards M. ‘Do you remember you used to prowl around in the garden at night, torch between your teeth, butterfly net in hand, to catch night-bugs? You were always so serious and studious.’ M disengaged his hand from hers and craned his neck to check the clock on the dining room wall. It was half past four. Through the rising noise in his ears, he could hear the sound of the back gate dragging. Dedha … he was entering the bungalow … I must do something…

‘We have only one son. All our hopes rest on him.’ M’s father looked at him. It was months since he had looked at him in this way, eyes soft and mouth relaxed in a smile. He remembered that he hadn’t closed the front door. Dedha will see it standing ajar and think … Over the hammering of his heart, he heard footsteps … the crunching of dry leaves underfoot. He looked around wildly. ‘Everyone must take cover inside the house,’ he tried to scream. ‘Lock the rooms, save the kids … save them…’ But no sound issued from his mouth. He lurched out of the living room. I must lock the door before Dedha reaches it … I have to … I must stop him from entering the house … He tried to close the door, pushing it with both hands, with all his strength, but it was already too late. Through the opening, insects poured in, surging waves of Coleoptera – stag beetles, spittlebugs, dung beetles, click beetles, deathwatch beetles, blood beetles – every species once painstakingly identified with the help of the Insecta Encyclopaedia exploded into the house in a red-black-grey tide, rising, rising…

He was drowning … the house was drowning…