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 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.

Nip in the air

For the first time this year as I stepped out from my bath, I felt a slight chill run up my body. Of course, this slight chill shall soon be bandied by the Mumbaikars and all local media as the arrival of winters to Mumbai or if some journalist is feeling lucky, even a cold wave. For me, at best it is disappointing and at worst, a reminder of what it could have been. Having spent almost all my life (except the four years in South India and 3 years here in Mumbai) in the north of Vindhyas, winter has had a special significance for me.

The arrival of winters, whether I was in Delhi for my schooling or job, or if I was in Patna/Buxar growing up, was marked by many distinct happenings. One of them, of course, was the grand revival of the quilts and the woolens. Dumped aside in some big box for the rest of the year, the woolens used to make their presence felt as Diwali came to pass. Starting with the half sleeved pullovers and the thin blankets and ending up at full bodied jackets and heavy duty quilts, the smell of mothballs combined with the heat trapped inside them after a day of being shown the sunlight form some of my happier childhood memories.

As I grew up, winters also became the opportunity to show off. Unlike girls who can actually heat things up in summers with their multi colored apparel extending up to multiple standards of length and size, guys hardly have options on what to wear. It is only in winters that the blazers and the jackets, the tweeds and the denim come out in full force. I started realizing this once I moved to Delhi from a sheltered Patna and became a part of the pack. The jacket that Mananmama bought me from the local Tibetan market in Patna was a prized possession then and continues to be with me, 15 years down the line. And then came the suits as well...starting with a dumb beige suit to the now-often-unused smart black suit, this sartorial journey has been a pleasant recollection for me as well.

Probably the most favorite recollection I have of winters has been the one associated with the Christmas cheer, the one I witnessed in Paris. Having heard about the terrific atmosphere pre-Christmas in the western world, I was not to be disappointed as my exchange program during MBA chanced to happen in a way as to be spread over the months of September to December. The best time to visit Europe, the winters were in full flow by the time we were starting to prepare for our journey back to India. From ice skating to my first ever experience with natural snowfall, I could see all of it and I loved every moment...cherishing every experience.

The Christmas spirit, the warmth of new year that I had seen so much in movies, read so much about in books, heard so much of...was all there. Shops were decorated as if all light and flower arrangements in the world would run out tomorrow and today was the only day left to use them. Cafes were doing brisk business, people were walking about with smiles on their faces, and even the normally stiff metro co-passengers appeared to have that sense of joviality reflected on their faces.

It was quite a contrast from the winters I had seen in Delhi, for example where it becomes a challenge and an ordeal at times instead of people actually enjoying the party. The living standards starkly different, it is understandable I guess, if those who can't afford one square meal a day hate the season that exposes them at their most vulnerable, chilling the very bones of their existence...at times to the very end. But then the other strata in Delhi enjoys the season as well as any of their counterparts elsewhere in the world. You can always find droves of people (including me and my friends) around stalls of anything hot and edible...chaat, rolls, momos... Even a simple cup of coffee with friends and family turns into a celebration of the season that winter is.

Now in Mumbai, where the different seasons simply don't seem to exist, life (just like the weather) seems to chug along in the boring monochrome. The ceiling fan operates in full gusto in my bedroom whereas cold is busy gripping the sunlight out of other cities I know of...the contrast is stark. Is there an option but to bow down to the will and designs of that eternal being who controls all this...makes all these stark differences possible, rules our lives and of all that around us with such absolute control?

Too much water under the bridge

I can't believe that it has been one whole term since I last wrote on this blog. But believe it or not, this is true and for someone who used this blog as a tool to get things out of his system, I guess there were too many things bottled up this time to get out at all. Come to think of it, there are so many things that this blog needs to be updated with, that it is going to take me one lifetime if I start at it now.

So what I will try to do is to go sequentally with the updates. If I categorise all that has happened into broad episodes, hopefully, I will have time enough to complete the experiences per se, and add in my feelings (without which the posts will be incomplete, of course). Even though the end terms are close by, I guess there will be a lot of time at hand, given that the project submissions are almost done.

Be it the term in France, or the new year celebrations (or whatever it was) at Kovalam, or the experience that was Backwaters 2006, or the sheer joke that Term 6 at IIM Kozhikode was, or the job scene here at IIMK, or the tearing apart of the class of 2006 creating nostalgic feelings in one and more, there has been so much water under the bridge.

Have I been any wiser? Probably. France was one whale of a time and at the same time, one big teacher. Not only did I get to know so many interesting people from so many different parts of the world, but also got to see, analyze and appreciate their lifestyles, their cities and towns and even villages, and of course, their way of doing things which is so different from our own.

And then there have been Anne-Helene, Marion, and Gus, my three French friends (others' as well, but I would like to mention them that way, if you please) on their first trip to India, on student exchange to IIMK. I am not sure if they are having even half as good a time as I had in Paris (given the spicy food that is almost unpalatable for them), but it sure feels great to show them around India, makes me feel ever so proud of my country.

One of these trips was to Alleppey, the backwaters hotspot in Kerala. An out of the world experience aboard a houseboat, with stars shining down and their light getting reflected by the almost still water, it was time to just sit back and relax, and get ready for the gruelling weeks coming by (Backwaters was less than a month away). With the French gang (Sandy, Yash, Raul and the three French friends of mine) and some more batchmates (read Vishak, Kanika, Rohit) for company, the Christmas eve was a memorable one this year.

When Christmas was this much fun, how could New Year's fall behind? And so it turned out that we were on our way to Kovalam for the new year's. The tempo traveler for 13 had the same old gang joined by a few more, and off we were. Kovalam is one pretty place for sure, and the beaches can not be cleaner in any other part of India. Goa has its own charms, of course, but I believe that given proper publicity, Kovalam shall be able to hold its own.

Enough of the PR, anyways! The new year's eve was not particularly pleasant for me for a host of reasons, which are far too numerous to be listed down here. So let it suffice that it was not one of my most celebrated occasions and the music actually got on my nerves by the time it was time to say goodbyes to 2005 and welcome 2006. It was a very relaxed me the next day as we took our traveler back to Kozhikode.

As the vacations finally came to a close after three and a half months of doing nothing but having fun, there was a big challenge up ahead. The challenge that I had faced last year, as well, but in a different form. Last year, it was survival that Backwaters was looking at, this year it was trying to make an impression, set a benchmark for others to follow and scale. More about it in my next post...coming soon!

I am alive...still

I have been meaning to write something on Mode C for long but fortunately or unfortunately, things out here in Paris have taken such a hectic pace that it has become increasingly tough to just keep abreast of the proceedings, forget writing about them at two places (the other blog is in deed alive, and doing well, thank you). However, Mode C and its readers (if they still come back to check, even if it is once in a blue moon) do deserve more than the neglect I have been able to offer so far.

Life in Paris has been an amazing journey so far with varied co-passengers and their different mannerisms, combined with the vagaries of the journey itself, have been making the journey as interesting as I could have hoped it to be. It has been nearly three weeks since I came to this Wonder Land and like Alice, I am still lost in the wonders that this place keeps offering day after day, hour after hour.

The typical French haughtiness is there aplenty, but so is a completely contrasting love for life and living it to the fullest. The French love to talk, not so much about themselves, as the introductory seminar at ESCP about French culture explained to us, but about things pertaining to the common knowledge and discussion. In fact, the only other thing that they do with probably more passion is kiss. They kiss everywhere...on trains, on streets, on railway stations, inside museums, in gardens, in bookshops and libraries, you name the place and you have people kissing there as if there is going to be no tomorrow.

The party scene is, as expected, outstanding. Though I missed out on the parties last week despite having a problem of plenty in terms of company, I made amends this week and after the fantastic Erasmus party yesterday, next in line are the party today at Cite Universitaire (the group of houses of international students from different countries, including the House of India where we are staying) and of course, the grand party at ESCP tomorrow that is supposed to be the big Daddy of them all.

In other news, studies are cruising along pretty well and after a week of rather insipid lectures, things have started heating up and the attack is slowly and surely getting targetted at the fundamentals, which we Indians are finding out to our discomfort, remains our biggest drawback despite the bags of gas we are capable of producing anywhere and anytime.

Even IIMK is seeing a lot of activity taking place. The placement season for juniors as well as the laterals are around the corner and the campus would surely be witness to old books being dug out and heads buried deep into them hoping to get the fundas right, in time for the impression they need to present once the opportunities come calling. I hope and wish that all my batchmates, and especially my close friends back at campus, have a great placement season and grab some really handsome deals.

I just had a great news from one of my juniors from BHU I had been talking to, a couple of days back. Amitanshu, the poor guy had been looking for a job after doing his MBA from BHU with an HR specialisation. He sounded so worried as he asked me about the different opportunities that I could see for him. And what do I hear today? That he has not only landed a job in one of the better HR consultancies in Bangalore, but is also set to be engaged soon, to another junior from BHU. I do love happy endings!

The French Diaries begin

In latest news, I am in Paris right now and enjoying every moment of it. I have started a new blog to record the trip through text and visuals but the blog is not going public yet (I am not pretty sure why but that's the way it is).

In case you want to read the French diaries of mine (for whatever reasons), just drop me a mail and if I think you are good enough to read my would be best selling travelogue during its formative years, I might just make your day and send you the link to my new blog.

This space would not die, but. There are, first of all, some back posts that I have on my laptop and which I have not been able to post for some reason or the other. So these posts will find their pride of place pretty soon on Mode C and even in the future three months while I am in Europe, I will continue to write stuff not related to the European tour (the existing of which, there is very remote a chance of).