Release of Book 'Randomized: A Dozen Short Stories'!

The fourth collection of stories titled 'Randomized: A Dozen Short Stories' by Chinmay Chakravarty has been released on Amazon KDP just now! This collection, short stories in a lighter vein plus with mild satire like the previous collections, has been published in both the E-book and Paperback formats. The links are given below: 

International: Click Here!

India: Click Here! 

Other collections of short stories by the same author:

The Cheerless Chauffeur and Other Tales(2021)--Notion Press.

Funny and Fishy Tales(2022)--KDP.

The Weirdos(2022)--Ukiyoto Publishing.

All books of the author are available on Goodreads, apart from Amazon and other outlets! Have a look!

The VIP Brat: A Study in Contrast!

Here we’re talking about only two compartments inside a particular AC 2-Tier coach in a particular daily train under the Indian Railways that departs a particular originating station at around noontime and reaches the destination city early morning the next day. The train is popular because it is superfast and always on time. That fateful noon too, the train was ready for boarding about one hour before departure. We cut to the inside of that particular coach having those two compartments for our contrasting study. Two elderly couples were in a state of considerable distress. One of them, both technically senior citizens, had been allotted two upper berths and the husband was at his wits end how to proceed, because his wife was being taken for check-up after surgeries in both of her knees—she could hardly walk and her climbing up the berth was a sheer impossibility. The husband was also on the wrong side of the sixties, but he thought he could manage the climbing once he managed a lower berth at least for his wife. Luckily for him, he found a much younger but understanding passenger who was traveling alone and agreed to adjust his lower berth for the lady.

In the next compartment another elderly couple, the husband being a genuine senior citizen and his wife approaching the landmark fast, was sulking apart from being distressed since early morning when the Railway text message came informing them that they were allotted one lower berth and a side upper berth—the lower berth at the third compartment of the coach and the other berth at the end. The husband always hated that side upper berth even in his younger days, because he always found it inconvenient and awkward to climb up. In consultation with his wife he decided not to take the risk of climbing up that berth at this age, and they both agreed to share the lower berth for the night. However, the expected arrival of the TTE infused them with some hope, maybe he’d be able to do some adjustments.

Since the husband of the first couple had his second upper berth in the next compartment he came presently to deposit his backpack there, and glanced at the other passengers. Noticing the dejected yet surrendered second couple he approached them with the usual pleasantries. And eventually they shared their stressful stories of the Indian Railways trying to despatch them up, rather too early!

The husband of the second couple observed ruefully, “You know! The advanced computerized booking system doesn’t bother at all about our age or physical attributes, they allot the berths as they come. And the human fellas behind the system always express their helplessness! Some progress!”

“Still, perhaps the TTE can help if some berths can be adjusted! This lower berth opposite yours is not yet occupied.” the other senior citizen opined.

Whatever hope they had of some adjustments evaporated that very moment as two servile attendants escorted a young boy of about eighteen years of age and right royally installed him on the very lower berth they talked about.

Wife of the second couple made a cardinal mistake sometime after the spectacle. Acting upon her motherly instinct she addressed the boy sweetly, asking him if he could mind climbing up the side upper berth for the sake of people older than his parents, and only for the night. She got a snub with the most brutally shortened and abrupt ‘no’. Her husband murmured, “Don’t make such terrible mistakes, my dear lady! Do you think any sensible human being would ever agree to give up a lower berth that ensures a window seat for a godforsaken upper berth, that too on the sides?”

The TTE did come eventually. As expected, he expressed his total helplessness to help against the wishes of the master computers. He made no promise of adjustments as he moved on to check the other berth-takers.

For the rest of afternoon and the evening Railway staff and uniformed catering pros kept on coming to the boy asking him about his comfort and entertaining him with his food preferences. At every major station halt multiple food packets arrived for him, and occasionally he brought up a pal from somewhere to share the food as both of them devoured in blissful and merry oblivion.

The attendants came again to make sure he sleeps well and in full comfort for the night. Much earlier than that everybody in the coach knew he was the son of some high-ranking railway officer.

The VIP brat lay down full stretch and luxuriously on the berth surfing his mobile phone even as the senior citizen of the first couple left his handicapped wife behind and laboriously climbed up to the upper berth above the brat. While the second couple moaned and groaned throughout the night as they tried to accommodate themselves in reverse positions on the single lower berth and struggled to find their respective leg and torso spaces. In one of his countless toss-n-turns the husband made what he thought a devastating comment, “No! human fellas behind the computerized booking system are not as helpless against their master computers as we thought! Human intervention is still possible and exists for every single train in the country! However, this intervention works only for the VIPs or the VVIPs or their respective brats! No wonder, at what ease the other VIP brats drive their dads’ imported SUVs and keep on mowing down, maiming and killing useless commoners like us at will!” 

The Travails of a Nonentity: In the Top Boss’s Chamber!

 

First thing in that nondescript morning, sometime in the late 1980s, as I entered my office room there was a letter from home waiting for me on the desk. I tore open the Indian inland letter eagerly. There’d been no news from my village home in more than a fortnight which was not normal, because my mother used to write me a letter every week, unfailingly. I got worried as I read through: my father had taken ill and it was to be decided if he needed to be taken to a hospital in the nearest city depending on the treating doctor’s advice. My mother wrote that she’d inform me at the earliest, and since that didn’t happen, I got restless, fearing the worst, knowing that even if the worst had indeed happened it was going to take days to inform me, because I had no direct telephone number either in office or at home or at any friend’s or at any neighbor’s place, they could possibly ring up from a post office. Apart from the hassles of various office extension numbers to reach me and the language problem it took a one-hour bicycle ride from my home to reach a post office that had those trunk-call lines.

There was a telephone in the village school principal’s home and I always thought of that as an emergency number, my home within a mile of the school and the principal being a good family friend. I desperately wanted to ring up that number immediately, somehow, and get to know what could be happening there with my family people. But that effort required an STD connection! Hell! Those days STD facility was extremely limited; only the most powerful bureaucrats or the most influential of the citizens could have that facility in their landlines. I knew, however, that the top boss of the organization I worked for had that facility in his telephone. But how to access it? I was not that kind of an officer having ways with all the bosses. But I wanted a way out, immediately! I couldn’t afford to wait till late evening for a visit to the post office, hoping to get connected through a trunk-call, always so delicate and so full of statics, testing the power of your vocal chords.

I asked the elderly and experienced office assistant as to what could possibly be done. He advised me to speak to the boss’s PS, telling me that the top boss was a nice person and would never refuse to help. Accordingly, I rang up the PS explaining the emergency. The friendly lady asked me to come in the lunch hour when the top boss was normally relaxed and would not mind letting me use his telephone. I thanked her and as there were still three hours to go for the lunch break, I tried hard to concentrate on the files on my desk and do some work.

Even before the wailing siren, signaling the lunch break, could descend to its lowest octave, I was out of my room heading toward the main admin block. I pushed the revolving glass doors to peep into the PS’s room. The lady officer was just about to open her tiffin box, set up nicely on her table.

“Please go in! Sir is there!” she said the moment she saw me.

I approached the heavy wooden door on my right, tentatively. With the tension of an impending uncertainty I managed to knock on the door, a feeble effort. Then, mastering up all my dare, I pushed the door in, uttering in a shaking tone, “May I come in, Sir?”

The middle-aged man with thick eyebrows who seemed to be sitting miles away from me or the door I opened in a high-back revolving chair housed in a huge rectangular chamber looked up at me, a little uncertainly. That was the first time I ventured entering the chamber of the top boss: not that I never met him, I did attend meetings presided over by him on many occasions held in the office auditorium.  

“Oh! Mr. Saikia! Please do come in!’ he welcomed me in, looking briefly up at me over the bundle of papers he was apparently setting in order. Oh! He knows me or rather recognizes me! I thought, instantly energized with something like a new lease of life, and definitely a lot of courage and hope.

The top boss turned his attention again to the papers as I did not count the steps up to his spacious mahogany desk and finally stood right before him.

His little shrouded eyes, over the rim of his high-powered specs, appraised me that seemed like an eternity to me.

“So, Mr. Saikia! What brings you here?” said he, again back to examining the papers through his glasses.

“Sir! It is an emergency!” I briefly explained my situation. “I really need to call up my village, sir! Sir, if you can allow me too…I’ll take only two minutes!”

“Okay! But why are you standing? Please take a seat!” he finished putting the papers neatly away on his right where a stack of in-files was waiting for his generous signatures, took off his specs, set it on the table and got up. He headed toward the attached restroom just behind his desk, entered and spent a very long time in there. Maybe, freshening up for his lunch! But he could’ve just told me to wait or excused himself for a moment! I thought, this time a bit disapprovingly, if that kind of behavior were permissible at all.

I stared greedily at the black instrument lying innocently there alongside a few white intercom instruments and felt like pulling that toward me, desperately wanting to hear that sweet special dial tone that could connect me instantly to my people.

Finally he came out and resumed his seat.

“See, Mr. Saikia! Such facilities are very expensive and so are given only for the most urgent official matters! You know, we have to account for the monthly bills, justifying every single call made using the facility!” he leaned back on his chair as a peon entered the chamber and began setting plates, spoons, forks and bowls on the glass-top table surrounded by a sofa set at the farthest corner of the chamber.

“But, please sir! It’s for only a minute…!” I mumbled incoherently, not at all expecting such an elaborate discourse on office expenses.

“No! no! Mr. Saikia! Don’t get me wrong! I’m not denying you the favor!” he continued as he started getting up from his chair, “we just have to do it in the right way, right? So, please go to the administrative officer, write out an application explaining your issue and submit it to him. Signed, of course. The application will then come to me, and rest assured, I’ll sanction it immediately! You’ll surely get a call from my PS! Okay?” he started marching to the cozy corner for his lunch.

I stood up like a perfect idiot. But indignation surged inside me as I headed for the heavy wooden door. I began cursing him, all safe and sound within my nondescript soul: to hell with your rules and justifications! Why! Had an officer, maybe just two ranks above me, come into the chamber at that moment for the same favor, s/he would just have picked up the phone, dialed and talked to his/her heart’s content, perhaps without even having to request the top boss for the favor! Damn it all! I maybe a nonentity strictly in the official way, but I’m no throwaway as a person! I can still have what my modest soul wants! Yes! I’ll have it my way!

I stormed out of the block, not at all bothering to report to the PS about what happened, and decided to visit the post office early, hoping for the best.

The Datas of Petty Things!

Don’t confuse the ‘data’ in its statistical implications, here it means ‘giver’ (as per some Indian languages) or rather a ‘service provider’—the latter being the most suitable one for our purpose. Because this story refers to a DTH service provider; a service provider that is believed to have legendary origins as far as its services in a range of arenas is concerned. And this story is as told to me by a friend, and I’ve still kept it in first person, meaning him, the narrator.

                                                                                   *

One fine morning as I switched on my modest television set I got setup for an unpleasant surprise, literally out of the blue! The message from the service provider, the Dataslay, got fixated at the baseline of the screen, telling me that my monthly charges of such and such amount are due in four days. Why! I paid an amount much higher than the monthly charges less than a month back, and as per the text message, sent by the service provider to my mobile phone immediately after the payment, my due date was still about twenty days away.

 

I thought it was a mistake which is likely to be rectified in the next two or three days, definitely before the incorrect due date. This thought was in respect of the legendary DATAs who, I persisted, couldn’t possibly cheat an insignificant but regularly-paying customer over an utterly insignificant amount of about 200 rupees. But I was dreadfully wrong.

 

The baseline notification refused to budge, and on the day before the recharge date to prevent deactivation I had to ring up the Dataslay Helpline. I told the lady executive my peculiar problem. To my horror, she didn’t know anything, in all her articulated innocence! I couldn’t believe this: she must be having my account right before her on the computer screen with all the details and the billing statements for months or even years stored there! I repeated my issue telling her to explain how on earth my monthly charges could suddenly increase by about 200 bucks without any new subscribed channels or packages or anything from my side in the last few months. But she persisted with her innocence.

 

She said they were very sorry for the inconvenience thus caused and would do everything possible so that my account doesn’t get deactivated. She kept on asking me what was the package or the extra channels I subscribed to which I told her to check on my account right before her. But she preferred to ignore it. And then she not only did offer an immediate solution but implemented it in an instant without giving me any time to consider it: that my account is re-subscribed with the economical basic package; that my monthly charges become less than the earlier regular amount as, I understood later, all of my additionally subscribed channels have disappeared; and that my new recharge date is in the coming two days.

 

I got as brutally surprised as I was horrified to watch the new notifications on my TV screen. The same evening I sent them an email mentioning all the details and even copy-pasting their previous text message after the payment I made last. The reply mail informed me that I’d be contacted within the next twenty-four hours. At around noontime next day, one male executive contacted me, again asking for the details. Dear me! What details they want now! I just told him that I needed an explanation as to how my monthly charges inexplicably    increased by 200 rupees. At last showing some concern he asked for a few minutes, assuring me that he’d get back soon.

 

However, hours later a lady executive called me, again asking me for the details. As I began by saying she should be the best placed to know she cut the line. In the following three hours there were two miscalls—I noticed that the calls were of extreme short duration so that, perhaps, I didn’t have the time to answer. Exasperated now, I embarked upon a frantic internet search for the top managers of Dataslay and found one top manager whose email address was available. I sent a mail detailing everything about the issue, including the response received so far.

 

Yet nothing happened. Except for me finding another two miscalls the next day, again of extreme short duration. In the evening I found another email asking me to give them an alternative mobile number as if they were so very pained and pissed at not being able to contact me. I decided to ignore that, somewhat resigned to fate now.

 

In the meantime the screen baseline kept on warning me about the impending deactivation if I failed to recharge. I decided to ignore, again. And the DTH connection was indeed deactivated the next day. Holy shit! I couldn’t believe that such a trade giant could be so concerned about earning or losing a meagre 200 bucks. I also had no information that the big giant is in any sort of a decapitating financial crisis. Okay, I decided, let them have my 200 bucks and get the richest among all giants existing. But, of course, I do retain my power of depriving them of one customer, permanently. And I do have my principles too, irrespective of the money involved. Yes, I am not going to recharge and will let the account die an unnatural death while looking for a new service provider of which there is no dearth. Well, I don’t mind for my loss. God has given me enough power still to help the desperately needy or the greedy with those small amounts, for a limited period, of course.

*

My friend ends the story there. What do you think of it? Personally speaking, I found it utterly unbelievable, considering such desperation from one of the top giants nearly implausible. What about the poor then who struggle for less than 200 bucks for a daily existence?

Ukiyoto Literary Awards-2022: Proud Moments for This Writer!

The India division of the Canada-based Ukiyoto Publishing, a traditional publisher always committed to quality content and finding talented new authors across the globe, has given away the Literary Awards-Q2 of 2022 in various categories of fiction and non-fiction in Kolkata on 24^th July. As per Ukiyoto India announcement at the event around 1500 applications were received from various parts and various regional languages of India out of which around 100 were selected for the different awards, based on the parameters of selection adopted by their panel of judges.

 

This writer is very proud of finding himself among the awardees. His book of humorous short stories titled ‘The Cheerless Chauffeur and Other Tales’ has earned him the prestigious ‘Emerging Author of the Year—Fiction’ in the Literary Awards-2022 event which was organized as a part of Ukiyoto’s Kolkata Chapter at Vivanta by Taj. Solstice, the marketing wing of Ukiyoto India, has displayed all the books of the awardee authors at the venue during the full-day highly attended event. The vibrant presence of several authors of the young generation has, in a way, vindicated the commitment of Ukiyoto to find new and newer talented writers across India, apart from its quest in various other countries of the world too. The major awards include ‘The Author of the Year in Fiction and non-Fiction’, ‘The Best 30 books to look out for in 2022’, ‘The Poet of the Year’ and many other categories.

 

Earlier on the evening of 23^rd of July 2022, as a part of its Solstice and the Kolkata Chapter, Ukiyoto had launched its book ‘Philo’s Prodigy Season 1’ at the city’s iconic College Street Coffee House. This anthology containing 11 stories of mystery/suspense that is specially meant to be pitched for films/web series/OTT productions is the first of its kind to be undertaken by the publishers. Symbolically, the event was held at the Boi Chitra Art Gallery (Photography and book museum-store) at the Coffee House. Most of the contributing writers for the anthology including this writer were present there and enthusiastically took part in the book-reading sessions. A few other authors had also released their books published by Ukiyoto.

You can order copies of this unique anthology 'Philo's Prodigy Season 1' from the following:

Ukiyoto  

Amazon 

(Photo Courtesy: Ukiyoto Publishing) 

Since 1947 when Albert Hall was named Coffee House
writers/authors/artistes/intellectuals always have their 
meets/addas at this venue, particularly
on Saturday evenings.

A Politician And A Pugilist!

The spectre of being powerless scares him stiff. He has been winning the elections in that little state of the Indian republic last four consecutive times and has been a minister on different occasions enjoying immense bouts of power. Thanks to his power he has made millions of bucks and properties across the state. He has created pockets of influence at every level of government and administration. And, he thinks fondly, the luxuries and comforts associated with power and position are just too lucrative. How could he even think of foregoing all that?

Not possible at all, but this election was different. The opposition brought in the issue of corruption and campaigned vigorously asking people to end the long period of misrule. The fools, he growls to himself, they fell for it…as if the new rulers would usher in an era of historic honesty! Why, anybody who becomes a people’s representative must first ensure his/her life-long safety and security—resorting to all means of doing it, he muses furiously. He is a seasoned politician, so he knows. Of course, this time he sensed the clamour for change and prepared accordingly.

Everything possible under the sun was done. He arranged huge quantities of money to be distributed to the voters—fools, he insists—of his constituency. However, he was unlucky on one occasion; his truckload of money was seized by the police. Somehow he managed to cover it up, although not before a lot of negative publicity. Then he tried his best to play on the religious sentiments of the people. What do the experts call it…polarisation…huh? Yes, he thought he polarised very effectively; but something odd happened in the last days of campaign neutralising all his gains. Somehow the fools saw through the façade…and stood united! And then the fools voted in unprecedented numbers on the polling day…for what…well, for change, they said. Those were ominous portents for the ruling party and he started fearing a state of powerlessness. And since then, he has been traumatised by an image…the image of a pugilist. He is not sure why, his conscience never being a good guide.

Reports are coming in after the second round of counting. He is trailing by several thousands. This may change after two more rounds, he assures himself with lot of optimism. He is sitting at his official residence with family and few of his followers. He decided against going to the party office. If it’s bound to be humiliation…let it not be in public, he reasons.

He tries on focus on that disturbing image—a pugilist alright, but the face is not clear. He cheated on others and resorted to unfair means at every stage of his life—right from his school days. His father was an influential party worker and a help in all his dealings. Maybe by inheritance he was always the leader type and controlled student and school matters often amounting to intimidation or even fisticuffs. At college he always managed to rig the elections in his favour and siphon off a major part of the union money to his pockets. He copied profusely and freely in all the examinations he appeared for. There were so many mates in school and college days he eventually lost track of. Now one face is trying hard to intrude his vision repeatedly. Is this the real identity of the pugilist?

There was a simple village boy in his junior college days. The simpleton devoted a lot of time to bodybuilding. ‘Yes’, he remembers now, ‘the boy deserved a place in the college team, but had to be a fee for the favour. Despite my repeated warnings he failed to oblige, so I rid him out of the team’. Memory is flowing now. ‘Then, there was that eve teasing incident in the campus… Oh my God, the hard, cruel punch he landed on my face! …How could I ever forget that?’ He got the boy out of the hostel through his influence. After a few years he heard that the boy struggled very hard, went to a different college and finally found a place in the district boxing team. That was the last he knew of the pugilist.

The spectre is becoming real now. There is a collective heavy sigh of total despondency from his followers. Reports are coming in after the fourth round of counting. He is trailing his nearest rival by about a hundred thousand votes. His fate is sealed; there can be no comeback now. Suddenly he finds himself in the boxing ring. The pugilist is charging at him, lifts him up in the air, the strong arms circle him around victoriously and throws him out of the ring… 

The Fiefdoms And The Chieftains!

He was right royally amused by what happened—not only by the reactions, but more by the deep-rooted feeling of a rather inexplicable insecurity embedded in them.

He was new to the city and was trying to gather as much information as possible about the local traditions, customs, linguistic-cultural characteristics and other significant happenings. That day while rummaging through the newspapers, he came to know about an important event taking place in the city. Deciding not to miss it he told his assistant to find out how his office could participate in the proceedings.

The assistant immediately opined that Mr B…was very well known to the concerned organizers and so that person should be the right channel to go through. He knew Mr B… well enough to understand that he was one of the integral parts of the office. “Okay…” he said, “Tell him to arrange.”

After some time, Mr B…called him.

“Hello sir…I came to know you wanted to participate in the event. I…”

“Oh yes! Please arrange it then.”

“…I am very well known to all of the organizers. They depend on me for everything…”

“Good. Then there is no problem at all. Please make the arrangements.”

“…For years I have been the only intermediary between this office and them. Once I tell them they never fail us…”

He decided to listen through. He understood exactly what that person desired of him—that he should have contacted Mr B…directly and first-hand for that job. Why go through the assistant…why not he was wise enough to realize that! And of course…eventually that particular affair proved to be a tremendous success.

Within a short time in the office he could identify quite a few self-styled ‘influential’ representatives of the office for the outside world. He willingly recognized their ‘influence’ so that work went on smoothly and in a coordinated way. Anyway, he was not a local and being new with hardly any personal contacts he had no other options. Not that he did not try a ‘direct approach’ and to build new work relationships. In fact, he developed quite a few satisfying ones and wanted to expand on that by directing other co-workers to open a new directory enlisting all important personalities of the city in all fields of activities with their contact information. That never happened.

He knew exactly why. Mr A…was the most important ingredient of the office dealing almost daily with all happenings in the city that essentially involved key people in power. He was so obsessed with his ‘influence’ that he never gave up anything to others, monopolised all tasks and stuck to these even if he failed to complete some on time. His ‘contacts’ were fiercely guarded and he commanded most of the office people who owed unconditional allegiance to him for their sustenance. Therefore, thanks to the influential As or Bs or Cs that particular assignment never managed to see the light of day. Initially, he himself did try to get some key contact information from Mr A…and realized his mistake as on some excuse or other the required information was never given.

He did not regret what he confronted; neither did it impair his work. In fact this experience was not at all new to him. He was never a local in any place in his life. In his childhood days his family moved from town to town, because his father was employed by the government and transfers were regular. Being a local one could pursue something and prosper eventually by virtue of the continuity and the authenticity of ‘belonging’. For him his acquired expertise in a certain activity in a certain place ended the moment he was out and gone. So often he analysed it himself, ‘If you are not a local, you miss out on many things—nobody takes you seriously enough to continue with you. And if you do not speak the local language then it is the worst. You are fated to remain a stranger even after spending most part of your career there.’

It was the flip side of this phenomenon that never failed to amuse him. Irrespective of the power or limelight or prosperity or monopoly they continue to enjoy the locals suffered from a constant sense of insecurity. They would compulsively want to hold on to their ‘fiefdoms’ eternally lest someone ‘worthy or superior’ from the outside world came in and robbed them out of their ‘assured’ existence. ‘They never try to advise you too much; they never try to help you too much; they never try to introduce you to important circles too much; at times they try to shut you off completely fearing you have already attained some attention. All this due to their embedded sense of insecurity,’ he mused so often.

At times he felt furious, at times frustrated and at times he felt almost helpless. However, there was always a way out. And, despite all the power blocks one could still succeed in one’s pursuit, he told himself. It was more of amusement than regrets, he decided.