The phone was ringing constantly in top volume. The polyphonic ring tone was traveling to almost all corners of the 2 Bedroom Flat in Ghatkopar. No one was answering it. The flat was a spacious one if anyone considering 1100 square feet of floor space in a city like Mumbai. Kiran Cooperative Housing Society was actually made on the land meant for rehabilitating slum people of Kurla. But as it often happens in Mumbai, the land sharks got the smell of a deal for the taking. They are the ones who actually oiled the right palms to acquire the land and build a ten storied building. And yes there was no one who can be deemed a proper slum dweller living in the building. At a going price of thirty five lakhs per flat no one expects that kind of benevolence as well. Now why and how the building came to be known as Kiran Cooperative is not known to many. Some people guess that the promoter making this building might have been a big fan of Sharukh Khan for his K..KK..kk..kiran style. But then all are vague guesses. The Know-it-alls find the Cooperative part more interesting as they think that the usage of the word has been done only to evade the property taxes as well as to give the building a somewhat dignified middle class outlook in line with its birth history. The phone was actually a new Reliance land line connection with all the latest gadgets like polyphonic ring tones, caller id, SMS facility etc built in.
It was 7 in the morning and Mr. Anil Chandiramani was getting agitated as he was working late at night and the constant ringing was actually disturbing his morning laziness. Anil lives in 303 and the phone was ringing in the flat 304. Because of the thinness of the wall (again the promoter has to be blamed for that) was making him feel as if the instrument was ringing in his drawing room. While listening to the shrill polyphonic ring he was thinking about giving the neighboring flat a visit. But then actually he was in two minds. The flat 304 was vacant for a long time as the owner of the flat Mr. Naveen Khare was an NRI settled in US. And people in the building had this notion that this flat was actually purchased by Mr. Khare to make sure that he has some Indian roots left at least to which he can come back. But keeping a flat empty for long is again not an advisable thing to do as the space crunch in Mumbai has actually lead to people taking the initiative and breaking in into empty flats and squatting there for as long as possible. Last Sunday Anil had noticed that the flat is not empty anymore. The Good Mr. Khare might be keeping tenants, Anil guessed and gave it no further thought. The next day Anil was waiting for the lift when the door of the flat 304 opened. The lady who came out and started to put in the lock was somewhere in her late thirties, although Anil could have swear that she looked not a day younger than 30. An almost hour glass figure, she had with some amount of excess fat in proper places making the view from behind more interesting. When she turned, Anil immediately caught site of a dimpled face with a fair complexion, which in Mumbaiya Hindi would have warranted the comment “Jhakas”. She was wearing a tastefully cut opal green kurta with a beige salwar. The only thing that he noted more than anything else was the coldness in her eyes. Both her eyes were on him but it seemed that his presence did not register at all. As she started coming towards the elevator, she did not even seem to care that Anil was almost ogling at her. They went down together, with Anil almost searching for words to make an introduction. But the coldness of the lady gave him an idea that it might be a safe ploy. Anil was actually married and waiting for his family from Baroda to join him shortly in Mumbai where he was just settling down in his new job posting at Indian Oil Corporation.
Anil was still in his bed and mulling on whether to go and knock on the door. In posh apartment complexes like these people don’t care about their neighbours. But Anil has noticed that in the last seven days almost all the residents of Kiran have taken note of this lady. But the coldness shown by the woman at any kind of friendly advance has actually deterred the inhabitants from any kind of close encounters.
The ringing stopped. And then it started again. Having enough of it Anil went out of his bed and opened his flat’s door and went into the small lobby. He mustered enough courage to walk up to flat 304. As he was just going to press the calling bell button he noticed something odd. The morning newspaper and the milk were lying un-collected. And the door was not locked at all. He pushed it lightly and it opened up in front of him. A fishy odor greeted his nose. Anil would never forget the sceen he saw in whole of his life. In front of him there were heaps of female clothes including lingerie, a blood soaked salwar and a torn kurta and the whole of the hall was smeared with blood. With the initial numbness passing away Anil started screaming at the top his voice. (To be continued..)
It was 7 in the morning and Mr. Anil Chandiramani was getting agitated as he was working late at night and the constant ringing was actually disturbing his morning laziness. Anil lives in 303 and the phone was ringing in the flat 304. Because of the thinness of the wall (again the promoter has to be blamed for that) was making him feel as if the instrument was ringing in his drawing room. While listening to the shrill polyphonic ring he was thinking about giving the neighboring flat a visit. But then actually he was in two minds. The flat 304 was vacant for a long time as the owner of the flat Mr. Naveen Khare was an NRI settled in US. And people in the building had this notion that this flat was actually purchased by Mr. Khare to make sure that he has some Indian roots left at least to which he can come back. But keeping a flat empty for long is again not an advisable thing to do as the space crunch in Mumbai has actually lead to people taking the initiative and breaking in into empty flats and squatting there for as long as possible. Last Sunday Anil had noticed that the flat is not empty anymore. The Good Mr. Khare might be keeping tenants, Anil guessed and gave it no further thought. The next day Anil was waiting for the lift when the door of the flat 304 opened. The lady who came out and started to put in the lock was somewhere in her late thirties, although Anil could have swear that she looked not a day younger than 30. An almost hour glass figure, she had with some amount of excess fat in proper places making the view from behind more interesting. When she turned, Anil immediately caught site of a dimpled face with a fair complexion, which in Mumbaiya Hindi would have warranted the comment “Jhakas”. She was wearing a tastefully cut opal green kurta with a beige salwar. The only thing that he noted more than anything else was the coldness in her eyes. Both her eyes were on him but it seemed that his presence did not register at all. As she started coming towards the elevator, she did not even seem to care that Anil was almost ogling at her. They went down together, with Anil almost searching for words to make an introduction. But the coldness of the lady gave him an idea that it might be a safe ploy. Anil was actually married and waiting for his family from Baroda to join him shortly in Mumbai where he was just settling down in his new job posting at Indian Oil Corporation.
Anil was still in his bed and mulling on whether to go and knock on the door. In posh apartment complexes like these people don’t care about their neighbours. But Anil has noticed that in the last seven days almost all the residents of Kiran have taken note of this lady. But the coldness shown by the woman at any kind of friendly advance has actually deterred the inhabitants from any kind of close encounters.
The ringing stopped. And then it started again. Having enough of it Anil went out of his bed and opened his flat’s door and went into the small lobby. He mustered enough courage to walk up to flat 304. As he was just going to press the calling bell button he noticed something odd. The morning newspaper and the milk were lying un-collected. And the door was not locked at all. He pushed it lightly and it opened up in front of him. A fishy odor greeted his nose. Anil would never forget the sceen he saw in whole of his life. In front of him there were heaps of female clothes including lingerie, a blood soaked salwar and a torn kurta and the whole of the hall was smeared with blood. With the initial numbness passing away Anil started screaming at the top his voice. (To be continued..)
1 comment:
Money, it’s a crime.
Share it fairly but don’t take a slice of my pie.
Money, so they say
Is the root of all evil today.
But if you ask for a raise it’s no surprise that they’re
Giving none away.
Courtesy: Pink Floyd
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