Anirudh's Story | Chapter 1: A Very Rainy Beginning

A rain coat is never enough. No matter what kind of rain coat you wear, the Bombay monsoon will get to you. The rain will fight and fight until it goes through all your layers of protection and seeps deep into your skin. Like many people, Anirudh was defenseless to this attack.

In the short walk from Platform #7 to the 266 bus stop, Anirudh had already got his shoes mucked up, stepped on and scratched. The bottom of his trouser legs had the familiar puddle splat, and his chest was soaked with the horizontal barrage of raindrops.

It was a fitting end to a horrible day. As he made his way through the hustle and bustle around Andheri station, he couldn't help but wonder why all the forces of nature had suddenly coincided to ruin his very existence. In retrospect, he could've done a lot to make the last 24 hours better, but then again, hindsight is always 20-20.

Anirudh looked around him. No one noticed he was upset. In Bombay, you're lucky if the person next to you even notices you're alive. Pain and misery are such big parts of this city, that you always know there's someone worse off than you. Unfortunately, right now Anirudh felt like the guy who everyone thought of to make themselves feel better.

It was already 7 p.m. The prospect of getting on a crowded 266 bus, filled with other miserable, tired and soaking wet Bombayites didn't seem like a good idea. 'No' he thought, 'Surely, I deserve a rickshaw after what I've been through'. So he made his way back to the main entrance of the station, hoping to find a rickshaw driver good enough to cut through evening traffic.

"Boss, Lokhandwala jayega?"
"Betho"

He breathed easier now. There's something about the seclusion of the backseat of a rickshaw that has to be experienced to be believed. It's open on 3 sides, there are no doors and the driver is 2 feet in front of you, but somehow you can always claim that space as your own. To collect your thoughts, to escape the constant madness around you- to just be.

He looked at himself in the sideview mirror. What had he become? Would life ever be the same after she left? Could he change? Should he change? He hated asking himself questions. You can lie to the rest of the world, but you can't lie to yourself. When you judge yourself, you can't hide your filth. You're naked in every disgusting way when you judge yourself. And that's what he had to do now. He had to judge his faults and his own horrible actions.

Anirudh's Story | Chapter 2: Dry Day Friday

Home, sweet home. What rubbish. Anyone who lives as a paying guest in the Bombay suburbs will tell you there is very little you can do to make it seem like home. Bombay: the big bad city, made everyone around you a potential murderer and P/Gs bore the brunt of it by putting up with all sorts of rules. 11 p.m. deadlines. No alcohol. No smoking. No loud music. No guests. No modifications to the room. You're just left with a bed, an iPod, and a few good books.

Anirudh knew this was the life he would have to lead when he moved to Bombay. He grew up in the South of India, in the garden city of Bangalore. Until he was 15, his life revolved around school, MTV Most Wanted and the exploits of the Indian cricket team. He hadn't touched a ciggarette or even held a bottle of beer. So life without it didn't seem like such a big deal.

Shortly before his 16th birthday, he arrived in Bombay. He had an average build, and was barely 5'7" tall with skin on the darker side of brown. His face was one you'd forget instantly. His eyes were an acceptable shade of brown and his jet black hair was neatly oiled and parted to the left.

Now, at 22 years he had gained a few inches in height, and stood at an impressive 6'1". Of course, you wouldn't have ever known he was that tall, because he'd slouch into his own little invisible shell. Without anyone ever worrying about his meals, he'd grown accustomed to eating only when necessary, and the result was quite evident. His skinny frame and slouched back, only maginfied the apparent look of pain on his face. His skin clung to his jaws, and his eyes had sunk deep into their sockets. He'd grown his hair straight back into a pony-tail and added a goatee to complete the look.

His appearence wasn't the only thing that had changed. Anirudh now drank at least thrice a week. That's why today seemed like the worst day in a long time. It was dry day Friday, and he needed a drink today, like never before. His cellphone was ringing. He knew who it was.

"Hello"
"Hi"
"What do you want Nisha?"
"Can we talk? We need to talk"
"Fuck off. You mean you need to talk and I need to listen. I saw everything, and you know it. Are you just calling to rub it in?"
"Whatever Anirudh, you need to grow up"
And then she hung up. She always hung up without saying Bye. He hated it. That's why she did it.

He probably should have let her explain. But he didn't want to hear it. He just wanted to imagine the worst and be depressed. There was a certain romance about being depressed. Sort of like a self-fulfilling prophecy, if he wanted to feel 6 feet under, he would make sure it'd happen. And besides, alocohol always seems so much more satisfying when you're depressed. Almost like a warm hug.

It was dry-day Friday and it was pouring outside.

And all Anirudh wanted was a warm hug.