Kartik Khandelwal

“Well…” I said in uncertainty as my feet clicked on the floor repetitively. It was Ashok Restaurant, as the red banner outside the white clean building said, and I sat just beside the glass-wall, from where others outside constantly glared at me, either while walking on the footpath or from their cars. In front of the brown woody table with black railings on which I sat, was a woman in navy blue coat upon a white shirt and black formal skirt. I, as for myself, wore a pretty simple navy blue coat myself, upon a similar white shirt like hers, and the same blue colored pair of pants and brown boots which gave shadow to my ankles. We had a third person too; my friend, companion and assistant Prakash Kedia, who wore a white shirt with a black pair of pants. We both were around thirty, and so was that woman, but due to her makeup and red lipstick, she looked much younger than some shaved men like us. She wore a spectacle too. She asked me, “So, Investigator Khandelwal, should we start?”

“Yes, sure,” I sincerely replied, with my forehead full of sweat due to tension.

I’m sure she looked at my forehead and had a feeling that I’m tense, but she paid no heeds and started whatsoever. “Firstly, I wanna listen when the last time you met with Shekhar was.”

“See,” I told her. “We’ve told this to police several times, and as policemen ourselves, we know how little difference it makes to--”

“Just say as I ask.”

“Fine,” I sighed. “So, it was the last year of college and we were, as usual, at the…”

It was four years ago, in twenty-fourteen. Prakash, Shekhar and I were at a bar--a civilized one, as to say--and we were chilling on the backless seats in front of the bartender who was shaking some cups and preparing drinks for his dozen customers who sat beside us. Behind him was a television with a news channel running on it. “You know what,” Prakash commented. He was drunk and thus, he continued in a drunkard manner, “In a survey, it was found out that every, and I mean every news channel utilizes its seventy percent of time in showing advertisements.”

“Whoa, was there even a need for such a survey?” Shekhar commented. He was not so drunk to lose himself up, like me. “Tell us something we don’t know.”

“See the news, Shekhar.”

Indeed we did, and we saw the anchor saying something like: “Breaking news! Breaking news! Our sources have confirmed that Mr. Saurabh Modi, the leader of ‘Aapki Apni Party’ has committed suicide in his ‘Modi Mansion’ today in broad daylight at near seven in the evening.” Then, the photos and videos of a person’s body being taken into an ambulance were shown as the anchor continued, “He killed himself with a shaving blade by cutting an artery on his right hand. He was a right-handed person, as the police have confirmed, so how can he cut his right hand’s nerve? That’s the question in policemen’s head as the body is being taken for post-mortem. The reports are expected to confi--”

“Tsk!” Shekhar said as he banged on the table. “Another one of Aapki Apni Party dead. This time, it was our leader, man!”

The anchor continued, “There’s an uproar in the country as to who’s gonna lead the--”

“It’s your father’s party, ain’t it?” I asked him.

“He wanted to be the Finance Minister at the Lower Chamber of National Parliament. How’ll his dream of serving his nation come true if our leaders keep on dying?”

“Don’t overthink, brother,” I tried to console him as I kept my hand on his shoulder. “If Mr. Saurabh is dead, who’s gonna lead the party in the elections, huh?” He looked at my eyes with a sparkle in his eyes. “Your dad, don’t you think of?”

“Yes,” Prakash said. He was looking at the table between us and the bartender, like he was calculating something. “Forget about Finance Minister, your father can literally win the seat of the Prime Minister!”

“Prime Minister Shayam Sharma: doesn’t it look cool?” I consoled him, and it seemed to work somehow.

“Yes, kind of, I guess,” He replied with a sense of uncertainty. “But, we needa stop these political murders. I just can’t wait more to become an investigator and kick their asses.”

“That’s what we all are aiming for, right?” I said. Then, he continued drinking from his glass as I thought, “He’s still a child, like my little brother.”

“By the way,” Shekhar asked. “Who told Naina that I was fapping on my crush’s pics?”

“Uh…” Prakash turned his head away, looked above and started scratching his chin. “I… I don’t know, really.”

“You mother--” Shekhar said as he wrapped his arm around his neck and started squeezing it. “You dumbass,” He said with Prakash’s head just on his chest. “Why did you--”

“Okay, stop it, guys!” I need to interfere. “You never had a chance with that girl, ‘kay?”

“Wha--” Shekhar was shocked as Prakash started laughing. He turned at Prakash and said, “Stop laughing!”

“Okay, okay…” Prakash replied, still laughing slowly over the joke.

Then, Shekhar turned at me and said, “What was it, huh?”

“Truth,” Prakash said quickly and we all laughed again.

“We all had some great laughs that day,” Prakash commented. “It was a happy day throughout, not just for me but, for all of us. We enjoyed the hostel days and did our best to pursue the same goals we share.”

She looked at us in a confused manner as we had our heads down in guilt and despair. “Never thought it would turn out like this,” I commented in the same position as I imagined what scene it must have been like for Shekhar: watching your very own parents’ bodies hung at the entering hall just when you open the gate of your house. It was dark, creepy, with a seriously confusing aura that surrounded it.