22 TUNNELS

Where do I begin? Okay. I am going to take you lovely folks for a nice ride through 22 Railway Tunnels. This is my story.

ME

I am Krishhna Khanna, 34 years, Male, Single. Recently I added an extra “h” to my name. I do not smoke or drink alcohol thanks to my Dad who did enough of that to last out three generations.

I may sip some Champagne or sparkling White Wine, chilled to 4 deg C, should you insist and offer me some. I maintain a super well stocked Bar at my home with the finest alcohol money can buy. I mix excellent cocktails. You may also call me a Desi Metro sexual.

I am a Mumbai based Industrial Designer. Actually I am a Re-Designer, Re-processor, Modifier techno geek. I pick on existing products, reshape them or make them more saleable. I redesign existing processes, make them more economical to produce stuff and help my clients get rid of manpower. This is easier than designing things from scratch.

Most of this is I learned to do myself, despite the screwed up education system and my screwed up attitude to education through my student life.

I did not allow the education system to alter the genetic knowledge embedded in my genes through millions of years of evolution. I retained my individuality through a natural process, thanks to the freedom afforded to me by my parents when I was growing up.

I am also good at Supply Chain Management Systems and Finance /Banking Security Systems. Long long ago I stole money hacking into bank accounts to finance my studies at Harvard Business School. It was a six weeks course in Entrepreneurship and Business Processes. I needed Harvard to ramp up my Business Card because I went to a third rate Engineering College and a much worse Business School here in India.

Those days internet online banking was new so stealing was not an issue for robbers like me. Suffice to say I have since returned that money to the account I stole from, belonging to an old rich useless widow living in Coimbatore. Stealing online was entirely a need based thing so I never suffered from any guilt pangs. I therefore knew what needed to be done to secure such systems.

Part of my success lies in creating illusions and making clients believe in my ideas, when I have no idea myself if that idea will actually work. That part about illusions goes back to my experiments with Magic when in school. I was always EXPERIMENTING.

I generally charge little fees for the AA’s (Alterations and Additions) but take a royalty for every item shipped out from the assembly lines.

I have come reasonably good so far. I drive a Honda Civic car, have a Design Center at Bandra Reclamation overlooking the new Bandra Worli Sea Link Bridge. My office is large enough to house 20 odd Engineers but I am the only one working here because I am paranoid about sharing my secrets with other smart guys.

Don’t get me wrong, I am single yes. I love women and was in a live in relationship for 3 years. Just that I was just too damn busy with my work, hobbies n leisure time. I was not ready to settle down yet. Besides I had yet to meet a woman who could handle my eccentricities.

MARIA

I have just two employees, Maria, 38, my most efficient Secretary, Manager, Adviser, Moderator, balancer, she is everything to me. She lives in Bandra with her husband and two kids. She need come to the Office only when I need her else she works equally well remotely from her home. She has a way of keeping tabs on my movements, manages my clients, appointments, schedules, taxes, billing, travel, lawyers, contracts, everything. Without Maria my Business Management side will collapse. Sometimes she joins me to handle difficult client negotiations. She kind of balances off my eccentricities, which I carry to these meetings.

25th Dec I get invited to her home for Dinner. I keep that day free for her year on year.

She is a no nonsense strict Catholic lady, she is TOTAL. How she has lasted out with me is a mystery. She took a lot of shit from me, not directed at her, but my work. I vented my anger and frustration at failures so that she could listen. I had no one else to do that.

I once asked her “Maria, I don’t know how you tolerate me.” It was a left handed apology for my anger that she had to listen to.

She responded “Do you want me to go?”

I shivered and walked away.

JABBAR

The other employee I have is Jabbar Abbas, 45, my Driver, garrulous, crooked, street smart, paan chewing clever guy. He is much more than a driver to me. He manages my 3 BHK home by the sea at Malad, takes care of my mundane requirements, keeps a sharp eye on my activities and is always dishing out Wisdom from his Urdu books. Days when I am bored I call him over for a drink to keep me company over a game of Teen Patti. I let him win. He could finish a bottle of Vijay Mallya Rum in one sitting. Vijay is my closet hero.

Jabbar is a card sharp and I learned how to read people’s mind from him.

He has a way of de stressing me completely with his non stop jabbering. He is available to me 24x7 as is Maria.

Jabber Bhai feels I need not work no more as I was earning enough money from Royalties and feared a burn out with my crazy schedule.

I have memberships of 3 Golf clubs, 2 other clubs, a Gym and a tight friend circle. Thanks to my Indian Navy Dad, I was a good single handicap golfer and a shark on the betting circles. Besides I did not play Golf. I played “The Inner Game of Golf.”, thanks to Ashok Mankad, ex test cricketer who taught me how.

I rarely partied. My social circle revolved around the Golf Course on week ends and the parties that followed the tourney days. On the move I always carry my Ping Golf set. Trust me, Golf has done little for my Business. I just love this game for the utter feel of freedom of walking through 30 acres of beautifully landscaped Golf Courses. One round of 18 holes is akin to real life success and failures. For me Golf is a deeply satisfying and spiritual. I never cheated on the Golf Course, though I psyched out my rivals in heavy betting games. I rarely betted on horses, though I love race horses, coz I had no control over the horse. Horses are awesome people!

In Golf, I had total control. Give and take on the betting turn over was 10 k to 20 k, one round of 18 holes. Most times I won. I had my off days too.

Jabbar does not make conversation, instead he likes to get into a verbal duel with me. Sorta battle of wits.

I never won an argument against him, more so just to shut him up. I had to remind him often to stop behaving like he be my Baap to which he responded “Kahee ka Baap, Khudaa bolo Khudaa!” To some extent that was true. He was a Khudaa to me. He his wife and kids were family to me. We are that close!

Jabbar got his Wisdom living in the slums of Mumbai for 30 years, making money through petty crimes like pick pocketing, fencing, pimping and stealing. He was jailed often and had dreams of becoming a Don, the Don of Mumbai.

Most regretfully he met an NGO lady in the jail who turned him around away from a life in crime. If he had continued I have no doubts in my mind he be the Indian Don Corleone, The Godfather. He made his choice, as I was to, a few years later coz of the 22 Tunnels.

He decided to buy a taxi to start a new life with a lovely wife Aabidaa, also an ex jail bird.

The thing is, I love crooks.

I met Jabbar when he was driving me to the airport in his beat up taxi. We got caught in a traffic jam coz of heavy rains. That is how we got talking the next 6 hours. I missed my flight but I found Jabbar. I told him he had a job with me that will earn him 3 times more than driving his beat up cab. He accepted and has been with me last 3 years and 13 days, through three cars, three girl friends, 3 monsoons. 3 and 13 was his lucky number.
3+1+3=7 was his equation. You don’t need to be a Rocket Scientist to understand Jabbar.

Honda Civic was his choice while I was looking at the newly launched VX 6.

He said “Raajaa ki gaddi khareedo, yeh VX ko traffic signal pe bhikaari thookenge!”

That did it. I just could not tolerate visualizing anyone spitting on my new car.

One thing. Jadder’s loyalty to me exceeded 100%, but not for free. His logic was

“Nothing comes for free. Khudaa bhi paisa letaa hai, dharti pe.”

True Tirupathi, Golden Temple, Dargaas.

Ok thus far I had done fine but I was still living a life just above the poverty line. No BMWs, Mercs, Audis, no First Class Air travel nor did I own a Yatch or a Ferrari or my own Plane. I did not own a bungalow by the sea, nor could I socialize with the rich and famous at Monte Carlo or the French Riviera.

I had to move on to the next level.

THE NEXT LEVEL

To move on to the next level, I had studied the design and processes of a Multi Billion Dollar Indian Multinational Company based at Pune. I had spent 2 years visiting their plants, researching and redesigning their assembly lines and products. Finally I had everything right, or so I thought….

Maria had neatly typed out detailed reports, charts, the works. She couriered 20 copies of the reports to Pune.

I asked her what were our chances of signing the deal. No answer.

Using my redesigned processes at a relatively nominal cost, the Pune Company could ramp up production by a few Billions over the next 5 years, reduce the workforce and have smarter end products that had the potential to destroy the competition. For good measure they would also get a Green label for environmentally friendly products which entitled them for tax breaks. That meant some Billions for me too.



THE PRESENTATION TO THE MULTINATIONAL BOARD OF DIRECTORS

They liked what I had done and 2 weeks later I was on a flight to Pune. Jabbar had prayed hard for me, that way he would get ramped up the money ladder too.

I asked Maria to accompany me but she had some PTA meeting. For Maria family was top priority and yes Sunday Church.

25th December I was invited to her home for thanksgiving dinner with her family. I made sure I kept that day free for her year on year.

I arrived Pune quite early. I was received by a young HR guy all suited and booted. I was wearing my Jeans and Tee shirt. He took care of my luggage and trolley and escorted me to a stunner of Mercedes Benz C Class car. Man what a ride to my hotel! Actually there was no hotel. I was allotted a VIP suite in the Company Guest House aptly named “Karma”. The approach road to Karma were lined with beautiful palm trees on both sides. The guy who built this company from scratch was a Karmayogi, aged 75 but razor sharp and fit as a fiddle.

I quickly changed to my self redesigned Armani business suit. Six Heads of Dept, all Directors (including a stern looking lady) and the Chairman were in the conference room waiting for me, along with 20 other smart young tech brains. These 20 were slaves to the 6 Directors.

I was late.

The Chairman opened the meeting, introduced me and appreciated the work I had done. He wrapped up his intro in just 2 minutes and called me to make the presentation.

My opening line was “Gentlemen and Madam …I do not make Power Point presentations because I don’t know how.”

There were just two smiles, rest were expressionless. Wrong choice of words Krishh.

“You have my project papers and recommendations and I will start from Page One.”

I talked passionately about the re design processes, products and my philosophy of how these processes will remarkably change the ways of their existing processes at a small cost, I had figures of cost benefit ratios, the bar charts of year on year increase in profitability. I proved to them that the re designed products had the potential to destroy the competition should they move fast.

For good measure I said that I had rejected offers from Multi Global Companies abroad and come here because I am a Patriot first, given that my late Dad and step Dad had served the Indian Armed Forces and were both Gallantry Award winners! The Chairman nodded his head in appreciation and clapped, so did the 25 others except the Lady.

Honestly I had no such offers from Companies abroad. WTF, how will they know?

I threw plenty of Harvard MBA jargon at them and backed them up with some illusionary figures. My body language was a mixture of a business presenter and a stage actor.

Ever so often I looked into the eyes of those Directors, all nodded or smiled, except the Lady. The Chairman appeared to me the most enthusiastic, he was a dead give away.
The Lady who was the Director Finance, was like a sphinx, expressionless. I could not penetrate her mind no matter how hard I tried.

I asked for a break after and an hour and 30 minutes which was granted by the Chairman.

I had to find a way to charm this old woman, else there was no hope in hell for me to sign this Dream Deal.

During the break I asked for coconut water (Naariyal Paani) which I was sure would not be available, but they offered to get that ASAP. Instead I said no problem and asked for fresh lime, water with plenty of ice and rock salt. Asking for Coconut water was a deliberate ploy.

I homed on to the stubborn Lady and smiled at her. No reaction. She was dressed in a starched white saree like an elderly mother, no frills no jewellery, much like Indira Gandhi. There was a pregnant silence which she broke by asking me an out of the box question about what I did during my leisure hours.

I lied and said “ I paint.” She smiled. Actually that was a partial lie, I used to paint a lot in school. From there on I threw some garbage about the Museum of Fine Arts, Vincent Van Gogh, Leonardo de Vinci. I also showed off my knowledge of Raja Ravi Verma, Jatin Das and a few others. She just sorta replied with “Hmm…hmmm…hmmmm…”
No, I had failed to break through her steel façade. Women! But then, I was young she had experience!

Break over we returned to the conference room.

Over the next 20 minutes I wrapped up the presentation and was ready for the Q&A’s.
I had answers to most of their questions. Those I did not answer, I suggested their R&D could find the answers. The 20 miscellaneous Techno geeks had an assignment now and would work free for me.

I was waiting for the Lady to ask. She did not… and that made me queasy.

The Chairman walked over to me patted me on my back summed up the meeting with the usual clichéd kind words. The Board would discuss my Project after I left and get back to me the next morning.

It was the known fact that the Lady had the ears of the Chairman and nothing would move without her approval, to hell with the 5 other Directors who I knew would vote for me, ignoramuses that they were.

I returned to the Guest House, and slept like a log. A little before midnight, I was woken up by the young HR guy, who escorted me to the Pune Railway Station.

Ominously there was no Mercedes but an old Honda City for the ride to the Railway Station….I was nervous.

I boarded the Midnight Express at the Pune Railway Station.


22 TUNNELS

I opened my bags pulled out a sweater, a book and settled down comfortably. The air-conditioning was good. Outside it had begun to drizzle. Yes this was SW monsoons. The compartment though had few people. The gentle noise of the rails put me to sleep.

My cell rang. It was Jabbar. “Janaab kaise thee meeting?” I replied “Jabbar Bhai kuch pataa nahi. Ek buddhi kudi hai, usko pataane ki koshish ki, lekin ... Shaayad kaam nahi hoga”.

His utterly useless response was “Fikar kis baat ki…Allah ki marji ho toh woh aurat kuch nahi bigaad sakti .”

Auraats = to bigaaad Men, screw their happiness. I mean I can’t prove this algebraically but there is an equation here.

I slept off till the train arrived at Khandala.

At first it was a smell, then the scent of a woman struck and flared my nostrils. I opened my eyes …there she stood a tall 5 ft 8 inch woman, dressed in black upto her knees, her legs were well shaped and long. She took her seat opposite me. I was struck by her ethereal beauty. I had a hard time taking my eyes off her, till she looked me straight in my eyes. I shifted and picked up the book…Chetan Bhagat’s 2 States.

I bent my neck down 30 degrees to read instead I got to see her loooong beautiful legs. She had kicked off her shoes. Her feet were very sexy, BTW I have a fetish for feet. I looked up to her and gave her a weak smile. The train started to run slowly. It had begun to rain outside. She watched the streaks of lightning out of the window. That gave me enough time to see her profile and the rest of her upper body. Firm breasts, pouting lips, beautifully manicured long fingers and equally long nails. No make up, no nail polish just pure joy to behold.

She turned her head and I said “ Hello I am Krishh..”

She shook my hands said “Swapna”…awesome skin2skin contact. Was better than B2B. I let go her hand and started to make some conversation….the routine stuff.

Insanity had started to rule for Krishh.

“What do you do?” she asked.

“Oh I am an Industrial Designer, an agent of change.”

Her voice turned husky and she repeated “An agent of change, hmmm..interesting. What do you change?”

The train entered the first tunnel. The noise was deafening. For no apparent reason the lights dimmed in the compartment. The train exited the tunnel and the lights came on bright.

“I redesign exiting processes and products for my clients that helps them boost up their profits and the products sell better. Some processes help in reducing manpower…”

She had this irritating way of repeating my words “Reducing manpower…hmmm..how many people have lost their jobs with your redesigns n reprocesses?”

“May be a few hundred, I don’t really know and I don’t care!”

She raised her voice and repeated “You don’t know and you don’t care? What do you care about anyway?”

This conversation was going nowhere. The train now barreled through tunnel No 2.
Same phenomena. Lights go dim.

“Well I care about my client’s bottom line, their products, my money. The public get better products too. The stock market moves North for their companies so what’s the issue here? I am returning from Pune, just done a Presentation for a large Company, that will earn them and me Billions over the next 5 years.”

“Hmmmm…”

I hate it when women “Hmm…”

I explained “Regretfully a Lady, the Director Finance, may kill my project.”

She said “Oh Ms Moolgoankar…don’t worry about her.”

I was stunned “How do you know her name? I did not say what company that was either”

“You told me…”

“WTF…I DID NOT!”, I hissed.

“Listen Krishh, if you are an agent of change then I am an agent of transformation!”, whatever that meant.

The train barreled through tunnel # 4 with a deafening roar. The lights went out. I was scared…..who is this woman? This is some god damn psycho phenomena of the third kind for which I was not ready!

I felt the smell of her grow stronger, I could feel her, she then dug her nails into my fore arms pulled her hands down.

I shouted in pain. The train exited the tunnel and I could see 4 lines oozing blood in each arm.

“Hey Woman, why did you do this?” I screamed at her.

The train slowed down and eventually moved the opposite way!!!

While moving backwards, magically the wounds began to heal and when the train exited the same tunnel there was no evidence of any scratches, blood, nothing. This was akin to a reverse time machine!

Is this real? Was I hallucinating? The last time I did LSD and Charas was in College, when holidaying in Manali with some Israeli doped out kids, who introduced me to Manala Cream, but never never after that. I swear to God !

“Tell me about your childhood. How did you become a freak?”

“Freak? You are the freak not me…hey what’s happening? Who are you?”

“I am a Researcher and a Writer. I was in Khandala visiting an old British sanatorium investigating ghosts of three old English women who died there 75 years ago.”

“Ghosts!! And what were your findings?”

“Krishh, trust me, they live. I saw them and spoke to them. Will you design a device for me to prove that they exist in a scientific way to convince the rest of the world?”

“ Listen I live in the real world. I know nothing about this para psycho thing. I can recommend you to David Blain. Or for that matter the spoon bending man. Yuri Gellar”

“No. I WANT you to do that for me” It was an ORDER….

”Now tell me about your child hood Krishh, how you have graduated thus far. Ok you not a freak”

Mesmerized as I was I heard myself talking and talking and talking as if in a trance.

MY CHILDHOOD : MY BLABBER TO HER

I was born in an Indian Naval Hospital at Mumbai. My Mom tells me that she shouted obscenities while she pushed me out. Finally they had to do a Ceasar on her to put her out of her miseries.

My Mom was a home maker, my Dad was a flamboyant Naval Officer. He influenced me and made me what I am today 80 percent. The other 20 is the real ME.

My Dad chose the name “Krishna” for me because he had studied the Bhagvad Gita and was very impressed with Krishna. He said Krishna was just a normal smart guy and not a God. My Dad was agnostic for sure. But he was deeply spiritual.

His Navy friends had nick named him “Jack”, short for Jagmohandas. Everyone including my Mom called him Jack.

Jack was a free bird. He lived his life on his terms. My Mom was a perfect foil to his exuberant flamboyant life style. For him there were no rules, he MADE THE RULES.

I went through nine schools mostly in Mumbai n elsewhere. All except one were Central Schools. I was red lining my report cards all through. Jack was not worried.

He told me “Son learn what you like and go way beyond what they teach you” Jack never worried, Mom did.

I hated school except the sports period. I loved Drawing, Geography and History, and later Geometry, Trigonometry and Algebra. I hated Arithmetic. English was nice too.

Yet I was red lining 6 subjects minimum in my report cards.

One day Jack got a letter from the Vice Principal of the School to meet her regarding my performance or non performance. I was scared Mom was scared. Jack read the letter and his mood changed . That evening he was silent. He told my Mom not to disturb him, topped up his Whiskey, carried his bottle and locked himself in his library room .

Bad scene,,very bad scene. Mom said sonny Jack will fry your ass. He did nothing of that sort.

The letter said 9 AM. Jack and I were at School ten minutes before time. He was smartly dressed in his uniform. 9.10 AM the Vice Prici and my class teacher walked in. We were called in. Jack looked the Lady Vice Princi in her eyes and said “You are late!” That put her on the defensive.

There was some ridiculous talk about my grades, insolence (yes true), indiscipline (absolutely true). As if I cared.

Jack said “Come to the point . What is the problem here? Krishna’s Grades? Yes he has been failing in six subjects year on year. What have YOU done? Who is responsible for this? Look I pay his fees, the teachers get paid to ensure he understands the subject and passes. It is YOUR responsibility, what am I doing here at all? If anyone needs to be counseled it is his teachers, not me!

I get paid to defend our shore lines, I do my job, do you do your job? Your teachers don’t know how to teach and that is the reason for Krishna’s failure. If you did your job well, all your students will be 100 per cent.

When I shoot my guns from my ship, I HIT THE TARGET. It is not my responsibility to teach Krish, you are the experts. Krish is your FAILURE! He is what, just a kid” .

Jack got off his chair and walked off. I followed and looked back and gave the two women dirty malevolent smiles. The confused women were just shell shocked as if hit by 6 inch Naval battery shells.

But Jack did take corrective measures. He sent me to a Military boarding School at Pune, which was fine by me coz there were no academic pressures there. I excelled in horse riding, tennis and swimming. I was a Prefect and Capt of two school teams including the Debating Team. I graduated with just 62 % marks in PCM without any redlines.

Jack was my hero. He taught me everything in the great outdoors. He taught me to sail Boats, play Golf, Scuba Dive, play tennis and squash, he was a good underwater photographer. He took me up in the air on Gliders, he taught me the elements of car repairs, his cars were always breaking down. When he had a better car we toured North India right through to Ladakh. He took me out to sea on his ship on a few occasions.

He had an excellent library. Bhagvad Gita, Oscar Wilde and the God Father were my faves. I became a voracious reader just like him.

Most of all he taught me to live a LIFE. For me Jack was the greatest man who walked the Earth, until Johnny Walker Black Label Whiskey and India Kings Cigs did him in. He died on the Golf Course, quite young one Sunday morning, while I was at the Military School in Pune.

Autopsy said “Myocardial Infract”

After running Jack through an Electric burner, I carried his ashes to the US Club Golf course and sprinkled half his ashes on Par 3, # 10 fairway and green . They said Jack shot birdies most times and had a hole in one here. The rest of the ashes I offloaded into the Arabian Sea, just beyond the greens of #10.

I had a dream that night. Jack told me

“ Son you did good. Now trust in yourself and let go!”

TUNNEL # 5-7

“Awesome.! No wonder you are different!” Swapna said.

“Hey lady, I am normal you is different! Right now I have issues to deal with. I am done with my story”

“Mister you don’t have to worry bout your Billions. Is that what you want?”

“Yes I do. But that is not gonna happen. Lady Moolgaonkar has the Chairman’s ears. She’s gonna shoot down this Project.” I visualized Ms Moolgaonkar ramming a stiletto through my heart and I felt a sharp pain running through my left arm.

“Krishh, for Lady Moolgaokar, you are the son she never had. She will see you through.”

“How do you know? No. Can’t happen.”

“What will you do with your Billions?”

I told her about my dreams of owning a Yatch, my own plane, Monte Carlo and moving on to the next level.

“Oh, so you want to live the life of an International Playboy.”

“No, not a Playboy but International yes. Women will come automatically but they not my priority at all.”

“Krishh, you will waste your time, energy doing that. You can do much better.”

“Like what?”

“Like write BOOKS.”

“Hey listen I am not cut out for that. My core competence lies elsewhere. You are the writer not me! Just let me be. Please”

“Ok…so after Jack what?”

POST JACK

When Jack died I was through with school. Mom got a job via the Commandant of National Defence Academy. Vice Admiral Habibullah and Jack were shipmates during the War.

Years ago during the 1971 Indo Pak War, Captain Habibullah was Commanding the Flag Ship INS Samraat. Jack was his Gunnery Officer. Habib got a Vr.C for that War and Jack a NM (Nau Sena Medal).

V Adm Habib came home with an appointment letter for my Mom. Jack had left her with no house, just some insurance money and a Govt Pension.

Although I had just 62 % marks in PCM, my call was Engineering. Top colleges needed 90 plus marks. I ended up getting an admit in some big time Politicians College located at Nausapur, a cattle, dairy and farming country in Western Maharashtra.

“College of I.I.I.T Nausapur” read the board at the entrance of the Campus. It was a big campus, with smart modern buildings. The Hostel # 1, room 14 was allotted to me. Surprisingly big room with plenty of space.

I had opted for Industrial Engineering. The good news was: Very few faculty members. Our HOD was a retired IIT B Professor, 68 years old. He was all we had for a Class of 30.

Professor Ramaswamy was a great teacher. He was a good motivator, story teller and stocked the Library well. We had a fancy Computer lab and a dedicated V Sat connection for internet!

My playground for the next 4 years was the Engineering Dept Workshop fully loaded with Lathes, Drilling Machines, Boiler Room, Engines Room, a modern Foundry, everything. Most of the guys who taught us were ITI grads, but very good with their hands and the machines.

One thing I learned within the week was that I had to learn to read and speak Marathi and quick. People at Nausapur and within the Campus knew just one language and that was that.

Maruti Maaney, a demonstrator at the Workshop and a professional wrestler found me a tutor. I was through with Marathi within the next 2 months. I was a fast learner.

Our Class of 30 had 2 local girls, who had won scholarships thanks to the largesse of the Politician owner. They were plain simple salwar khameez type girls, giggling between themselves, shy, introverted. The rest of the class had guys from Jharkhand, Bihar and Punjab.

End of Sem I, I had topped the class of 30 ignoramuses. If nothing else no ATKT either.


TUNNEL # 8-14

“Krishh, what impresses me here is your ability to adapt to any environment and quickly. I don’t hear you cribbing about Nausapur and the Campus.”

“Oh Swapna, plenty of cribs, but I had a widowed mother. She was paying 36 k per year for my education and another 12 k for the hostel. I had to do something quick to reduce her burden.”

“How did you do that?”

NAUSAPUR SECOND SEM

End of first semester I returned home. Home was NDA. Mom wanted to present me with a new motorcycle. I said no Ma I will find a second hand bike at Nausapur. I left home with Jack’s Golf set and 200 balls.

Maruti Maane told me where to find a good used bike. He had a Bullet and rode me to Bade Ali’s workshop in the town.

Bade Ali’s workshop was big. One section was for Bullets, another for other bikes, he had a painting denting section, a welding cutting section. He had a good reputation for honesty and integrity and workmanship. No wonder he was stuck in a hole. I mean there are limit switches to honesty and integrity which need to be turned off from time to time.

Bade Ali was considered a God of two wheels in this town. He asked me what budget?
I said 15 k. He had an accident write off Bajaj Pulsar 150 cc bike at that price. Within a week I had the papers and the bike. But I was not done with Bade Ali.

Next week I visited Bade Ali and offered to work week ends in his garage as an apprentice for free. Fortunately he accepted.

I started off at the Bullet section, stripping engines. Within the month I had become a good grease monkey. Bade Ali taught me a lot about different engines. I learned to grind valves, tune up the engines, fabricate parts and gears on the lathe, set the tappets.

Bade Ali then offered to pay me for the work I did. It was 40:60, 40 % for me, of the total billing less parts. I started to pull in 4 grand for 8 days work in a month. I found my self working 3 days a week then 4 days a week. Soon I was pulling in 10 grand per month. I started to get bikes from the Campus, cash rich rustic Bihari students. I ripped them off on the billings. No mercy here.

Bade Ali was impressed with my learning curve. I shifted over to the welding and cutting section to get some gyaan there. Then to the other brands sections where volumes were high. The local bikers complained to Bade Ali that I was overcharging. He would have none of it. He said “ Krishh ka kaam dekho, quality dekho. Paisaa toh Randi bhi kamaati hai aur izzath ke saaath!”

That shut up the local customers too. End of second Sem II, I was earning enough to pay for my education.

Maruti Maane had been promoted to Workshop Supdt. I learned later that he had added responsibilities to sort out errant students be it for eve teasing or anything else. He and his goons would beat the hell out of the wayward guys.

I was Maruti’s fave. He took me to the Wrestling Matches in the Aakhaadaas. One such match was the finals of the Local Heavy Weight Kusti.

Veer Viraaat Maruti Maaney Vs Masthakeen Quereshi

The whole town was there some 20 thou people.

Maruti won a very hard fought bout that went to the wire. 3 judges voted for Maruti the rest 2 for Quereshi.

Maruti had become what they called The Hinda Kesari, some kind of local WWF champion, which had a prize money of 10 Lakhs.

Often Maruti let me ride his Bullet, gave me a fee run of the Workshop. I integrated Bade Ali’s workshop with the College workshop and started to do Modifications on bikes.

I started with Bullets. I made a chassis and body like an American Chopper bike, with fat tyres and laid back handlebars. The guys at the painting denting section did a great job.

I rode the town on my Chopper like a Colossus. The Bike was an instant hit. I had orders for 30 Choppers in one day!

Modded bikes were a big value addition to Bade Miya’s workshop. I quadrupled his turnover within the next six months and mine too. Bade Miya set up another separate workshop and swanky showroom for these Choppers. There was no stopping us now! Gradually I reduced hours at Bade Ali, yet he paid me for every Modded bike shipped out from his workshop.

My only other recreational and spiritual activity was hitting golf balls and listening to music and reading books.

I had found an open space in the Campus, just 300 yards, enough to hit my golf balls. My small Mess Boy called Bakya was my caddy to pick up the balls. I paid him 20 bucks an hour. He was happy. I taught him to putt and swing.

Bakya was a natural swinger of the golf club. His swing was smooth and a delight to watch. I cut down a 7 iron and a Sand Wedge to his size. Now his swing was like poetry in motion.

I took him to a River bank where there was plenty of sand and demonstrated how to hit sand shots out of a bunker. Bunker shots are tough to hit. Bakya hit the shots with consummate ease. He spent hours hitting golf balls when I was away at Bade Ali’s workshop. Eventually except for the Woods, I cut down all the 8 irons to his size.

Many years later , I moved him to Mumbai at my Golf Club. He now plays the Amateur circuit, I pay for his everything. Bakya always caddies for me whenever I play Golf. On the Driving range Bakya sorts out my swing too. Some days we play against each other 50-50-100. He gives me 9 shots, no more. I loose most times. Most = All times.

Maruti was intrigued with Golf. The hefty six feet 2 inch wrestler took a swing at the ball and missed. That got his goat and he swore “ Tichyaa aailaa!”

I said “Maruti bhau, Dara Singh never played golf, so relax!”

Word spread around about a game called Golf. Maruti got the powerful Politician owner of the College to see me hit the balls. He asked me what was needed to spread this “Upper Class High Society game” in his Campus. His words. “Upper class”. I said around 300 acres of land plus so much more….

Nothing happened but Maruti got me and Bakya a putting green, a bunker and one grass carpeted driving range, to keep hitting balls.

Maruti drove me around the vast farmlands around Nausapur. This is a district of rich farmers who ran Sugar factories, distilleries, dairy farms, agro based industries, the works. There were more SUV’s here than all of Mumbai. Maruti himself owned some 5 acres of fertile land. He advised me to buy land earliest.

He said “Krishh land is the only thing that counts”.

One thing, I never let good free advice go to the recycle bin.

During one of my vacations to NDA, I convinced my Mom to buy two acres of land along the lakeshore. The cost then was just 12 thou per acre.

To buy land we had to prove we were farmers, which was arranged for by Maruti. We had the saath baara (7/12) of the land in our names.

Next to my land was a 25 acre property belonging to one Mr. Kulkarni, who lived in Kuwait and Iraq. He was making millions in the construction sector there. For years he never showed up.

There was a clumsy fence dividing our land. I got around the Talathi to shift the fence and grabbed about half an acre. The Talathi did all this for a fee of 3 k and mysteriously replaced the old land record with a new one in all the Govt files.

Years later the second Gulf War was triggered by President George Bush, III, Junior,.

Mr Kulkarni returned home!! Sure enough he realized I had grabbed a small tract of his land. The Talathi stood by me solidly. He had no choice. He was my partner in this scam.

Kulkarni hired a professional surveyor to prove us wrong.

He filed a Civil suit against both of us and made the Pune Collector a respondent! Rascal!
Haraami saalaa Kulkarni!

We did our best to make him see reason. He still had 24.5 acres as per the survey report. Still the greedy Kulkarni bugger wanted his land back. There was no end to his greed.

Kulkarni had powerful contacts in Pune. The game was up for me and I told him to shift the fences back to the original position no cost to me.

This was one rare occasion when I had lost in the Game of deceit. I attributed my loss to Mr George Bush III, Junior, President of the United States of America.

I learned an important lesson. Events that happen thousands of miles away can affect me in most unexpected ways!

TUNNEL # 16-17

She smiled and said “You are wicked but you do have a soft side. How is Bakya doing now?”

“Well he is 17 years old, scratch handicapper, lives in the premises of the Golf Club. He makes money coaching Golfers, 500 bucks an hour. Six months a year he tours and plays the Amature circuit, for which I pay. He hits 400 balls every day. Next year he should get his Professional Card for sure. See, he started very very young.”

“The thing is you started Bakya young?”

There was a Golf clinic in Delhi where some USA PGA coach was conducting clinics for Junior Golfers. I sponsored Bakya and accompanied him. The Coach had all sorts of gadgets for the ideal perfect golf swing. He tried to re engineer Bakyas swing but the results were disastrous. Bakya was spraying the balls left right, never center.

Bakya then hit a Driver with his own swing and asked the Coach “Look I drive the ball near 300 yards. If my swing is wrong why does the ball go far and straight? Why should I change my swing?”

I agreed with Bakya and we took the next flight back to Mumbai. 30 k gone down the drain.

Bakya was relieved and said on the plane “ Krishh bhai good hum nikal gayee. Yeh gooras here to take apna paisaa. Agar saaalaa itna bada golf ka gyaan hai toh khud Pro circuit mein why not khelta? Saalaa, kopdi pe shendi lagaane ke liyee hum he milee kyaa? Chyaa aailya tyaachi Aai zhavli mhanoon tyaali Dilli paavli ka?”

In the Mumbai Golf club Bakya had picked up a mix of Hindi -Marathi -English called Hinglish. He rarely spoke pure Marathi ever again.

TUNNEL #


“Great. Now think…write a book….”

“Swapna there we go again. Maybe when I am 60, retired, old, useless, a retard …then I may consider. Right now I am just a run of the mill guy, not a loser, but a non entity in the big bad world and the world wide web. I have not yet ARRIVED.”

Why did I say www? Dunno.

“How do you know you will live to be 60 with your Billions?” she asked.

“There aint no Billions yet. So stop this crap ….please….”

She asked “And the land by the lakeshore?”

“I have built a farm house. I have a few windsurfers, a sail boat and two Mobikes there. Monsoons I live at my farmhouse.”

“Tell me more”….her hunger for my crappy stories never seemed to end.





MY FARMHOUSE

When I had enough money, I built a nice comfortable farm house by the lake. My house and the surrounding hill areas was heaven on earth during the monsoons. Many Pune rich people had built farmhouses along the lake front.

There was plenty of local staff to take care of me and the house and my surrounding property. There was no internet no cell phone connectivity here, just a land line that rarely worked. Which was fine by me because this is where my creative juices flowed like crazy.

I had a nice and easy Karizma mobike. I loved riding around the twisty roads of the surrounding hills and doing photography here. I need ride just 80 kms per day to get my highs.

One Sunday I met a bunch of near suicidal riders, who called themselves Rubber Smokin Angels. Most were young Software Engineers, some were College kids, a few were Mobike and Auto Magazine journalists. Maybe a few be Angels in Heaven too.

They did high speed timed runs on the Mutha Ghat twisties, on a marked out distance of some 5 kms. Fortunately the road had little traffic but very sharp curves through the run.

I was amazed at riding skills of our very own Moto GP type riders. Some bikes were imports like the Busa, Honda CBR 600, others were Pulsars and Karizmas. These guys did amazing stunts like wheelies and stoppies and much more. Most guys had pet names like Speedy, Screamer, Scorcher. My fave was a carzy rider Kiran.

After a while I got talking to these guys and joined them for a ride. That was it, I was addicted! I learned plenty of riding skills from the RSA guys.

One ride out we stopped off at Dam for a break. A young fat bespectacled guy with some funny name En Vazhi Thanni Vaazi , with a big balding head, parked his bike next to mine and started to walk the road alone screaming aloud and singing, at no one in particular:

“To Do Is To Be, Nietzcheeeeeeeeee
And To Be Is To Do, Krantzzzzzzzzzzzzz
DoBee DoBee Do Do, Sinatraaaaaaaa
DoBee Dobee Do Dobee Dobee Do !”

I was sort taken aback. En Vazhi continued his walk ad in finitum shouting “To Do Is To Be” thing till Speedy walked him back to us.

I asked Speedy what is this all about? Speedy explained.


I was mind fokked! Totally!! The only thing I knew about Autism was the movie “Rain Man”.

After the ride, we 10 odd guys were nicely settled in a restaurant, CCD. Lots of young people there too. Suddenly En Vazhi started to scream his “To Doooooooo Is To Beeeeeee” routine, his big head in the air. This completely stunned the restaurant staff and the other people. One young lady seated close by sorta let out a loud scream in fright and ran out!

Speedy rammed a big pastry down En Vazhi’s throat. That shut him up. You see En Vazhi was hungry!


TUNNEL #

She laughed, giggled and laffed. I mean she rarely did that.

She said “You still have not told me the rest about your college. Did you make any girlfriends there?”

SEM 3 TO 8

My College came close to getting de recognized on two occasions by the affiliated University for reasons of non compliance, allowing students to copy during exams and lack of faculty. Luckily the Politician Owner of our College had bumped up to an MLA and sorted out all the issues with the University.

I was a doing fine at Nausapur. I managed to make the grades in all the Sems.

What else? Oh yes. One day, the two shy local girls, my class mates walked up to me.
They had some issues with some subjects. I offered to help them and invited them to my room.

In unison they said “Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo…”

I suggested the Library is a good place to study.

Well I started to sort out their issues. One girl was upto it, the other dropped out from my class and eventually the Campus. The one who survived her name was Rukhmini.

Rukku was a decent and eager learner. For her I sacrificed my time at Bade Ali’s workshop. We started to get close. From a skinny awkward first Sem student she had started to blossom by the 7h Sem. Or at least that is how I saw her. I insisted she converse in English with me not Marathi. I wanted to smarten her up.

We could not date in this town else Maruti n his goons would bash me up. I figured I tell Maruti first bout Rukku n me before he found out. He said he knew already and was watching!

Crazy. Small town everyone knows.

Suffice to say Rukku and me eventually made it out, to hell with the town. I had lost my virginity to a rustic, farm country, educated young lady. No regrets. Absolutely.

After College her parents got her married immediately.

That just about sums up my life at I.I.I.T (N).

It was hard leaving Bade Ali, Maruti, Prof Ramaswamy ,and specially Bakya and a lot other good natured rural folks. I gifted Jack’s Golf set to Bakya with a thousand Golf Balls.

MOM

I took a sabbatical for a year after Graduating. My Mom had moved out of NDA and had a small 1 BHK flat near the Cantt area. I was playing Golf most times on the newly reconstructed Pune Golf Club.

Out of the blue, some Fauji friends of Jack introduced my Mom to Air Marshal Don Mascarenhas, PVSM, AVSM, Vr C, VSM, Vayu Sena Medal, ADC, Vice Chief of the Air Staff. He had shot down some Paki Sabers in a dog fight during the 1971 war that won him a Veer Chakra. The rest of his decorations were free to air, except the Vayu medal.

Some years ago Don had lost his wife and daughter in a gruesome car accident. Don was in the ICU for 4 months in a coma but miraculously recovered. His only other daughter was in Medical College at the time of the accident.

For all his achievements Don, a tall, slim man, was very humble, a gentle giant and soft spoken man.

To cut a long story short Don and Mom got married and shifted over to Delhi. She was happy so was I.

Don went on to become the Air Chief.

My step sister Pricilla, well I will keep her out of the loop for the time being

Crazy, my step Dad Chief of Air Staff, my Mom the First Lady of the Indian Air Force!


TUNNEL # 19 -20

Swapna squealed in delight, eyes wide open, with a big loud “!! WoW! I LOVE YOU!!”

She stepped over from the other side, hugged me , sat next to me and held my hand tight!
At least I had managed to hold her attention and hoped this crazy para abnormal psycho thing of the third kind would end.

“Listen Krishh, you have enough to write a book. The Billions are there should you want them, but the BOOK must be written and NOW!”

I did not respond but instead looked straight ahead at the empty chair where she was sitting. It was my turn now to say “Hmmmmmmm….” Actually I yawned with my nostrils flared with the fragrant smell that she was oozing out.

“Krishh, are you a misogynist?”

“Huh? What’s that?” I asked.

“You hate women?”

“No no no no. Let me clarify. I helped Rukhmini get through College right?”

“Yes you did.” she said grudgingly. Point neutralized.

“Now tell me about Pricilla, your step sister.”

I said rather weakly “Please keep her out of this conversation. I will tell you everything else.” She oozed out some more body fragrance that put in a trance….

MY SABBATICAL MY GOLF AND PRICILLA MY STEP SISTER

After graduating my Mom had moved to Delhi with Don . I was alone. I had little interaction with Pricilla.

Pricilla was studying Medicine at the Armed Forces Medical College. She was two years younger to me. Don` wanted me and Pricilla to get on with each other. I had no issues but Prici did not respond to my invitations to meet. She was probably to come to terms with her Dad’s second marriage.

Don and my Mom send me enough money to live comfortably. Also I had saved enough working at Ali.

I had to taken a sabbatical because I knew no one would hire an IIIT Narsapur grad. Besides I had made up my mind not to work for others.

I had built myself a great Chopper Bike at Ali’s. My bike was a head turner everywhere on the roads of Pune. Some guy tried to rob my bike at a parking lot on the MG road. The robber kicked the bike, but the engine backfired and fortunately broke his ankle.

I had my ventilation in Golf. A local Golf Pro sold me his used Ping set for just 14 k.

Few weeks on the Driving range and I had my Golf game back. I cracked the first tournament that I entered at the Pune Golf Course playing 6 below my handicap.

That way I got to Golfers and make some contacts during the Prize distribution which was at Blue Diamond Hotel. There I met a middle aged man Mr. Arya, who was a Builder. He wanted me to join his 4 ball the next week for a game. I was to learn later that Arya was not just a Builder, he was a Construction Don in Pune.

I was there at the # 1 tee box 10 minutes before Mr. Arya arrived with 3 of his friends. We threw balls and Arya became my partner. They were into heavy betting. I told Mr Arya I was just a student and could not afford such heavy bets. He said not to worry he will cover me if we lost and I could keep the winnings should we win.

Mr Arya was 18 handicap on the Board but he had a crazy wayward game. Some holes he played like a PGA champ others he would just spray balls in the water hazards. The thing was he was very very passionate about the Game of Golf. I played a decent game but could not cover for Arya . He played 10 over his handicap may be more.

Walking the Golf course over 5 hours, Arya tried to find out as much about me. I held back information and told him the least.

We managed to hold out the opponent somewhat and lost 2 k each.

Arya made me a permanent in his 4 balls. He played all days mornings 9 holes, week ends 18 holes. Slowly over the weeks, walking and talking on the Golf Course, he knew everything about me. Well almost.

That did it. He offered me a job and asked me to quote my price. Salary. I refused saying that I wanted time to myself after 4 years at Nausapur.

However I told him about Bakya, just as a human interest story connected to Golfing, nothing more. He was fired up and next week end we were on the road to Nausapur in his Audi SUV! Arya was a self made man starting life as a Driver to some Construction Magnet 30 years back. Eventually he set up his own Company called “Regency Properties”.

At Nausapur the Politician owner of the College was there to receive Arya in person.
Arya wanted to see Bakya hitting Golf Balls. Impressed, he talked to Bakya animatedly, got him off the Mess job and told him to study and play Golf. He gave Bakya’s parents plenty money, I do not know how much and he promised to send him a new Golf set and all the add on’s like shoes, Tees, Gloves.

My Golf game improved with time and down six months I was a single handicapper. I had won plenty of tournaments.

Women Golfers of the Club wanted to play with me. Very rich, stylized, First Class Air travel, Gymming with trainers, kids abroad in USA Universities. One woman caught my fancy. She was a beautiful middle aged woman.

Arya warned me never to play with her. I asked “why why? She is so naish !”

Arya said “ Areey who Manglaik hai! Usne teen husbands ko tapkaayaa hai! Tere ko marnaa hai kyaa?”

Mangalik (Mars) is an astrological thing at the time of birth

God, she was thrice widowed coz she was Mangalik! But the way Arya put it, sounded like she was responsible for the deaths of her 3 husbands.

Arya was protective towards me, I had begun to visit his home, or palace. He called his massive bungalow “The White House”, that looked like a grotesque version of the original at Washington DC. Aryaa had money but no finesse.

I was at the White House with some 10 other Golfer friends that afternoon when I got a call from Pricilla, out of the blue. Seriously I had given up on her.

I set up a meeting immediately with her at the RSI club, we were both dependent members there. Dependency never ends no matter who you are.

I told Aryaa I had to leave immediately. He understood and told his Driver to drop me off. “Sunday kaa kyaa?” He asked. I said we will keep it open depending upon ….

She had arrived before me thanks to a traffic accident on the Bridge. A young woman on a Scooty lay sprawled on the road hit by a car. Her brains were lying on the road, she was dead. She was not wearing a helmet.

This City cops fines car drivers for not wearing seat belts but does nothing to implement helmet laws!

I apologized to Pricilla and we settled down in the A/C comfort of the Bar. We both ordered some juices and got talking.

Pricilla was very tall like her Dad. She was soft spoken, elegant, a little dark skinned and a lovely lady. We got talking and that’s when we shared our life stories.

After lunch, I invited her over to my appt. We hired a Rick to my apartment and we continued to talk and talk.

Over a period of time I grew very fond of Priscilla. She was so sincere, sweet a lovely person. Just looking at her face calmed me down.

Seriously, I was falling in love with her. This is my dark secret. This is one reason why I wanted to keep Pricilla out of the loop of my story.

She was not related to me, she was a Christian me a Hindu. Yet the twain could never meet because Society will never accept a Step Brother Step Sister relationship. Incest !!

I could never risk telling her my true feelings because I never wanted to loose Pricilla.

I am not going to reveal too much here, but over a period of time she and I were spending a lot of time together. I was there for her whenever she needed me. Jeez, we were made for each other. She was a perfect balancer to me.

Pricilla told me some crazy stories about her Dad, Don. I told her crazy stories of Jack.

DON

Don wanted to prematurely retire form the Indian Air Force when he was a Squadron Leader, despite a rocking career profile. He simply stated “For personal reasons” in his resignation letter. The Air Force rejected his application and promoted him to Wing Commander and transferred him to USSR to commission and Command India’s first top secret MiG 27 Squadron.

One day Don had a bad landing and totaled (beyond economical repairs) his MiG 27.

Immediately Don sought an interview with the Station Commander, an Air Marshal, with his resignation letter in hand. Within his Squadron there was a death like silence. His 2 1/c did his best to talk him out. The Junior Pilots were agitated and threatened to quit en mass should he leave. Even the Airmen below came home and tried to persuade him out of this nonsense. Don said nothing. He was peace personified and determined to quit.

The next day, Don walked into the AOC’s office. The Air Marshal read the letter loud.

“I am an incompetent Pilot. I am unfit to Command this prestigious Squadron of the IAF. I have set a bad example to my juniors by crashing this Aircraft. I am a disgrace to the IAF and a very bad leader of men. I have caused millions of dollars losses to my Country….kindly forward my resignation to Air HQ. Anyway my bags are packed and I am headed home to Bangalore.”

Not the exact words as written in the letter, this is the gist.

The AOC said sternly, “Don let me decide about your competence or otherwise and the rest of the points that you have made is utter nonsense and you know that yourself.

Unfit to Command: The Air Force selected you to Command this Squadron after due deliberation. You were the best we had for this job. You think you know better?

Bad Leader: Your Officers and Airmen were here to meet me last night. They swore by your Leadership and Officer Like Qualities. Their loyalty to you is 100 %. I don’t see you recognizing that factor.

Disgrace: If you are a disgrace to the Air Force half of our Officer cadre will be out on the streets, by your yardstick.

Millions of Dollars losses: The Indian taxpayer can take that. Go home take some leave. You need to de stress. ”

Dons final word “ I am out. I am done Sir.” He smartly saluted the AOC and left.

“Don the Air Force, the Country, your Officers and Men need you! Go to Bangalore by all means. You have never defied orders, and you are not going to do that now. I am admitting you to the Command Hospital for a psychiatric evaluation!”

The Air Marshal preempted his departure move to Bangalore by immediately granting him 60 days leave to avoid Don being AWOL. He had no intention to send Don to the hospital anyway.

Don left for Bangalore. He refused to attend the mandatory Court of Inquiry headed by an Air Vice Marshal. The COI went ahead anyway.

Air Force Headquarters had probably ordered the COI to be rigged and Don was absolved of all blame.

Don was too damn precious for the Air Force to let him go, is my guess.

Don exhausted his leave but did not return. He was granted a furlough for two months. All efforts to trace Don in Bangalore by the IAF were in vain. Don had vanished.

Then one day Don returned and resumed duties. He was received enthusiastically by his Officers and Men. The AOC had “Severely Reprimanded” Don for not attending the COI after a show cause notice which Don returned without comments. That was the only Official blemish in Don’s Service Records. That got torn off his records after 3 years automatically.

The truth behind Don wanting to leave the IAF since his days as a Sqn Leader and later, was this: Hold you breadth:

He wanted to be a PRIEST and dedicate his life to the Church and the people!

It was the Bishop of Bangalore who persuaded Don to return.

PRICILLA

Any hopes of any future relationship with her was doomed. Pricilla graduated and joined an Army Unit on the Borders when the Kargil War broke out. She later married another Army Doctor. She has a lovely kid to whom I am a God Father as per the Christian customs.

She lives happily and has since done her MD and is a Pediatrician.

Suffice to say, one reason I am single is that I am still looking for a zerox copy of Pricilla.

TUNNEL # 22

Swapna was silent. She let go my hand and walked over to the opposite seat.

She said “Stop looking, there is nothing like a zerox of another living human person. What else?“

I said “Well that pretty much sums up my 34 years x 365 days x24 hrs x 60 minutes x 60 seconds on earth! I have offloaded everything to you now.“

“ So you will have a lot to tell once you make your Billions.”

“Inshaa Alla, if wishes could be horses, I be there!”

She said “Make a wish….”

Just to satify her, I shouted out loud “God I grant me my wish, make a Billionaire!”

She looked away…..disappointment writ large on her face.

Just before the train exited the last tunnel, I excused myself and left for the rest room.

Five minutes later when I returned to my seat she had vanished!

ON WAY TO MUMBAI

I was relieved she be gone. I was getting nervous spending time with a beautiful wench of the third kind.

I knocked off my shoes, shut the lights, wrapped a blanket and slept off.

I heard Jabber’s voice. “Krishh bhai jagjao. Station Bambai aa gayaa.”

I looked at my gifted Omega watch, time was 6 AM.

Jabbaer Bhai arranged to haul out my luggage we exited out to the Honda Civic. On the drive home I told Jabbar Bhai a gist of my strange encounter with Swapna and slept off again. If he responded I did not hear him.

Come Malad, I was fresh. A quick shower, breakfast and I was headed for my Office.

Maria was there already.

I told her all about my meeting and the probability of the deal being signed nearly zero. I vented my frustrations at the old wench Ms Moolgaonkar. I rambled on and on, 2 years of efforts gone to Dogs, so on and so forth. “Maria we did everything right yet nothing…NOTHING! I don’t want to live this repetitious life no more. I want to call it quits . I will compensate you and Jabber enough. I just want to RETIRE!”

Maria asked “What will you do POST RETIREMENT?”

“I will sell off everything in Mumbai, live in my farmhouse, ride bikes, read books, swim the lakes, play Golf in Pune, start drinking Whiskey, …my list is long. But one thing I am done with this designing crap for ever. That is final. I will earn from my royalties to live.”

Maria said “Here is a FAX for you from the Pune Company and a parcel that has arrived from Blue Dart.”

I read the Fax.

“Dear Mr . Krishhna Khanna.

I have been directed by the Board of Directors t sate that we have approved…….kindly visit us next week. The Draft Contract will be sent to you shortly for your perusal and approval….This has the approval of the The Chairman………etc”

I did not read beyond which was long Legal crap.

The fax was signed

Ms Mohini Moolgaokar
Director (Finance)

I was stunned!’

I shouted like a Red Indian who had scalped a White Man….yipeeeeeeee and God knows what!

I had not only won all battles I had won the WAR !!

I hugged Maria hard, called for Jabbar Bhai…..

I opened the glass fronted windows of my Office over looking the Arabian Sea and shouted my lungs out……

I lifted my arms in a perfect “V” and screamed “VICTORY” !!!!

“Maria cancel all my appointments for the next week including all Golf Games, everything! This is OUR Victory Maria! Just get our Lawyer ASAP. We gonna CREAM them on the contract, trust me! Our time has come!!!!”

I was in a demonic state now!

“But what about your plans to retire?” she asked.

I looked at her as if she was insane!

She looked away. I was a Mad Man now.

“Krishh, shall I open the parcel?”, she asked

“Maria do what you want! This is FREEDOM FROM SLAVERY! THIS IS OUR MOMENT OUR NIRVAAAAAANAAAAAAAA! “

Man Curt Cobain, where be you, you Godman genius?

Maria opened the parcel. She handed over to me what looked like a document.

It was a beautiful hand written calligraphy, some 200 pages.







The Title was

“22 TUNNELS, THE JOUNREY OF MY LIFE”

By

Krishhna Khanna

I do not know what happened next. I just flamed out.

I woke up in a Hospital ICU. Jabbar Bhai, his wife and Maria were there.

I was told Mom, Don and Pricilla were on their way to Mumbai on Air Force One.

I gave a weak smile. The Nurse gave me a shot and I flamed out again.

When I woke up my family was there in full strength.

The Docs said that all my parameters had gone hey wire. But I was perfectly normal now. They were at a loss to know why that had happened.

“Can I get up?” I asked the Doc.

The Doc said, “Sure. You are doing good, in fact very good”.

I hugged my family. Then I made a statement of my life time

“Maria, yes I will retire!”

I had ideas….that would keep me going for the next 5 decades.

I wished all good bye for the time being. I told them I needed to be alone.

“Jabbar Bhai, humko ghar le chalo. Maria join me we have work to do”.

Maria smiled. She rarely did that. We three THE DREAM TEAM, walked out and went home.

I was at PEACE for the first time in my life.

The thing is only Jabbar Bhai, Maria and knew what had happened.

The lovely lady Swapna had done what she said she would do.

She had said “I am an agent of transformation.”, if I remember right.

Well I was TRANSFORMED! And this transformation will be way beyond her imagination, that I can guarantee you lady Swapna, who ever you be where ever you be.
Have no doubts on that count.

Ideas were running fast and furious through my mind. My heart was pumping 120, my parameters were going haywire again. Nah, no need for Hospitals.

Maria knew how to deal with me when I was hyper. She could handle that. Jabbar Bhai was a bit worried.

I told him “Jabbar Bhai fikar kis baat ki, aap toh karod pati ban hi jaooge.”

That relaxed him. For good measure I added “Free mein toh kuch miltaa nahi, dharti peh toh Khudaa bhi paisa maangtaa hai.” His words.

We reached our home and then began the brain storming session with my Dream Team. Dream team was Me, Maria and Jabbar Bhai. Need I call Bakya? Nah….let him hit golf balls. He did not need this.

To start with I told Maria only to acknowledge the receipt of the FAX, no more.

I told her we did not need no Lawyer. Cancel appointment.

I dictated her a speech that I would make, (she was free to polish that up). addressed to the Chairman and Ms Moolgaonkar.

I called Ms Mohini Moogaonkar and told her I will be on on my way to Pune next week.

NEXT WEEK

I modded a machine with probes.

Maria me and Jabbar Bhai drove to Khandala to the old British sanitarium. I went in alone inside the Bhoot Bangla. Tis was in the dead of the night. I was really really scared.
I hooked up my equipment and started to work. Three hours down, I was done.

Don’t ask me what I recorded or did not. That be between me and Swapna.

We checked into a naish hotel for the night at Khandala.

Next morning 10 AM sharp we were at the The Company in Pune.

I hugged Mohini, she hugged me. It was a genuine mother- son hug like Swapna had said and very spontaneous.

I bent down and touchéd the Chairman’s shoes. The bending part was drama yes. I mean I was sincere about this too.

I introduced my Team to all the Directors and the 20 techno geeks, all suited and booted. I was dressed in casuals.

My team was escorted to the Conference Room. Jabbar Bhai did not want to be there, I insisted.

Same format. This time one Director after another gave 3 minutes speeches. Their Legal guy read out the salient features of the contract and gave figures for my Company.

I was called to the rostrum to give my side of the Contract, instead I asked Maria to talk.

Charming lady Maria, dressed in a Saree (yes our Catholic women wear sarees too)
started to speak.

“Krishh Khanna Pvt Ltd, have a statement to make. We have no contract to offer. Krishh Khanna proposes that a percentage of profits of your Company and ours be parked in a Non Profit Trust. We request Ms Mohini Moolgaonkar to Head the trust, with me Maria Fernandes and Krishnn Khanna as Directors.. Our estimates of the Profits of both our companies ….”

She gave some insane figures…

Maria made the VISION STATEMENT of this Trust named “Yuvaa Shakti”.

To say the least, my opponents were in a zone of total confusion. We a small Company had taken them by Surprise.

Jack had said long ago this be the First Principle of War is the element of Surprise!

This was way BEYOND surprise for them.

Jababr bhai whispered “ Krishh, Maria kyaa bol rahi hai? Idhar ka mohol sahi nahi lagta”

I replied „Jabbar bhai, lagtaa hai Maria sahi bol rahi hai.“

Jabbar was horrrified. „

Krishh, Maria ko ROKOOOOO!“

There was no stopping Maria.

When Maria was done, there was a death like silence all round. 25 faces looked aghast at us except Ms Mohini Moolgaokar. She was the only one smiling throughout while Maria spoke.

The Chairman asked Maria why our Company was doing this?

She handed over a copy of the script of 22 Tunnels to him.

The Chairman took the rostrum to speak. He was tongue tied. He asked for a recess for “Naariyal Paani” ! His words.

I was enjoying all this….this was true freedom, to hell with the World!

Post nariyaal paani, Mohini took center stage lauded our proposals and asked for time to work on them.

Jabbar appeared out of phase.

I told him “Jabbar Bhai fikar kiss baat ki. Aagee ki toh hum sochenge naaa?”

Jabbar and I took leave walked out.

The Company people now had to deal with Maria.

My Company was down to 2. Jabber and me.

Maria would have her hands full with “Yuvaa Shakti” forever.

We drove off to Mumbai.

Within the week, I was back to my wicked ways, not for me but Yuvaa Shakti

I visualized a school and had a temporary name for it

“The School for Badmaash”

Now I had experience!

I would teach these kids everything I knew….never again will guys like Kulkarni walk over us.

Now we had the POWER!

“On every fortune ever made, rides a Crime.”