Saviour

[With avid inputs from Sanjay Choudhury, my friend and batchmate from REC (now NIT) Silchar]

The place of posting was more than 150 kilometers from home. But roads were good and the car strong, that would barely take three hours to reach on weekends to the comforts of sweet home. That was a regular practice since my posting here as my family couldn’t join due to educational obligations of my only child. I never gave a second thought due to easy accessibility and, otherwise disciplined traffic. They would also join me whenever they felt like.

Another week was about to end for me to show up at home. But then, it was difficult to gauge from the moods of madamme and my child on arrival, whether they were happy or the other. The travel bag, a duffel, was small but had enough space to hold a few essentials. It was quite usual to keep a couple of sets back home so that, everytime I’d visit, there wasn’t any dearth of garments that would enbrace my body on the three nights that I stay put forgetting all the peevish pell mells of a busy office life. Lungi was the best companion that, would give enough comfort to say less about, along with a bottle of good whiskey to last the much relaxing weekend. All neatly dressed up, the Friday eveings would see me off except when some exigencies cropped up.

It was on a weekend in early 2020 that I was conciously swaying to my favourite music on FM radio while driving home on a Friday evening after office that, would take the fatigue off. Barring the delays caused by irritant rogues on the driveway who, in their zest to overtake and outdo each other at 40 Kmph, would irritate the most placid. Such disgusting maneuvours reduced the speed drastically, more the so, the average speed. No amount of honking would ever deter the super enthusiastic drivers of overloaded full Punjab lorries to abort an overtaking bid at that pace. Vagaries of weather was another issue that had to be dealt with sometimes, especially during monsoons. But beautifully engineered highways with ample roadsigns and safety barriers ensured driving peace of mind with alerts on the radio.

While parking the car, it was discovered that I had forgotten to bring the duffel bag that was supposed to accompany the short trip. It was something manifest of a misfortune that crash landed on the discovery. I was literally behaving like a near empty tube of toothpaste trying to squeeze with much effort to bring out tears in desperation and anguish. To add to the misery, Madamme had sent all clothes to the laundry as there wasn’t any necessity of hoarding the unused dirty linen for unleasing a fresh lease of life in them. She even did away with all my old garments that, were of bare use in her bid to unclutter and save on storage space, hoping to refresh the wardrobe upon my arrival. The ones in the laundry would be delivered by the following Sunday evening those could accompany back with me to my place of posting. Shops were closed by then and there was no scope of shopping a nightwear; a lungi at the least and a baniyan (inner vest). Any domestic altercation about the debacle would have led none anywhere. Rather, it would have amused neighbours who were too much drawn into soaps and serials on TV and OTT platforms and, try to figure out why the pandemonium when the guy was visiting only for a couple of days; much to their amusement and entertainment with our reputation at stake.

As idea would never take a backseat for an engineer depite the inner turmoil and tubulance as to what next, it was decided to do away with a bedsheet instead of one from madamme’s most precious collection of sarees that could have been higly comfortable. A bed sheet, that was soft enough, was pulled out of the closet and neatly halved to form a lungi. Just hope everbody knows what a lungi is. For those who don’t, it’s a piece of soft loin cloth that’s tied at the waist, keeping undercover, the inhospitable body parts from bare public view for courtesy. Some who wear it outside their home while in the bazaar have been seen to knot it again at the waistline raising the lower part ofcourse, maintaining all decency levels, lest being obscene. We are witness to the famous lungi dance number that was a chartbuster.

That was my bare minimum night dress for that night. Beside being abjectly suitable for the purpose, it did no justice to the comforts that an actual lungi gave. The makeshift lungi was not only uncomfortable but the overall idea of the halved bedsheet had sunk low in the mind. But then, there wasn’t any option either. The next day would see an end to this tortuous frame of the makeshift loin cloth saving me from sleeping without anything on.

After a shower, madamme quickly put all that I had put donned during the journey into the washing machine as a new unknown virus had hit the country in a big way. The clothes tiringly tumbled inside 

the drum in warm water and lather from the detergent that was used in excess to wipe out all germs that might have crept in. The tumbling of clothes was like inner turmoil that refused to go howsoever I tried to console myself. It was a good idea to wash the clothes as they would have dried over the night and have something in the morning worth wearing. The body was now in inhospitable terrain much to the displeasure in fullest of my conscience blaming the misfortune that landed. Amidst all these, it was a stark reality that I was wearing a bedsheet, cut into two. Strict instructions flowed incessently from all in the house not to answer the calling bell or go out to the balcony wrapped in the most ignominius avatar of a lungi.That entire night, I kept tossing from one side to the other, accompanied by snoring at different decibels, much to the displeasure of madamme, I could barely sleep to the discomforts of the wrap around my waist. They who use a lungi could go great lengths telling the luxury of the simple Indian loin cloth.

It wasn’t until that moment in morning where I went though the newspaper, still in that attire, sipping my regular cuppa of Darjeeling green tea that was bought from a venture by my batchmates, that the announcemnt of a nationwide lockdown was inscribed in catchy capitals. Though their tea taste heavenly, but the discomfort propelled on due to the handicap imposed for good. The sense of unease refused to leave me still and the idea of a halved bedsheet taking place of my beloved lungi. Somewhere the complacency was losing steam and discomfort gaining inertia. Again I was reminded starkly neither to answer the doorbell nor go out to the balcony. I made it a point not to get too close to the windows even to make the neighbours sniff out something was terribly wrong. The announcement of nationwide lockdown and the fear of infection from the Wuhan virus was a boon in disguise. None would reach out to me from the neighbourhood physically.

I was concious enough not to come within the stary and prying eyes of the neighbours. With no more ideas to churn out, the brain took a backseat to wait till the restrictions were lifted. As of now, no clothes till the shops reopened. Even ecom sites would not deliver that would have taken at least a couple of days under normal circumstances. Now what to wear after the next shower? The other half was readied till restrictions were lifted. No booze to comfort in such trying times too. It was curfew like situation all through. Only essentials were allowed under strict vigil of the now extremely alert policemen enforcing it. How could I ever explain anyone how dearly I missed my favourite shot in the evenings. Wouldn’t get my brand even in belak (read black) at super inflated prices.

The ordeal ended when a special pass was arranged to get back to my workplace. Jubiliation knew no bounds. I quickly ironed the washed clothes after about more than a month and left happily to the freedom of my life. The saviour ofcourse stayed back to tell a telltale story of my carelessness and desperation.