Having a friend makes life happier

Dream 4 : Behind Successful Men

When the Izuh-ra awoke at the crack of dawn, there was a lot of work to do in preparation for welcoming their guest, and yet more to do in preparation for defending their stronghold against his presence. Their big brother had retired to his chamber with his closest aide and oldest mistress -- they were to decide upon his outfit for the afternoon. So it remained up to the Izuh-ra, the bridal party in this curious marriage of ideological worlds, to create an environment where the stranger's loyalty could be enforced.

By four forty-five, they had done an excellent job of scrubbing rebel slogans off the walls of the alley and stairwell, and of rearranging the planning room to look more mercantile than warlike. Milder ideological quotes among the graffiti had been strategically spared alongside signs of obvious proletariat suffering such as exposed wiring and peeling paint. Thus, when Murthy entered the alley with the confidence of an invited man, he was faced with a picture that fed his precise brand of ideological fire. The same young messenger as before had led him to where the alley opened out, and they were now in a room lit only though missing parts of its ceiling. Teenagers and young adults milled around the place with the air of running mundane but important errands, holding paper and food and gadgets. Murthy stopped here, and unsuccessfully tried to make eye contact with these boys and girls engrossed in their duties. He remembered an article about how crime gave youths the stability, work ethic, and paid internships that society refused to offer; and he was quite certain that this was precisely the phenomenon unfolding before him. He would have gladly skipped the tea appointment to simply observe these kids, but the young messenger had been quietly replaced and a larger hand now tapped Murthy's arm.

The gruff twenty-something that now stared him down was the most glaring archetype Murthy had ever encountered. He was an exaggeration of the most angsty kids from Murthy's college class -- Murthy attributed some of the exaggeration to actual suffering as opposed to not enough of daddy's money -- complete with a pierced ear, blond fauxhawk, and camouflage pants. Before Murthy was done sizing him up, the man had fashioned a street-smart smirk, introduced himself as "Roger", and pointed to a precarious staircase at the far end of the room. Led by Roger's hand on his back, Murthy walked with reluctant briskness to the stairs, and was promptly handed off to what could only have been a female Roger. Aside from being shorter and sporting purple hair instead of blond, she was his clone even in mannerisms. Murthy was reminded of how his son and daughter always played similar characters in those video games except for gender and hair. The game comparison suited Murthy, because he had never before met such a woman in real life. This new cartoon did not introduce herself -- she simply walked so quickly behind him that he felt practically swept along to the top of the stairs, around the landing, and up another flight before he had entirely formed his judgements of her. She braked behind him, he reconnected with his surroundings, and a small room cleaner than the previous one appeared in his vision. A measured voice thanked "Rosa", who quickly slunk away, and Murthy marvelled at the low effort these folks put into their fake names. "Bhaskar H" wasn't very innovative either, given how his host, now smiling at him from a charpoy along the right-side wall, was obviously from the wrong social denomination to have that name. Why would a man named "Izuh" think that "Bhaskar H" was a believable alternative?

Preoccupied with all this silliness, Murthy walked towards Izuh more amicably than he had originally intended. Izuh had put some effort into the meeting -- he was dressed in his best cottons, and had bothered to put together a turban and a deliberate stubble. Aromatic tea and a copy of Murthy's book occupied a small table before the charpoy. Izuh wore his kurta with two buttons undone, and Murthy again found himself compelled to agree with Jagruthi and her friends -- this was one hell of a handsome man. Behind his charpoy, in the shadows of what were probably window drapes, stood the owner of the voice that had dismissed Rosa. She was a woman of about Izuh's age, with looks and obvious charisma rivalling his, and a glorious head of hair rivalling Jagruthi's. She was in cottons quite like Izuh's, with the exception of a jacket over her kurta and a rifle over her shoulder. Hers was the first weapon Murthy saw in this house, and hence also his first reality check about the situation he had inexplicably agreed to be in. Suppressing the nervous professor, then, the adventurer in Murthy fought to the forefront, and perhaps overdid the artificial ease -- the first words Murthy ever spoke to Izuh were also his least articulate, because Murthy grinned ear to ear and bluntly asked Izuh if this hunterwaali was his girlfriend.

The woman immediately looked tired of such questions, and a clearly amused Izuh told Murthy that she was not. The subject of their conversation then left them alone, pausing only to fix Izuh's turban and flash him a knowing smile. When she was gone, Izuh spoke of her to Murthy : Juhi belonged to no one, he said, but had always been by his side as the bravest person in his employ. He was glad of her company as a woman, but it would not matter if things weren't so, because she had saved his life more than once. Murthy would like her, Izuh opined, because she had made that afternoon's excellent tea.

Presently, Murthy took a sip of that tea, and against his best judgement was entirely mollified by the delectable brew. Soon he was sitting more comfortably upon Izuh's charpoy, pulling the book onto his lap and listening to Izuh's comments on his writing. The day outside slowly dimmed, and they continued to speak under the room's austere electric lights. Izuh asked probing questions to the man whose work had made him think and fight so hard, and Murthy answered like a professor faced with an eager but struggling student. Their meeting was a natural one : that of author and reader debating, parrying principle with principle and question with question -- time and again Murthy's theories drew blood, Izuh's worldly wisdom retorted sharply, and then both rallied around to the centre of their shared passions. Izuh often felt disarmed by Murthy's unassuming intellect, and as the streetlights came on they still talked, both as deeply interested as when they had begun, and both in silent agreement upon Jagruthi's taste in men.