Kalopsia by Sreya Mukherjee

Farzana was lying on the tattered mattress and looking at the grimy ceiling with unseeing eyes. The day she dreaded the most has finally dawned, the first day of the new session at school. It was very unlikely of her because each year she looked forward to this day. She is an inquisitive and diligent girl and is always eager to learn new and exciting stuff. But things are going to be different this year and there is nothing she can do to avoid it.

Her eyes darted to the clock on the wall. It was quite a simple clock sans adornment yet it did just fine what it was meant to do, tell the time, albeit ten minutes late. The face of the clock showed it was 6:30 and the wedge of the sunlight sliding in through the ventilator attested that it was 6:30 a.m., or more accurately 6:40 a.m. Farzana let out a resigned sigh. The least she could do to redeem herself in the already doomed day was to reach school in time. In their tiny, shabby one room house it wasn’t difficult to guess what the other family members were doing. Both her younger brothers were still sleeping soundly while her mother Rubina had already started her day which she could tell by the clink- clank of the utensils wafting from the kitchen. Her mother worked as a maid in the houses of the elite neighbourhood and was the sole breadwinner of her family since last five months.

Their life has taken a decidedly ugly and tragic turn since five months but it couldn’t deter Rubina’s faith in God. She was sure that their ordeal was merely God’s way of testing their faith and therefore she forbade her three children from despairing. However, Farzana couldn’t share her mother’s strong conviction and she often found herself despairing at the tragedy that had suddenly befallen them. But she knew that their ordeal wouldn’t last forever, in fact, if the policeman is to be believed, they would have to suffer just one more month.

Farzana can vividly remember that fateful day five months ago. Her father Faizan hadn’t returned home the previous night. Farzana couldn’t recall any other night when her father didn’t return home in her thirteen years of existence. Faizan was a petty peddler but he was good at his business, thus he could provide well for his family. He was an affectionate husband and an especially doting father. Farzana couldn’t recall even one instance when her father had disappointed or embarrassed them. Thus, his not returning home the whole night was so unlike him that it had terrorised them. That night sleep had evaded Rubina, Farzana and even her little brothers had lay awake until after midnight. When Faizan did not return even the next morning, Rubina and Farzana went out in search of him. They inquired all their neighbours and acquaintances but to no avail. It was almost afternoon when they spotted a man who was Faizan’s fellow peddler and their ignorance regarding Faizan’s whereabouts was finally dispelled. The man informed them that last evening Faizan was thrashed and arrested by police, though he couldn’t tell why for nobody dared to ask the police.

After overcoming their initial shock, Rubina and Farzana rushed to the police station though they had little hope of rescuing Faizan. In the police station, the policemen did not bother to entertain any of their questions and they were not given permission to meet Faizan. Rubina couldn’t control her emotions and despite herself began wailing. That was when the lady constable slapped her and they were thrown out of the police station. Not knowing anything better to do, they sat on the footpath near the police station for a long while. Seeing their unwavering dedication, a policeman finally condescended to talk to them, or perhaps they were causing an eyesore to the policemen by sitting on the footpath and they decided to get rid of them, which seems more plausible. Whatever the reason might have been, a policeman came to them and asked to return to their home as it is useless to sit on the footpath waiting for Faizan because he will be released only after six months. Hearing this Rubina let out another wail, quickly smothered it, and even at the risk of being slapped again, asked, “What crime did he commit, sir?” The policeman replied nonchalantly, “Nothing serious, he was encroaching upon the land of MLA by setting up his makeshift shop there.” “But sir, he merely spreads out a bed sheet and arranges his wares on it to sell them. He does not set up any makeshift shop per se,” Rubina feebly protested. “Yes, that’s what I meant,” the policeman sneered and was gone.

Farzana did not like to brood on the events of that fateful day, it made her glum. Moreover, the day was already distressing enough without requiring her to volunteer to make it make it gloomier through her melancholic thoughts. Thus, halting her thought engine she went to the kitchen to help her mother before getting ready for school. Since five months life, in general had been especially hard on Farzana but particularly, her life at school had become excruciatingly tormenting.

Faizan had immense faith in his daughter’s capabilities and did not want to compromise on her education, thus despite their dismal financial condition he sent Farzana to a reputed private school. Therefore most of her classmates belonged to upper-middle class families who perceived themselves as entitled to ridicule Farzana for her poor financial background. However, Farzana never spared any thoughts to their taunts for she immersed herself in the marvellous world of words and pursuit of knowledge. But since the day her classmates came to know about Faizan’s incarceration their taunts had assumed a diabolic character. They would not miss any opportunity to call her names, but the most hurtful was being cat-called as criminal’s daughter. The teachers did nothing to stop such rampant bullying rather they tortured her in their own implicit ways, such as, punishing her for wearing crumpled uniform, unpolished shoes or failing to pay her fees on time.

Every year at the beginning of new academic session her father bought her the prescribed textbooks without fail, though they cost him a fortune. But this year, Rubina couldn’t buy her even a single textbook. Though Farzana was angry at her mother’s incompetency and failure, she prudently decided not to express it for she knew that Rubina is indeed trying her best to make the ends meet. Thus, she resigned to her fate of being derided and perhaps thrashed by her teachers on the first day of new session for not having the textbooks.

 It was becoming increasingly difficult for Rubina to arrange even two square meals a day for her children, let alone meeting other expenses of the family. Farzana’s school had even issued a notice informing that she could be expelled on the grounds of not clearing her dues and late payment of fees. When six months since the day of Faizan’s arrest passed yet Fizan did not return home, all their hopes went up in air and despair, dark and heavy, descended on them.

Almost eight months had passed since Faizan’s arrest yet there was no news about his release. Few weeks ago, Rubina and Farzana had mustered their courage and went to the police station only to be yelled at once again. Suddenly, one evening Faizan simply turned up at their threshold without the slightest intimation, as if he has returned home from his usual day at work. It took a while for Rubina to register his presence for there were conspicuous alterations in his appearance. His face was sallow and gaunt, the eyes had shrunken deep inside the hollows of their sockets and dark circles had set around them. His hair had thinned considerably and he stood in a slouching poise. Overall he had a withering appearance, as if the essence of his life had been sapped during the past few months. Nevertheless, he received a warm welcome befitting a king from his family, of course sans the grandeur and the entailing feast. It was such a heartfelt and emotional family reunion that it had the potential to rival all the celebrated reunions portrayed in literature, if any poet happened to witness and immortalise it in his verses.

A few days after his return, Faizan wanted to venture afresh into his old vocation, the only job that he had done his entire life, the job that earned him bread and sustained his family, the vocation of peddling. But Rubina was dead set against his decision of continuing his old vocation. She blamed it for all the misfortunes that had befallen them and pleaded with him to take up a new vocation. Faizan knew that Rubina had suffered a lot and thus he was neither offended by her obstinacy nor did her dare to disobey her wish. However, there were two obstacles which beset his plan of venturing into a new vocation: first, he did not have the skills which are prerequisite for the specialised vocations, such as, pottery, carpet weaving, etc. and second, he did not have capital to set up his own small scale business. But he was determined not to disappoint his wife, and therefore he asked all his friends and acquaintances to help him find a new suitable vocation.

It was his friend, Sohrab who suggested the vocation that Faizan eventually ventured into, the vocation of being a tourist guide. They lived in a quaint little town which attracted tourists, both Indians and foreigners, throughout the year. Thus, it was one of the easiest yet lucrative job options available to the locals. Rubina readily agreed to it as she considered it to be one of the safest jobs for Faizan. As Sohrab had been in this business for quite a few years, he initiated Faizan as well as helped him in getting his first few customers. However, within a year Faizan established a good reputation for himself through his sheer dedication, hard-work as well as through his affable and charming personality. He no longer required his fellow guides’ recommendation for getting customers; tourists came to him of their own accord. In fact, a tour agency had collaborated with him which paid him regular monthly salary.

The wheel of fortune had surely turned in favour of Faizan and his family. The journey from being a petty peddler to a reputed, salaried tourist guide had been incredible and adventurous for Faizan. Rubina no longer worked as a maid or had to worry about feeding her children. Farzana and her brothers’ school no longer threatened them with expulsion notices as their fees were paid timely. Their small house was filled with laughter, happiness and love. If an author ever wrote about their ordeal this would have been the perfect fairy-tale “happily ever after” ending to their story. But, alas! Life does not reconcile itself as easily as a fairy tale nor is there any conclusive end to it, for the wheel of Life rolls on crushing under it the labels of ‘comedy’, ‘tragedy’, ‘romance’, ‘farce’, ‘satire’ that we attempt to assign it.

One chilly afternoon, Rubina was sitting at the threshold of her house, knitting sweater and relishing the joy of not having to worry about the next meal. The adage, “money cannot buy happiness” is justified when spoken by the wealthy; it even makes them seem humble. But for people like Rubina and Faizan, money can definitely buy a lot of happiness and peace. Rubina was jolted out of her reverie by an approaching, unprecedented noise. As she looked up, she was perplexed to find herself accosted by a bevy of people with cameras and microphones; it was only later that her befuddled mind could register the cacophonous bevy as journalists. Farzana was inside doing her homework while her brothers had gone out to play. Hearing the sudden noise, Farzana rushed to the threshold and found her mother sitting petrified before a noisy crowd. Farzana was in no better position than her mother to comprehend anything that was transpiring before her eyes. The cacophony deafened her; the flashing cameras blinded her and in the ensuing pandemonium which eventually petrified her like her mother she caught two words and an unknown, unnamed fear gripped her. The words were “brave” and “hero”.

Most people spend their lives hankering after fame without realising how comforting the shroud of anonymity is. However, the rare ones who realise the value of the peace of anonymity are not always lucky to cherish it. More often than not fame and heroism is shoved down their throats causing them immense discomfort and nausea; Farzana was one such girl. The cacophony of the journalists was subsided by the wailing sirens of the police jeep. A few minutes later Rubina and Farzana found themselves perched on the seat of the police jeep as it pulled away from their house. They could not make sense of anything that was happening to them; they sat petrified looking at everything with such an intense disinterest as if someone else’s life was being played out before their eyes. Neither did they know where they were being taken to nor did they bother to ask. A strange lethargy descended on them forbidding them from reacting to anything.

The police jeep pulled over near the historical monuments where Faizan worked as a tourist guide. As Rubina and Farzana stepped out of the jeep they could see a makeshift stage was erected on one side of the boulevard and a large crowd had gathered in front of a cordoned off area. They were escorted to the makeshift stage by two lady constables while the crowd gaped at them. On the stage they were cordially greeted by the policeman who had once snubbed them on the footpath in front of the police station. Farzana was too flummoxed to register anything that the policeman was saying. However, she caught a snippet of his monologue, “he redeemed the honour of his country… bravely laid down his life like a hero…” just before Rubina collapsed on stage.

Rubina was admitted to one of the best private hospitals of the city. She was allotted a cabin of her own. Though, there was no serious health complication, Rubina had collapsed due to a bout of high blood pressure, yet Farzana refused to leave her side. She spent the night at the hospital, too dazed to speak to anyone. In the morning, she picked up the newspaper from the news rack in the lobby. She found the news she was searching for, it was on the second page, read it with the same intense disinterest that had gripped her yesterday, put down the newspaper on the rack and returned to her mother’s cabin.

The news article read that Faizan, a tourist guide was stabbed to death by a robber who had snatched the handbag of a Spanish woman. As the robber attempted to run away with the handbag he was chased by Faizan who happened to be the tour guide of the Spanish woman. Faizan had successfully nabbed the robber and retrieved the handbag but before he could return he was stabbed in the chest by the robber. He died on his way to the hospital. The Spanish woman was awed and moved by his dedication and commitment to his work. She said that the handbag contained a large sum of money as well as important documents, such as, her passport, etc. and therefore she will forever remain indebted to Faizan. The government has also praised the altruistic action of Faizan and has promised to recompense the bereaved family. The Spanish woman in order to pay her respect to her slain saviour had donated a huge sum of money to Faizan’s children’s school and thus the school had remitted the fees of his three children for the rested of their school years. Faizan is survived by his wife and three children.

A few days later in the school assembly, the principal was giving a speech on similar lines. Ornate, meaningless, empty words, such as, ‘altruistic’, ‘martyr’, ‘dedication’, etc. wafted into Farzana’s ears. She chose to ignore them. From being the most derided student she was overnight transformed into the most sympathised student of her school. No student dared to laugh at her unwashed uniform and some of them even brought her bouquets and condolence cards. While some of the teachers had become so condescendingly sympathising that it made her almost sick in the stomach with disgust. For a few weeks, the teachers made her classmates write patronizing essays on the virtues of altruism, dedication, heroism in honour of Faizan. But after a few weeks, as normalcy slipped back, the hyped slain hero was consigned to oblivion.

A few months had passed since Faizan’s death; hardly anyone remembers why or how Faizan laid down his life. Rubina had once again started working as maid. Life is tough, as it always has been, but this time the saving grace was that they did not have to worry about being expelled from school for not paying fees.

The bell rang for creative writing class, Farzana’s favourite class. In every creative writing class the teacher writes an obsolete, sometimes foreign word and its meaning on the blackboard. Today the teacher wrote, “Kalopsia – (n.) the delusion of things being more beautiful than they really are”. Farzana stared at the word for a long while. The teacher was asking whether anyone can provide an illustration of the phenomenon that ‘Kalopsia’ signified. Farzana raised her hand. The teacher asked her to proceed with her answer. She stood up, faced the class and said, “The way media and the school celebrated and romanticised my father’s death is Kalopsia. Nothing could better exemplify it.”

  © Sreya Mukherjee