Short Stories

Waiting for a Hero

"Oi! Rakesh, wait for me."

Rakesh glanced back and spotted his friend Juneid huffing and puffing. He grinned as he waited for his friend. "Hurry up, Juno," he called.

Juneid caught up with him and slapped his arm lightly. "What's that dreamy look on your face, Rakesh?"

"Huh? What? Nothing."

Juneid quirked a brow and groaned. "Really? After all this time we've been friends, you think you can bullshit me? Spill the beans already."

Rakesh looked around and dropped his voice. "Hmm... so promise you won't tell anyone? Not even your Kaka or my Baba?"

"Of course not."

"You better not, or I might tell someone's dad who stole those mangoes last week." Rakesh narrowed his eyes. That should do it, he decided. Juneid is scared of his father. "So I met Ritwik on Creek Row yesterday." He paused for an effect.

"What? Tell me I'm not dreaming? What happened? Did you talk to him? What did he say?" Juneid could barely contain his excitement.

"Bolchhi, bolchhi. Give me the time to speak." Eyes twinkling, Rakesh put his hand up to stop Juneid's barrage of questions. "I did talk to him. I asked for an autograph but he didn't have a pen. And you know me, I was heading to Johnkaka's house after playing cricket in Sabujbagan, so I had none either." Seeing Juneid's face drop slightly, he hurried on. "But he asked me to meet him at Mohorkunja at 2pm. Don't worry I'll surely carry a pen and my bat this time and get it signed."

Juneid looked dubious as he squinted and bit his bottom lip.

"What? You don't look so convinced," Rakesh said, thinking, How dare he think I'm making up stories.

"You know this is too good to be true, Juno said." This is Ritwik — the Ritwik Chowdhury, one of the finest batsman India has ever seen. He will never ask you to meet at the Mohorkunja. Your dad will be mad if he hears you're making those stories up again."

"I won't tell him. But I'm not making this up. This is real, Juno. I could see his smile up close, how his teeth sparkled. His musky perfume. He looks even better than those pictures they show in the newspaper."

"Rakesh! He must have dozens of women and men lining up in front of his door. Do you really think he'd choose you from them? You don't even know if he's gay....are you even listening to me? Rakesh?"

Shaking his head, Juneid ran after his dreaming friend. He knew Rakesh worshipped Ritwik Chowdhury, but sometimes he wished he wouldn't tell such dreamy tales of encounters with his heroes.

Rakesh nodded his head as he reached the gate of his house. "Bye. I'll see you in the playground tomorrow." You could barely call it a house, though. With naked bricks grinning at anyone who bothered to glance at it, it was just barely holding together.

He pushed open the door, his eyes immediately watering from the smoke that seemed to shroud the whole room.

"Where's Toree?" he asked his father, who was sitting on the sofa, smoke billowing from his nose, face red after drinking from the half dozen empty bottles at his feet. Noise was blaring from a tiny television that perched on the knobbly table in front of him. The house stank of sickness, liquor adding a depressing taste to the grey afternoon.

"Dad?" he said again, this time a bit too loudly.

"I don't know," his father slurred, eyes never leaving the bright screen.

Rakesh tried to hide the sigh that rose from deep in his chest. He used to look up to his dad as a hero. But that was before he lost his job at the factory. Then Rakesh's mother fell sick and the family drowned in debt. His father took to alcohol to forget his pain. He was no longer the loving father, the hero Rakesh knew. This was a man who came home drunk at night and beat his wife and children up.

Rakesh looked around and noticed the frightened faces of the twins peeking out from under the table. His mother was looking pale as usual, nursing the tiny baby crying from hunger. Pans clattered in one corner of the room, where a partition marked off a make-shift kitchen. His aunt was cooking for the family, filling the house with a pungent odour.

Rakesh walked to his room and sat on the bed. He looked at the poster of Ritwik Chowdhury on his wall — bat poised majestically after completing a century, the crowd cheering in the background.

He sighed. Nobody's believing him. I'm sure Toree will believe me. She always listens, he told himself.

"Heard someone's been looking for me?" Toree entered the room at that moment, like a blast of whirlwind. Five years older than Rakesh, she was already grown up, having taken care of her younger siblings while her mother lay in bed sick.

"Toree!" Rakesh hugged his sister like a little kid. To him, she smelled of comfort, like his second mother. Sometimes he wished she'd spend more time with him instead of hanging out with Roddur. He loved seeing his sister happy, but some times he envied her.

Just sometimes.

It's incredibly hard when Roddur comes on his bike, clad in a leather jacket, to pick Toree up. He looks like a handsome hero. Rakesh wished he was the one to sit behind Roddur instead of Toree, riding out to meet the world together.

He sighed. Stop daydreaming about Roddur. You know he's not gay. Roddur had made that clear the other day when he and his friends beat the hell out of Sushen for being too feminine.

He grinned at his sister. "Guess what? I met Ritwik at Creek Row yesterday. He was so nice. And he asked me to come meet him at Mohorkunja at 2 in the afternoon.

His smile faltered to see his sister's face light up for a moment before losing its glow. "That's great, Rakesh. Don't tell Baba. I'll manage him, you go have fun, okay? I have to go now." She ruffled Rakesh's hair playfully before walking out of the room.

Rakesh managed to hide his disappointment behind a smile.

____________________________________________________

Rakesh waited on a bench in Mohorkunja. He checked his watch. 2:00 exactly. He's busy. It's hard for him to find time to come here and meet me.

He shrugged it off. He tried to rehearse what he was going to say when Ritwik came.

Will I smile and wave? Or will that be too awkward?

In his mind, he revisited the previous evening, Ritwik standing outside Farida Didi's shop, looking at the display windows.

He turned towards Rakesh and smiled. "Isn't this beautiful?" His white teeth shined, his black eyes twinkled.

"Uhh, can you give me an autograph please?" Rakesh barely managed to get the words out, standing in awe in front of his hero.

Ritwik looked at his pockets and smiled apologetically. "I don't have a pen on me right now. What about you meet me at Mohorkunja at 2:00 in the afternoon and I'll give you an autograph and a picture?" He grinned his famous lopsided grin.

Rakesh waited and waited. The sun moved westward, spreading vermillion all over the western sky. Birds started flying back to their nests. He remembered Juneid's face, Toree's face, how disappointed they'd be to hear Ritwik didn't come.

Toree would look away and say nothing, thinking Rakesh was making up stories again. He couldn't bear to see Toree sad. With tear-hazed eyes, he looked up. Had he made up a story? He asked himself. But it was too real. He couldn't tell.

He hoped against hope to see Ritwik stride right up to him, smiling the same smile he wore when they met in Creek Row.

He'd quirk an eyebrow at Rakesh and grin. "Waiting for a hero?"