I know I owe you an apology for deleting the last post (and your comments with that). I won’t be astonished if you decide not to come on my blog anymore. I know it was rather insulting.
But please give an opportunity to defend myself. I was on the seventh heaven Monday before getting the call from mother.
It was a wonderful flight. The Spicejet flight left Calcutta sharp at 2:40 pm and soon I was sailing pass the clouds. Giant clouds, whiter than snow. More beautiful than the most beautiful thing on earth. Standing tall as huge snowy mountains, without giving a damn to us. Some were so huge and majestic that our pilot joked, “We were supposed to fly straight, but I fear Mount Everest is blocking our route.” He said the cloud is full of thunderbolts and we will be fried instantly if we dare enter it.
And the spicejet chicks were the best examples of Indian hotties. Man, it was my best flight till date. I will never forget it.
But every good thing should have an end. So when I came down from my heaven and entered Bangalore airport, all things went awry. For example, I didn’t get my bag for half-an-hour. But I didn’t panic, I didn’t even tried to find it out. Because I was not the only one affected. There were five six bongs too who had lost their baggage momentarily. I have full faith on the race. I know they will somehow find theirs, and thus will find mine too. I just have to stick with them. But that’s a different story, a very interesting one that I plan to write sometime.
But it was before the bag fiasco when I got a call from my mother. She is always anxious about her children. So much so that we have started taking her as granted. But not this time. Instead of asking how my journey was she thundered: Why you and your cronies are harassing that poor Sayantani?
“How do you know that? She complained to you or what? Anything is possible by that girl.”
“No…your sister told me. She in fact translated whatever you and your friends had to write about that poor girl. Weren’t you ashamed? How can you write such derogatory thing about a girl? Don’t you have a sister? What if somebody writes about her something like this?”
“I will probably kill him,” I was determined.
“Than why you have written all these things in your dirty blog?”
“Because first she is not my sister; second, I don’t have the moral courage to consider her my sister anytime before I am seventy and third, I am sure she doesn’t have any elder brother.”
“Shame on you.”
I knew she was losing the argument. So instead of logic, she was resorting to emotions. I was happy.
Soon she handed over the phone to my sister. She had just returned from the court. Instead of going for corporate law, she opted for criminal law so that she can hang, or at least, imprison for life all the men in this world.
She snatched the phone from mother. She didn’t shout. She never shouts. She is like phantom. Her voice is enough to chill your very bones.
“What have you written in your blog, you rascal.”
“That has got nothing to do with you. Mind your own business,” I hissed. Because I knew if I continue fighting for long and let her take control of the situation, I will be devastated. Offence is the best defence, they say.
“Of course it has got something to do with my job. You can be booked under penal code x, xx, xxx, xxxx, and xxx for sexual harassment, defamation, abusing freedom of speech and dishonoring a woman’s modesty.”
“You mean, if Sayantani complaints? But she is a good woman. She loves me as her own brother.”
“It’s not necessary that sayantani should complaint. Anybody can. On behalf of her. So to say on behalf of women as a whole. And you and that shuv will be spending fifteen years behind bars.”
“Just to add, Sayantani’s last comment was reason enough that she is considering to sue you.”
“oh…ok.” I hung up.
Then what. Soon after I entered the office, I logged on to blogger and deleted the post.
Sayantani doesn’t need to be my sister. I don’t want that too. She doesn’t need to be like my sister either. But if she has got even 1 percent of what my sister is made of, then…I would have to change my dress and address soon.
Indian jails are not that tech savvy. They don’t have internet connection. Just imagine, to save one post, you would have missed thousands of mine and shuv’s future posts.
Now tell me, would you still stay away from my blog?