The Quest | Final post - pg4 (Page 3)

Part IV

It had been weeks since Gaurang and Vicky had last slept at the flat at night, since that was when most of their expeditions usually took place. That night, there was nothing.

It made no difference to Gaurang since he was an insomniac and sleeping pills helped him attain that feeble semblance of solace within seconds. Afternoon or night or morning, it was all the same. Just like every day of his life. Always the same, as a matter of discipline.

Vicky hated having to sleep at night. He liked having something to do to escape the silence and solitude. During the day, it was easier to be distracted from oneself. There was so much noise, cars hooting incessantly, kids laughing maniacally, the next-door Manjrekars fighting like cats and dogs (that didn't like each other). He painstakingly cursed at all the sources of noise, but somehow managed to fall asleep within a minute of resting his head on the pillow. At night, it was only the droning of the refrigerator punctuated at regular intervals by the creaking of the ceiling fan. And his thoughts, louder than ever, keeping him painfully awake.

He should have been exhausted, having spent the entire morning painting road signs and the rest of the day driving Khanbhai's taxi around the city. But his mind would not let him sleep. Darkness surrounded and engulfed him.

He wondered about the photographs of himself that he had left at the different production houses. Were they laughing at him? Had they just thrown away the photographs in the bin to save him the humiliation?

He thought about home, how everybody praised him and called him hero, how he had always felt like a hero. He thought about how he had left his somnambulist little town  to make it big in the city; how he had left behind the name his father had given him and become Vicky, a stray city rat among so many others, a nobody. He should not have left home, a part of him nagged. But that same part conceded, how could he now go back, defeated? He knew he missed them, but it had been his decision to leave home. He had to stick with it. That much, he owed to himself.

His thoughts flitted to Gaurang. He had been lucky, he knew, to have bumped into Gaurang, who had given him, not just a job, but also a room in his flat. And all this, without Vicky asking for anything. He knew how difficult it would have been to find accommodation. And Gaurang took no rent.

But still, he could not help but resent Gaurang's presence in his life. Gaurang never treated him as a friend, or as an equal. Like the city, he never ceased to trample upon Vicky's self-esteem and did nothing to alleviate his loneliness.

Gaurang was probably only five years older than Vicky since the latter looked about thirty. And yet, he was always so patronizing, as though Vicky was a burden imposed upon him. He never talked to him unless absolutely necessary and even then, there was no amicability whatsoever. All there was, was rules, rules for everything. No jokes or light moments. Every moment seemed like a punishment.

At first Vicky could not understand why Gaurang had recruited him in the first place, given his general dislike and cynicism for all human beings, and why Gaurang had given him a place in his flat when nobody in his right mind would trust a random stranger after a mere five minutes of conversation.

And then he realized. It was surely pity. Gaurang pitied him. Vicky hated the thought of being pitied. Vicky hated his life. Yet, what could he do? Nothing seemed to be within his control and nothing was as he had aspired. And he could not give up.

He sighed, this was why he found such nights unbearable. They had this way of making him feel helpless and hopeless. At other times of the day, he was able to strut around like a king, winning over the hearts of all the women he met, and believing in life's endless possibilities.

On the nights he could not keep himself busy, reality intruded. Rudely.