Kaurav began to mentally tally the journey. It had started on January 3rd. They performed at the Bharat Rang Mahotsav in Delhi on the 5th. On the 7th, they were supposed to return to Howrah by the Poorva Express, but due to fog, the train was delayed by over ten hours. By the time they reached the station, it was past 3 AM. Somehow, they managed to hire a Chhota Hathi vehicle and reach the group, setting off again at 6 AM in a Scorpio with a few others for Bishnupur. After performing another play there, they returned to the group at 4 AM. That day, they had a show in Kolkata. The next morning, they flew to Guwahati, then performed in Malda. From Malda, they returned to Howrah with the same luggage, waited at the station for two hours for the train to Nagpur, and then took the Geetanjali Express. After that, they had shows in Pune, Bhubaneswar, Hyderabad, Patna, and other places, following this hectic schedule until today, February 16, 2014. Yesterday, February 15, a Saturday, they performed at Rabindra Kalakshetra in Bangalore. Today, at 6 PM, they had a show in Mysore, also known as Mahishuru, at Rangayana. This was their last out-of-town performance of the season. For everyone in the group, such extensive travel was a first. They all longed for home—their own beds, their own bathrooms, and home-cooked meals at their own dining tables. Their voyager spirits, tongues, and bodies were all yearning for the expected idleness.
Kaurav was never much of a wanderer. He didn’t feel particularly attached to home unless he was engrossed in some writing project. At those times, he didn’t want to leave his room at all. Everyone knew he was indifferent to household matters. Yet, he loved his grandmother and his late grandfather dearly. Both his parents were working professionals, so he had been raised by his grandparents since childhood. His parents felt like relatives. When he was about to enter fifth grade, his father once wanted to take him along, but Kaurav had started crying and calling his father ‘Dhritarashtra,’ causing such a scene that his grandmother couldn’t bear it anymore. His grandfather had tried to explain the greater claim a father had over his son than a grandmother, but in the end, even his father couldn’t quell Kaurav’s stubbornness. Because of this, his mother had to endure some criticism from her in-laws and others, but she didn’t pay much attention to it, as the neighbors of Kaurav’s grandparents believed.
They accepted the situation gracefully, and there wasn’t much gossip about it. Although not daily, Kaurav’s mother would come to stay with him four or five times a week for a few hours in the evening after her school ended. From Salt Lake to Baranagar, and from there to Ruby, to her husband’s address.
Kaurav stared absently out the window. Was he thinking about interpreting his dream? Who knows? A few days ago, he had watched a play at the International Theatre Festival of Kerala (ITFoK). The play, “C Sharp C Blunt,” directed by Sophia Stepp and performed by M.D. Pallavi, had left a profound impact on him. It told the story of Shilpa, a girl lost within a mobile app, reflecting the fears of a society gradually turning from human beings into consumers under patriarchal control. The performance was so arresting that when Pallavi, on behalf of the advanced version of the app, announced to the audience, “Your bank account details are stored with me,” the entire hall instinctively reached for their wallets.
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The views and opinions expressed in this novel are those of the characters and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of any agency, organization, or entity. Reader discretion is advised.