Chapter 5: Red against White - a Mukt & Jia scoop

Mukt could only appreciate the professionalism with which the emergency services call was handled, not even daring to imagine what a mess it would have been, had something like this taken place in his hometown of New Delhi. While Mukt was not one of those who took sadistic pleasure in denigrating their country, but he was also realistic enough to understand the basic differences in how law enforcement acted in a developed country, as against a developing country like India.

It had turned quite dark by now and the snowfall had taken a retreat, perhaps breaking before coming back. As Mukt carefully stepped out of the booth, he silently thanked the cold that had forced him to wear a pair of gloves, hopefully preventing any evidence contamination. He could already hear the police siren in the distance and as he tried to estimate how long it would take for the police to arrive, he saw some movement ahead in the distance. Mukt had been eyeing the Maison de l’Inde, the building that was going to be home for the next three months. Someone was stepping out of the building, and was in quite a hurry.

Mukt’s first instinct was to shout out and warn the person. Something about the way in which this person was moving stopped him though. For some reason, the street lamp next to the phone booth wasn’t functional and thanks to it, Mukt was relatively hidden from sight of the person coming out of India House even though Mukt could clearly see right through. Mukt squinted his eyes to be able to see even better but he still couldn’t make out if the person coming out of India House was a man or a woman.

Mukt already knew that most of the India House residents were away for the evening, attending a party at the Maison du Mexique, and in all likelihood, were currently relishing the spicy Mexican food they had been looking forward to ever since the invites came in. Mr. Atul Mehta, Director of the India House, had already communicated to Mukt that almost all residents including him, were going to be out at this party around the time Mukt was expected to reach.

Dressed in tights and tee of a dark color, most likely black, there was something definitely off about the person Mukt was now looking at, the least being the fact that they were coming out of what should have been an empty building. The intruder, that is, if this person was an intruder, was looking all around, was moving quickly and yet cautiously, a curious combination in itself. What was the most noticeable was the extreme care with which this person was avoiding the blood trail leading up to the building. They looked either like someone scared of disturbing the evidence of crime or someone worried about adding further evidence.

Mukt tried to step out of the shadows and move a little closer to get a better look. He was careful to not step on anything he thought could retain the signs of what had happened there. Just as Mukt made the slightest of movements, the stranger looked up in his direction. Perhaps it was some inadvertent sound that Mukt had made despite all the care he tried to exercise. Perhaps it was just a coincidence. Whatever it was, Mukt had been made out and the stranger, whoever they were, knew that someone else was already aware of the trail of blood, apart from them.

Mukt was still trying to discern the physical features of his companion on this lonely night, knowing fully well that he will be asked to describe them to the best of his abilities when the police finally arrive. Mukt knew that the stranger would have also heard the police sirens in the distance and by now, Mukt was fairly certain that they had something not-so-innocent to do with the crime scene that was before them.

“Hey, who are you? What are you doing here?” Mukt thought of taking a chance and shouted out just to see if the stranger would react and give away anything about their identity. In any case, it was just a matter of moments, Mukt guessed, before the stranger was likely to make a dash for the small exit gate next to India House that could take them out of Cité Universitaire, on to the street, and with easy access to a potential getaway vehicle.

What followed his verbal challenge was something Mukt had not anticipated though. The stranger did make a dash for the exit gate because the police sirens were getting closer and if they did have anything to do with the blood trail all over the ground, they wouldn’t want to hang around and chat with the police at all. What Mukt had not expected however, was the blood-curdling laugh that emanated from the stranger before they made their move. Even at the distance, the laugh was loud, sinister, crazy, and so uncharacteristic of anything normal that Mukt had ever heard, that it was impossible to make out if it came out of a man, woman, or an animal.

Mukt could slightly make out the physical frame of the person now, looking at them running towards him first and then taking off on an arc towards the exit gate. Athletic and strong for sure, the stranger was of average height, a slim build, and extremely fit given the sprint they just ran. The tee that Mukt had thought the stranger was wearing was actually a black hoodie with nothing on it, no prints or patterns or anything else that was even close to a mark of identity. If Mukt had to describe the stranger in one word, it would have been ‘unremarkable’ and he knew that this was not what the police would be looking for.

As he was trying to figure out the best way to handle the situation that he had found himself in, Mukt finally saw the lights of the police car coming towards him from the direction of the main administrative building of Cité Universitaire. Mukt had expected a shorter wait time for the campus police to turn up but when he saw the official letters of the French National Police on the van, he realized what must have happened. The campus police, correctly surmising that the matter in question was way above their skillset or level of competence, must have waited for their senior colleagues before coming in.

“Monsieur, êtes-vous l'appelant?” The officer, who looked to be in charge, asked Mukt as soon as he stepped out of the vehicle. Mukt was standing next to the phone booth with an incredulous look on his face, thanks mostly to the insane laugh he had just heard and the subsequent escape of a definite ‘person of interest’ that he had just witnessed.

“Yes Sir, I am the one who called. Please pardon me as I don’t understand French very well. Is it ok if I speak in English?” Mukt could understand enough French to know what the officer was asking him but not enough to tell him all that he wanted to, without the risk of losing important meanings in translation.

“Oui bien sûr! I can perfectly understand your English, Monsieur. My name is Captain Sebastian Dubois and I am with the French National Police. The emergency services call that you made was directed both to me and to the campus police. I had asked the campus police to wait for me before coming to you as I understood that you were not at an immediate peril. Hope I was correct in understanding that,” Captain Dubois said with a bit of an accent that was getting stronger the more he spoke.

“Well, I wasn’t at first but then I thought I was,” said a still disturbed Mukt. “Actually, when I had called, I thought that there was no one else on the scene here but after I had finished, I noticed someone coming out from La Maison l’Inde who seemed really shady and when I challenged them, they just laughed and ran.”

“There was someone else here who looked eh…what do you call it, shady? Was it a man, a woman? Where is that person now?” Captain Dubois looked ready to leap and run after a suspect, not having expected one so early in the investigation.

“I don’t know if it was a man or a woman. They were too far from me to be really sure and the way they were dressed and looked, I can’t really say,” Mukt said with a bit of a helpless shrug. “Like I said, when I heard the police sirens, I challenged them with the hope that if they say something, I could figure out something more about them. Unfortunately, they didn’t take the bait, just laughed and ran as they heard you come in.” Mukt was not sure if he wanted to mention the diabolical nature of the stranger’s laugh that had disturbed him so, at least just not yet.

The shoulders of Captain Dubois visibly sagged hearing this as he realized that the suspect that was so tantalizingly in his grasp just a moment ago, had to wait for now. His posture changed from a taut, cheetah readiness to a more relaxed and wilier, fox contemplation. Even his tone was more polite and the smile on his face had reappeared as he asked, “Allez Monsieur, now that we are not in a rush to catch someone, why don’t you start your story for me once more, right from the beginning? Please try not to miss anything and I must remind you that, as they say in detective novels, even something that you think is useless can be very important. I know that it’s late and cold but you are the first to witness a serious crime and maybe the only one to have even seen the criminal. I need you to tell me all that happened…patiemment, s'il vous plait.”

Listening to the Captain mention the cold and the fact that it was late made Mukt realize how late it really was. Jia must have gone crazy by now, especially considering that Mukt was the responsible one, always keeping her updated with his whereabouts whenever he was traveling, even if it was to his office, which was less than a stone’s through from Jia’s.

“I will tell you all, but before any of that, you need to let me make a phone call back home in India. I have landed in Paris only today and I need to inform my family that I am fine and safe. They must be waiting for me to call and would be really worried by now,” Mukt said as he made a move to go inside the telephone booth again.

Captain Dubois literally jumped, trying to stop Mukt. “Please stay away from the scene of crime, Monsieur. I can’t allow you to make any telephone calls before you have given us your statement. It is against protocol, as I am sure you can understand. Please give me your family member’s number and I will call them and convey your safety.”

“Good luck with that!” Mukt smiled despite everything as he blurted out Jia’s number, imagining the conversation that was going to follow. Jia was going to eat Captain Dubois alive, even over the telephone, especially if she was not satisfied with his message…and knowing Jia, she wasn’t going to be satisfied till she had heard directly from Mukt.

Chapter 4: Red against White - a Mukt & Jia scoop

June 09, 2023

Dear Diary,

Will you still love me if I make a confession? Actually, it doesn’t matter even if you don’t for now. I am sure you will come around soon so here goes!

I love it when they cry, when they beg me for mercy, especially when their tears get mixed up with their blood. The colors…red against white! The sounds…whimpering remonstrations and those screams, one louder than the other! The look on their faces…terrified and yet unbelieving of what’s happening to them! The smell…a mix of involuntarily passed urine, even faeces and the deep stink of their innards as they get exposed to the steel of my knife!

I love it when I take my time with them, ever so slowly allowing the passage of the hands of the clock, denoting the endlessness of time that will slowly but surely lead them to their makers. I am the harbinger of their fate, whether it be their salvation or their lowly rebirth. I love it when they want me to sit in judgment of their crimes and good deeds, pleading with me as though I were God, recounting to me how good they have been and how they don’t deserve what they know is coming for them.

I love their beady eyes as they stop being able to differentiate between tear drops and those of blood and other bodily fluids. I love their hands folded in complete submission and prayer, the nails and skin chipping away from the acid I use to purify them before I gut them.

I know, my dear diary, that I have told you who I am to think myself capable of delivering this justice upon the earthly scum. They think they are the same as me. They are not. I come when all has gone and I go where none has ever ventured.

I am The Destroyer! I am The Creator! I am The Preserver!

I am what Krishna could have been; what Achilles could only strive for…my heel is cast in stone.

I have what Zeus didn’t have; what Indra didn’t manage to control…I am the True King and my lightning bolt can’t be defeated by any trinity.

I don’t need to wait for what Sita prayed for; what Helen of Troy had to yearn for…I don’t need a savior waging wars for me; I am war.

I am not undermined by the limitations of Hades; Yamraj doesn’t have my freedom…I own the Underworld; I am its unchallenged master.

You know, dear diary, how restless I get when they struggle initially, when they try to fight back, when they look at my physical form and feel that they can overpower me. I could pity them but I don’t. I hate them for it. I hate their lack of wisdom, their lack of comprehension, that they can’t relate to the strength in my divine form. My lust isn’t confined to that for their blood, it is an obsession for justice that gives me celestial strength, a true reason for my actions and not just a forced justification.

Dear Diary, you know how I operate but they don’t. They are not your friends and they don’t know you the way I do. You know how deep I can lie when I am preparing for a prey, how quiet I can be before I roar. I have to be in their midst, one of them, till I can give them a glimpse of my Godly avatar. I get to be their friend before I become the owner of their souls.

But why, oh diary, do they struggle so? Their beautiful hair that I have to drag them by, their exquisite jawline that I have to destroy, their slender limbs I have to dismember…could they not bleat around a little less and simply wait patiently, like the sheep they are, for the deliverance I shall surely bestow upon them?

As I write to you today, my darling diary, I can see the smoke coming out of the bodies being cremated at the ghats of the river. They call her the mother, Ganga, Ganges, believing that she will wash away all their sins. Even after they die, they pollute her with the ashes of their bodies, the smell of their burning fats. I see the funeral pyres lined up in this holy city of Varanasi (an amalgamation of Varuna and Assi, the two tributaries of Ganges) and wonder about the limits of the river. How much can she take and what will she leave behind once she dries up, as she surely will?

I have spent a lot of time here, looking at the same images, thinking of the same things, but perhaps in another life. I can’t remember that life any more. I can’t remember the person I was then. Was it in this yug or the one before this one…this millennia or another much earlier…this birth or another cycle of births?

Half my face is burnt today, but it wasn’t so then, and I am glad for the change. I am black and white, yin and yang, the nar and the nari, the God and the Devil, fury and compassion...Life and Death. I must thank them for giving me my identity today for they are as much a part of me now as I am of them…especially those two.

Oh Jia, my sweetest darling, how I love you…what will I do without you? I am your ultimate destination and you complete me. I am coming for you!

Oh Mukt, what will I not do to you when I meet you! You will be at my mercy and I won’t stop and you will beg, beg me for more and I will give you more…much more!

Chapter 3: Red against White - a Mukt & Jia scoop

“What’s the word on the referendum, mate?” George looked up from his whiskey and visibly recoiled from the latest entrant to the Sunday Club lounge who had thrown this question to the air, expecting someone, anyone to answer. No one did, busy as they were in their particularly balmy June afternoon beers, gin and tonics or as in George’s case, fine single malts.

Perhaps no one cared enough to answer the question, either. The Brexit Referendum, as it was being called, was to take place in a couple of days, on the 23rd of June 2016. Except for the media and the activist groups highlighted in the media, most others hadn’t yet given much thought to which way they should vote. It’s not that they didn’t have an opinion, but in most cases, George used to tell whoever cared for his opinion, it was that they thought it wouldn’t matter, one way or the other.

As for George, he had decided to vote for Brexit. While he didn’t feel that Britain’s exit from the European Union could change anything in his own life, he felt that since he was going to vote, what with him being the responsible citizen, he might as well vote with his small set of friends who had all decided that Britain’s best course was to go all alone.

The rational part of George’s mind, if he chose to listen to it, was saying something else though. He worked actively with a multi-cultural, multi-national group at his workplace. In fact, the company he worked for was not even headquartered in Europe. It was an Indian company that boasted of employees from 41 nationalities, each with a different culture, set of values, and native language. What all of them did share however, was a love for technology and deep respect for diversity and staying together amidst innate differences.

NanoIdeas had started as a nanotechnology innovation company in India more than a decade ago and had only gone from strength to strength in all these years. Most of the original founders had left the company over the years as it changed its focus from nanotechnology to more broad-based innovation geared at improving the balance in the environment and society at large. ESG Investors, a new breed that invested their money in companies that scored high on Environmental, Social, and Governance factors, had backed the current CEO, Jia, to the hilt as she drove NanoIdeas’ efforts in developing technology that helped global companies counter the unwanted byproducts of their growth.

Apart from her decision to lead NanoIdeas into becoming a thought leader in technology that could enable ESG focused (and not just compliant) growth, Jia also wanted her company’s work to be recognized and hopefully emulated at a global level. She had decided to move to London pretty soon after she joined NanoIdeas as its co-founder. As the President of Global Innovation Outreach (GIO) department that she had created, Jia wanted to be centrally located to not just take her work to developed economy companies that had contributed the most to where the world was headed, in good ways and bad, but also to connect with fellow innovators worldwide who had better access to resources that could facilitate groundbreaking innovation in technology.

As Jia’s Chief of Staff in the London office of NanoIdeas ever since she moved in around the time of the Great Financial Crisis in 2008, George had gone on to know her really well. When Jia hired him, George, like many others he knew, had just been handed the pink slip after having worked with the infamous Lehman Brothers Investment Bank for his entire career of nearly two decades at the time, ever since he graduated from the prestigious London School of Business and joined the bank as a management trainee.

He knew nothing of what this new company did at the time, his work profile having been mostly centered around arranging and managing money. Jia and most of her colleagues at NanoIdeas who had set up the London office, knew nothing about money and George thought that providence couldn’t have made a better match. Over the years, George had learnt a little more about technology and Jia’s passion for creating a difference by leaving a legacy that would enable the world, as we know it, to last more than another generation or two. Jia in turn, knew more about the language of money, how investors looked at new ventures, what they need to hear to put their money into something not in vogue.

George's relationship with Jia had extended beyond work for a few years now. From Chief of Staff at work, he had soon turned into the one friend that Jia could turn to for all things London that she needed help on. Being at the top of the chain of command, Jia found it difficult to let her hair down in front of most of her colleagues. For some reason though, she had hit it off differently with George. Despite their age difference (Jia was nearly fifteen years younger), Jia found it easy to hang out with George, confide in him, and even go crazy in a pub or two, always knowing that George had her back.

George appreciated this special relationship and was proud of his friend and boss, not just for the leader she was at work, but more importantly for the kind-hearted, practically emotional, and emotionally intelligent person that she was. George had opened his heart, life, family, and home to Jia with his twin daughters idolizing her and looking forward to every visit that Jia made to their modest home in the outskirts of London. Rita, George’s wife, pampered Jia no end and apart from stuffing her with her excellent cooking, coached her on the London society life every time she met her. With her Soho Fashion Consultant days that she had given up after her daughters got into High School, Rita’s advice was something that Jia really fancied and valued.

George could feel Jia’s gratitude for this relationship that she shared with him. It wasn’t that Jia’s treatment of George at work was preferential or any different from how she was with her other colleagues. Nevertheless, she had that ease when she was around him, given he was the closest to family she had. George was the only confidante Jia seemed to have, at least as far as he knew. And needless to mention, he knew things about her, more than anyone else at work or in her life did. He knew, for example, that Jia’s decision to move to London was not purely professional.

Jia was looking for her brother. George was really surprised when she had mentioned Mukt, her brother, for the first time. It was after his twins had settled down for the night following an uncharacteristically late thanksgiving dinner, a good two years after she had settled in London. Jia had had a little more than her quota of two drinks of gin and tonic. George and Rita were relaxed too, recounting tales from their courtship, some of which they hadn’t shared with anyone else except each other. Before Jia let it slip that she had come to London to look for her brother, George and almost everyone at the London office had thought that she had no living relative and was pretty much a loner as far as her social life was concerned.

Even when she did mention her brother and the fact that she had been looking for him for the past few years, George didn’t know if Mukt was lost somewhere, or had lost touch with Jia, or was simply lost in something that he couldn’t get out of. Despite what Jia shared that day, she wasn’t very clear about the details. George and Rita knew better than to probe at the time.

George was concerned, though. He wanted to help Jia in any way that he could. He spoke to the old-timers in the company, those who knew Jia before she came to London. He figured that Jia had been extremely close to Mukt and after the death of their parents, the two were inseparable and the only people looking out for each other. He could also find out that the last time any of Jia’s colleagues had heard of or met Mukt, was ten years ago, back in 2006 when Jia had just about joined NanoIdeas.

Chapter 2: Red against White - a Mukt & Jia scoop

The Delhi weather was uncharacteristically hot in the October of 2006 and Jia’s evening coffee sessions with her friends this month had been all about the ozone layer getting depleted and how this newly founded company called Tesla was deservedly the talk of the town with the upcoming design reveal of its first all-electric vehicle product called the Roadster.

Ever since Jia had graduated from the reputed Institute of Technology at the University in Varanasi four years ago in the discipline of Materials Sciences and Engineering, she had been fascinated with innovations in technology and more particularly, in nanotechnology, which had started driving a lot of computing hardware progress globally. Added to that, her views on climate change and the need for balance between growth and sustainability had hijacked many meetups of her classmates while she was a resident on campus.

The setup had changed since then but Jia’s enthusiasm for environment-friendly technological innovation remained undiminished, as her friends and colleagues at NanoIdeas often ended up figuring out, especially whenever they took a coffee break with her. NanoIdeas was the nanotechnology research and innovation startup that Jia had joined as a young co-founder and research head last year. Jia loved working at and staying close to the brand new NanoIdeas office, located in the emerging metropolis of Gurgaon, part of India’s National Capital Region and sister to the globally better-known city of New Delhi. The studio apartment that she shared with her brother, Mukt, was cosy and comfortable and more than anything else, a stone's throw distance from both her and Mukt's places of work.

Unlike her brother, who was more of a dreamer, Jia had always been more practical and action-oriented. Despite four years in Varanasi or Banaras, as the locals call the oldest living city in the world, Jia’s idea of a night out still remained being focused on creating a new composite in the “nano lab” and testing its properties, as compared to many of her friends or even her brother who would be happy gazing endlessly at the dwindling lights of boats in the distance, sitting at the steps of one of the ghats by the Ganges, and almost compulsively smoking/ingesting something illegal.

Today, Jia was a little lost though and not really enjoying the conversation with her friends as much as she should have, especially considering the topic being discussed. Her thoughts were with Mukt who had left for Paris last night for one of his stage demonstrations of Hypnotherapy. She was immensely proud of her brother and of how he had built a reputation as one of the leading voices in hypnotherapy not just in India but globally, and that too in an extremely short span of time. More than that, she was thankful to him beyond measure for giving her a new lease of life after she had almost given up on it five years ago following the death of their parents in a plane crash.

At the time, Jia was preparing to start her final year of college. It was actually in the middle of her first lecture of the session when she was called upon by the Dean’s assistant to receive an emergency phone call from a distraught and nearly incomprehensible Mukt who broke the news to her. It was only due to Mukt’s consistent and often, annoyingly persistent efforts subsequently that Jia could survive the year and finish her course. Even after her graduation and the convocation ceremony she had intentionally missed, Jia had continued to live a listless life till Mukt ended up rediscovering himself through his interest in hypnotism and more particularly, hypnotherapy.

Jia often chided Mukt when he credited her for changing his life just because she was reading a book that introduced him to hypnotherapy when it was actually Mukt, who had brought Jia back from the brink of her decision to end her very existence, by making her the first subject of his hypnotherapy practice.

As Jia looked at her expensive watch that Mukt had gifted to her on her birthday this year, she realised that it was really late and nearly half a day had gone by since Mukt was supposed to have landed in Paris. He hadn’t called yet to tell her that he had safely reached India House where he was staying, and this was troubling her a bit, knowing how particular Mukt normally was about these things. While he was only a couple of years older, Mukt had completely taken on the role of a responsible parent when it came to Jia. She knew that Mukt was not carrying the new mobile phone he had bought recently because it was with her. Despite her protests, Mukt had argued that the international roaming charges on his India number and the hassle of getting an international sim card for a temporary Paris number made it illogical for him to carry the mobile phone. Jia knew that her ever-sacrificing brother just wanted her to have the phone despite any inconvenience that he may have to face.

Regardless, no mobile phone meant that Mukt might just be struggling to find a public phone to call, given the extraordinarily bad weather Paris was having recently, yet another example of where the world climate was headed. While Mukt clearly enjoyed parenting her, Jia didn’t give up any chances of mothering her brother either. She had spent hours on the internet preparing for this two-month trip of Mukt’s, and this preparation included a list of all nearby public phone booths near the place Mukt was going to reside at. In fact, she knew that there was one right at the corner close to where India House was located and the only reason that she wasn’t panicking by now was the real possibility of a disruption in telephone services due to the incessant snow that Paris had been seeing for the last few days.

Just as Jia was losing her patience and had decided to call the India House reception to figure out if Mukt had checked in, her mobile phone rang. It was a call from Paris but as she connected, not the voice she was expecting to hear.

A stranger responded to her excited ‘hello’ in heavily accented English, “Mademoiselle, may I know who is this?”
“You have called me; shouldn’t you know who you have called?” Jia couldn’t resist it, especially now that all her panic buttons were well and truly activated.

“Oui Mademoiselle, you are right! I was just trying to confirm if you are the sister of Monsieur Mukt.” The stranger was getting on Jia’s nerves now and his casual mention of Mukt’s name only made it worse.

“Yes, I am Jia, Mukt’s sister. Please tell me who you are and what this is about. Where is Mukt? Is he ok? I want to speak to him,” exclaimed Jia in what was perhaps a shriller tone than what she would normally use with someone she was speaking to for the first time.

“Mademoiselle Jia, please don’t worry. Monsieur Mukt is fine, just a little shaken after the recent events. I am…,” Jia didn’t let the stranger complete whatever he was about to say as she jumped in. “What recent events? Why is he shaken up and why are YOU calling me? Why don’t you let me speak to him?” Jia had a lot of questions and her head was already spinning with numerous possibilities, each worse than the other.

“Mademoiselle, please hear me out,” pleaded the voice on the phone. “My name is Sebastian Dubois and I am a captain with the National Police of France. I have just been called by the Campus Police at the Cité Universitaire to a crime scene and Monsieur Mukt was the first witness and the caller who first reported it. He is not hurt and is absolutely not under any threat but for obvious reasons, we are not allowing him to speak to anyone before he can complete his statement for us. I am calling you on his request to just let you know that he is fine and will call you as soon as he is done here.” Captain Dubois had probably just managed to improve his personal best when it came to speaking in English at a stretch, given the increasing heaviness of accent with every word towards the end of his explanation.

Chapter 1: Red against White - a Mukt & Jia scoop

One would think that red against white is something that a keen eye could never miss. Add to that however, snow falling in balls of cotton, and all signs of the blood would vanish, red buried under layers of white. Be that as it may, there was enough blood and quite freshly spilled, to leave dull brown marks that Mukt could only stare at in amazement…it was clearly the scene of a crime, a high passion one at that, given the amount of blood all around.

Mukt had missed it all in the beginning as he had kept his bags down and rushed in to the phone booth he saw at the corner. Cooped up in the small box trying to call his sister Jia to tell her that he had reached Paris safely, Mukt had stopped short of dialing the one telephone number he didn’t have to look up his phone diary for. He had finally noticed the red marks on the notice stuck next to the telephone receiver. The red stain was at his eye level and quite remarkable, if you actually come to think of how uncharacteristic its presence there was.

It wasn’t just any red mark either, but clearly blood that was just beginning to dry up. There was more, further traces of the red on the phone booth’s door knob, on the floor inside the box, and extending all the way out in the direction of the building Mukt was planning on entering after his call, a clear trail of a body having been dragged, a body that was losing or had already lost a lot of blood.

Having just reached Paris a few hours ago on a connecting flight from New Delhi via Dubai, Mukt had been cursing the airline ever since he landed, for messing up his bags. It had taken him nearly a couple of hours after all immigration formalities, just to sort his luggage out. He was at his wit’s end, irritated and as was usual in his case, gritting his teeth. As soon as he finally stepped out of the terminal though, he couldn’t help but loosen up and smile at the weather that greeted him. Unlike his sister Jia who was the more practical of the two, Mukt would often lose himself in his environs, watching raindrops patter against the window-sill or simply feeling the breeze in his hair.

Today, it was snow…a lot of it. It wasn’t the usual time for snow in Paris, almost the beginning of October as it was. Mukt knew however, that it was just the beginning of what everyone was predicting could be a prolonged, cold, and harsh winter. Jia had literally forced him to pack the heaviest of woolens, knowing fully well that Mukt tended to ignore such things, busy as he was in preparations for the real reason he was going to Paris.

The India House at Cité Universitaire or as the French would call it, Maison de l’Inde at La Cité Internationale Universitaire de Paris had invited Mukt to perform at the annual India day celebrations on campus and be their guest in-house consultant for a couple of months thereafter. Mukt was an artist…well, sort of. He specialized in Mass Hypnosis and was also a trained hypnotherapist, not only performing spectacular shows that amazed large gatherings but also working with individual subjects facing deep psychological problems and helping them deal with those problems and often, recover.

There was a lot that Mukt had to thank Jia for, least of them the shape his career had taken. Mukt had initially started exploring hypnotherapy only as a tool to help his sister recover from the loss of their parents who had passed away in a plane crash five years ago. Jia had taken the loss pretty hard, hadn’t uttered a single word for nearly a month. Even when she started talking, she would hardly initiate a conversation; speak only when spoken to and even then, in monosyllables. It was extremely difficult for Mukt to see his livewire of a sister like this, especially when he didn’t have any one else in the whole world, he could call his own. He had lost his parents, too. Indeed, he had taken to the eventuality much better but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t impacted.

It was Jia who had indirectly given Mukt the idea of studying and using hypnotherapy. She had been reading a book on the subject, more like flipping through its pages, hardly paying any attention to what she was reading. Mukt had just come back from his day at work, advising a big-ticket client on her advertising strategy, something that was more routine for Mukt now, as compared to the excitement he used to feel when he had started out as a rookie in the creative agency that he now headed Creative Strategy for. Mukt was bored, and while he didn’t know it just yet, a new life for him was just there for the taking.

Jia had finally flipped the book shut and had started staring into nothingness, possibly remembering how her parents used to laugh at one of her many jokes. There was the hint of a smile at the corner of her lips, a smile that had none of the mirth that it was trying to remember, a sad smile and even that was not developed fully, lurking yet not showing.

Mukt had learnt to read the signs, knowing when he could leave his sister to her memories and when he needed to shake her up. Assessing that she was fine by herself that day, Mukt had left Jia to her thoughts and taken up the book, unable to leave it till he finally finished a couple of hours later. Jia was still staring at the fading lights of the city skyline but Mukt’s eyes were gleaming, reflecting the last of those twinkles that signify the end of another day but more importantly, the imminent beginning of a new dawn. He knew he was on to something, something that could not only help his sister but something that could bring back meaning to his own life as well.

While it wasn’t exactly the same time of the day in Paris, what with its longer days, but the lights had just been turned on, all around the part of Cité Universitaire that the India House was located in. For Mukt, perhaps those lights had triggered memories of the day he had taken up Hypnotism for the first time. It was also possible that all the blood and signs of violence had taken him back to when he had seen his parents’ bodies for the last time, permanently still, and made him remember what it took for him to not lose Jia, the one thing he had in his life that could still make him smile.

Regardless of what was the cause, Mukt seemed to be lost for the moment, able to appreciate but unable to act on the urgency of the moment. He could feel the need to act, do something about the situation he was in, what with all the blood around him. He couldn’t move though, not for the moment. It was as if the snowflakes outside the booth were telling him something, as they fell in slow motion, only to be absorbed by the thick layer of snow on the ground, losing their existence and yet becoming part of a larger consciousness. Mukt could feel his own body floating with the snowflakes, falling to the ground, slowly. Unlike the snowflakes however, he didn’t just smoothly become part of a bigger being. His was a sharp fall, metaphorically jolting him out of his reverie.

One of the things his study of Hypnotism had taught Mukt was the importance of process. Having often practiced the same mechanical step hundreds of times to get it right, Mukt was used to breaking down any problem into a number of steps and then diligently executing each of those steps, one after the painstakingly similar other.

The first step for now, of course, was to call the emergency response number and tell them what he had seen. Thankfully, Jia had done the requisite online research and prepared a list of important information and contact numbers for Mukt for his Paris trip. The pan-European emergency response number ‘112’ was marked in red, right at the top. As Mukt dialed the number, he tried to mentally brush up on his basic French, assuming that would be the language he would have to speak in.

Fortunately for him, the operator on the other side was comfortably able to switch to English once she realized that Mukt’s French wasn’t adequate for him to clearly explain what had happened. Mukt gave a brief note of what he was looking at and where he was. While he kept his suspicions to himself, the facts were telltale enough for the operator to ask Mukt to not touch anything, move out of the booth and without stepping on anything, stand by for the emergency response team stationed at the Cite Universitaire Campus Police station.

My friend Setu

The inevitable, some say, took its course last night and Vikhyat, one of my closest friends from B-school, breathed his last!

As news of his struggling to stay alive started trickling in the day before and soon, as it became apparent that his was a losing battle, there was a mix of different feelings that went through me. Sadness and despair, anger and frustration, guilt and pain...they all struck me as one, immobilising me. Even when I saw people who hardly knew him gearing up to help him and his family, visit him at the hospital, trying to raise funds for his treatment, I sat in my car silently crying, knowing in my heart that it was already too late.

I couldn't bring myself to talk to his brother or wife, even if it were to just offer some meaningless words of comfort and as Vikhyat passed away last evening, my guilt at somehow failing him made me not do anything, not even bidding him a final farewell.

For some reason though, I started going though all my past interactions with him...phone messages, chats, emails, social media...stuff that memories over the last 15 years were made of. And I realised that my friend Vikhyat, or Setu as he was fondly called by his family, was more than just a dead body. He was a dear friend, a vivacious bundle of infectious enthusiasm, a starry eyed dreamer who wanted to invent, create, do what was never ordinary and somehow make you believe that all this was possible.

I was writing a small formal obituary for him when thoughts from many of my and Vikhyat's classmates started pouring in. It was strange and yet obvious how each one of us were remembering the same thing about him, his disarming smile and his dreams, his enterprise and his brilliance.

Having worked closely with him at the two editions of Backwaters, IIM Kozhikode's cultural fest, the team and he had become family. Endless nights of discussions and planning and activities, heartbreaks and successes, arguing and celebrating together...his face keeps flashing by and gets blurred only by the tears that spring up so unexpectedly. His long and funny emails to the team on how we need to pull up our socks, his undying hope of getting sponsorships from local businesses despite one rejection after the other, his fooling around on team meetings and then turning all serious for the job at hand, his insane and seemingly impractical "Yana Gupta" ideas and even more impossible execution...how do I let him go?

It's painful and tears me apart as I think of him playing the role that he had no clue about in that flop of a play we had at the Freshers' Party, him proudly holding the banner of "Bloody Freshers Rock" at our farewell, him fighting with me over rules of the Konnect Antakshari, him telling me at countless mess parties, of his frustrations with life's ordinariness that he wanted to overcome, his ventures that worked and didn't, his funny experiments with dating apps, him getting married not even a couple of years ago, him rushing to meet me to advise me in person on the startup idea I apparently had.

Perhaps he was headed this way for some time, perhaps he could be saved, perhaps whatever anyone did wouldn't have helped, perhaps something would have...I will never know and neither will many of my friends who won't sleep for a few days without him in their mind. What I do know is that I cherished the time that God had given me with Vikhyat in this world and that I will never forget what it was to know him. I will remember him not as what he had become in the hospital photos that I saw over the last few days but as the unbeatable spark that he was...my friend Setu!

Some thoughts from some of our friends came to me and I am writing them here so that others who couldn't write can read and remember Vikhyat. Please feel free to send me anything that you would like to add about your memories of Vikhyat and I will put them up here so that we can keep reading this post whenever we are reminded of our friend.

Sandeep Reddy

I have lost a brother today. We have shared so much of our lives together that I feel I have always known him from childhood and we have grown together. We have lived together, started a venture together, dreamt together, seen ups and downs of life together. I will always want to remember him as a dreamer and fighter with a smile always on his face. May his soul rest in peace. Bhai I will miss you.

Saurabh Goswami

Vikhyat to me was that bubbly guy who wanted to be an entrepreneur from day 1 at IIMK. I still remember, he coming to ask if one can use SMS for sending messages for credit card transactions. I had a previous background in telecom coding before coming to campus and maybe he thought that would help. His enthusiasm forced me to go back to the specs and find out. It was that infectious enthusiasm that he showed when were part of backwaters too - hunting for sponsorship from the random shops in Calicut. Post college, we were not in touch too often, but I always felt proud that my batchmate was featured on CNBC young turks. We again got back about 9 months ago when he called but in that conversation it never occurred to me that he was suffering. Still had great ideas. That was Vikhyat - he had an invisibility cloak that prevented us from seeing his suffering. Our world will not be the same again.

Qaynat Sharma

Vikhyat was the life of every group he participated in. He always brought positive thought and encouraging influence to the people around him. His calm smile and bright ideas endeared him to people across his academic and work life. Vikhyat means known to all, and he stayed true to his name, both in life and in death. We will always remember you Vikhyat. Rest in Peace and Happiness.

Malini Pande

It’s still not sinking in. I have been in denial ever since I saw the message for the first time. Initially it was it can’t be the same Vikhyat and then it was like he should be fine soon. And the very next day he has gone. We spent endless days and nights planning for backwaters at K but my most vivid memory of him is one night in Mumbai when I was dropping him after a party in Sandy’s house and thanks to Mumbai traffic a 20 min drive stretched to 60 min. It was the best time I had spent with him. He was his jovial best and full of life and I remember telling him that we need to meet more often. Wish we had! God bless you Vikhyat and hope you are in a better place now!

Rohit Gupta

Vikhyat was true to his name...VIKHYAT..well known..loved by everyone who came in contact with him...a brilliant mind but childish at heart..a guy who started even when the concept of start up was yet to start up...a guy with a mission for backwaters...will miss you my friend!!

Surabhi Prasad

I am tearing up as I write this for Vikhyat - “The most striking memory I have of Vikhyat is how full of life he was. Be it academics, organising Backwaters or simply entertaining us with his wit and humour, he sparked life. I cannot believe this spark is gone. Rest in peace, dear friend. You will always be remembered”.

Rahul Ranjan

That boy from Mankapur is no more. I always used to tease him as Mankapore is new Singapore. He told one day he would go to Singapore and write to me. That can't happen now.

Madhu Smitha

Vikhyat will always be remembered as brilliant person who always converse with cheerful smile and make others laugh.Felt proud of him when he made it to CNBC Young Turks though we aren't in touch with each other.Feel he would have achieved a lot more and brought lot more accolades to K.We will all miss him!

Sandipan Roy

Vikhyat, one of the few guys from campus who embraced me with my follies and became my best buddy. He was different – effervescent yet brooding, charismatic yet crude, loving yet nonchalant all at the same time. He was amongst the brightest minds I have ever met, a man brimming with ideas, a man who could see the future and knew how to disrupt it.. He lived for his friends and family and never cared about his own well being. I remember how he once missed my birthday and next day turned up with a guitar in a restaurant just to surprise me, even strumming and singing happy birthday much to the surprise of the people around. That was Vikhyat, living life on his own terms, rules were not meant to be for him, the world could wait while he orchestrated his own symphony. I guess geniuses self-destruct, so did he in the end, just too soon, too fast. Farewell my friend, do well wherever you are now…will miss you buddy, will miss you sorely..the world doesn’t make your kind any more Vikhyat!

Sharika Munshi

Vikhyat was the brightest, most enthusiastic person in our batch at IIMK. His energy and enterprise were infectious. He was loved by everyone. His adventurous, entrepreneurial drive inspired many of us. I have the fondest memories of spending time with him on campus and during our trips to Goa. He was always smiling, fun and kind. I am too overwhelmed by this news Vikhyat. You were a shining star and your light will continue to shine on all those you touched and inspired. Lots of love always to you and to your family!

Aditya Chaturvedi

Vikhyat is no more. And it feels sad, heart-breaking even, and yet a shade inevitable in some ways. The sudden news of his critical condition and subsequent passing brought back a flood of memories from campus. In a group of 130+ classmates, Chhote, as some of us and particularly I called him, was definitely among the few who were notable. Possessed of a winsome smile what stood out to me was his audacity of hope. He was irreverent, bordering on arrogant, but was also brilliant and a true entrepreneur at heart.

As somebody who shared with him three bonds - IIMK classmate, brotherhood of ITI employee children, and life membership of the longitudinally challenged club, I spent a fair bit of time with him during the two years we were together on campus. If there was something that defined him for me, it was the countless instances of him declaring 'Abe Saale tu dekh abhi' to declare his intentions of conquering many a challenge.

Not a guy without flaws, Chhote truly burned the candle at both ends as he tried more endeavours than most would even dream about. Issac Mizrahi said 'When you're a young person, you have these prescient ideas about the person you want to be perceived as, and so you act like this person. And then later you become that person..". Chhote lived this credo to the max but didn't live long enough to become that person.

Rest in peace brother!

Falling in the ditch and other tales

It's not often that you find your wife yelling at you for getting into a 6 ft deep ditch to look for one of your slippers, especially when the truth is that merely a second ago, your head hit the ground and you have just started coming to terms with the fact that you have fallen in a ditch perfectly camouflaged with some shrubbery on your way to answer the nature's call.

Your efforts at finding that elusive slipper are only representative of the defense mechanism that has kicked in upon realization of the free fall and not knowing what to do next. You have no clue as to how to explain that though, not to your yelling yet concerned wife, and definitely not to her brother (and his fiance, for extra comfort) who can't make up his mind about what to do first...try to help you out of the ditch or feel amused about the entire situation.

It is also not often that you spend the new year's eve at one of the coolest hangouts in town, an open air club on a hill playing some absolutely fantastic music to an absolutely awesome crowd in a setting that's replete with fireworks, drunk people dancing in the swimming pool (and everywhere else), and absolute strangers wishing you a happy new year (and getting a back-handed push and shove in return).

So yes, you may come back to me and say that you have been there and done that but I am sure you won't have too much to say when I tell you that post this party, you may stand to lose keys to your little rented villa where you had planned to continue the celebrations with some good old Punjabi music and Maggi. Your tongue is likely to be tied even more as you realize that at 4 AM on January 1st, there is hardly any chance of encountering the stray key-maker roaming on the streets or expecting help from the otherwise lovely, nail-clawing, and suspiciously paranoid facilities manager of the villa society.

And God help your chances of speaking ever again as I tell you that not only were we not fortuitous enough for all this, we had to spend six hours sleeping on the villa's tiny little gym's floor, all dressed in our new year party finery...and oh yes, with the Villa's entirely unhelpful guard commenting on our bad luck on the first day of the year, if only to help us see the much obfuscated obvious.

I can almost smile benignly at your slow nodding of the head when you hear of the little spats we had with the local taxi mafia...I know, happens everywhere right, all these tourist places have gone to the dogs, you say! That they have, and spats we did have...some mildly irritating and others almost life-threatening but all part of the game.

It's just that these little spats assume those gigantic proportions in your mind, inching towards top of the mental billboard when they follow something even more interesting that happened just a couple of hours ago. What can be more interesting than a few North Indians getting potentially beaten up by locals, you ask? Well, not much...just that half of the shack we were sitting in got engulfed in fire within minutes and the doped staff and perennially semi-naked firang hut-dwellers started throwing water on open electric wires jutting out from all corners (thankfully, after the fire was doused by some by-standers throwing sand over it).

Well, that's Goa for you!

And oh, we had fun on the beaches too, the complete Christmas-New Year-Goa treatment with foot massages on sun beds, sun sets...one more bewitching than the other, waiting for hours for food, watching waves crash against your table laid out at the beach, guitar next to the roaring sea under the moon, and the occasional hijacking of the DJ at a beach shack party.