Soumya profiles Ajay Sharma and recounts his woes, laced with humour. An exclusive for Different Truths.

Ajay Sharma was posted to the dry state of Gujarat. He was happy as he was a teetotaller and quite sick of the crudeness and corruption of the Badlands of the cow belt, though it was his home state.

He loved the polite Gujaratis and the clean quiet city of Ahmedabad.

He moved in with some other bachelors working in the bank, seven people in one large room, as accommodation for bachelors was difficult to get in the nicer areas.

The problem was that there was only one toilet and shower, so a roster was drawn, and time rationed during the morning rush hour and if you missed your slot you were put in the end, like airlines waiting for take-off, and exceeding time limits led to financial penalties, or demurrage, which went to the liquor pool. For Ahmedabad was far from dry, in reality, and there was home supply of liquor instead.

Most of the roomies were prodigious tipplers, especially an enterprising gentleman from Andhra, and every day was a bacchanal.  Ajay, a teetotaller, was also constipated, and had to unwittingly contribute heavily to the party in which he couldn’t participate. But he was too timid to protest and too nervous to move out.

One winter’s day, a large party was planned and the stock of liquor at home ran short. Their friendly bootlegger said that his delivery boys were busy, and could they come over and pick up the supplies?

The organiser garu took out his ramshackle Vespa and instructed the reluctant but helpless Ajay to ride pillion holding a large bag and carrying a blanket.

Soon the booty was collected, and Ajay, carrying the bag full of contraband, wrapped in the blanket, sitting pillion was dying from tension.

As luck would have it, they were hauled up by a traffic constable for not wearing helmets. Ajay Sharma nearly fainted in fear. Visions of jail, termination, facing his father in disgrace all flashed before him. He was profusely sweating and looked quite dead.

The quick thinking garu explained to the cop that the friend on the pillion was sick, perhaps something contagious, and they were rushing to the hospital, forgetting the helmet in a hurry. One look, at Ajay, and he was convinced, letting them go.

Ajay later pleaded sickness and got a transfer back to his home state.

He still gets nightmares remembering his close brush with crime.

Most of the denizens of the room became CEOs and big guns in financial institutions in India and abroad and have fond memories of their bachelor pad in Ahmedabad, all except Ajay Sharma!

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Soumya Mukherjee

Soumya Mukherjee is an alumnus of St Stephens College and Delhi School of Economics. He earns his daily bread by working for a PSU Insurance company, and lectures for peanuts. His other passions, family, friends, films, travel, food, trekking, wildlife, music, theater, and occasionally, writing. He has been published in many national newspapers of repute. He has published his first novel, Memories, a novella, hopefully, the first of his many books. He blogs as well.

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