The Exposure

The Exposure is a psychologically complex Gothic tale set against the backdrop of Kolkata.

Below a shrouded pale Sun, crisscrossed roads in grey with white marks zoned out in directions. While dilapidated households coughed up a frail and less buoyant populace around it, who limped, strolled, or took a piece of a hinged wall to lean and smoke their local Tobacco beside similar set apart retail stores. Some of their exteriors reflected a tawny exuberance, marking their failing livers.

Others wore more simplistic formal wear, which either dangled on their frail bodies, touching their thighs, or their trousers looked dusty and mottled with spitted Ghutkas and Betel leaf colors from the past. After a while, the former part of the masses respected their aching backs and rested their waists on faded and blackened long tables, which occupied a part of a tea seller's outfit. Whereas the latter mass carried handheld nylon-stitched bags that announced their mornings.

Looming around such individuals were some long-forgotten British-erected landscapes that assisted Uber drivers to arrive without a hitch, or some random, stylish women in traditional wear coming out of a cul-de-sac to coquettishly appeal to a patron.

This was what I surmised about the Northern part of Kolkata. A city much like others, but rustic and proud in its choice of cultural upbringing. I inhabited one of the rooms surrounding a less-lavish flat in Southern Kolkata, in a locality called Gariahat. No sooner had I laid out my existence within its cramped spaces than I became encumbered more with a growing frenzy that let loose a string of abuse and hullabaloo from my neighbors.

When I enquired about the sordid din, I discovered a youthful coterie of 22-25 who barely managed to trudge off each weekend in their two legs, leaving a stench of acute marijuana. The landlord revealed how it was better for me to keep my doors shut at all times, unless an acquaintance or needy person stopped by my temporary residence. He further cited that the next-door individuals belonged to a family of local politicians, who had rented the room to mingle in their debauched frolicking. Although he avoided telling me how much of an investment, they had directed to obtain a full sanction for doing everything aside from murdering.

Anyways, the same inadequacy dictated my arrival to this part of the town, as I traversed amidst figures hunched with large sacks levelled on their backs, announcing their way ahead. Meanwhile, a smell of local spices coaxed my nostrils to feel that I had no sense of direction. Hence, I came across a small breakfast joint whose entrance was lodged in a nearby footpath. There was a man who lent to wash his mouth with a jug of water assisted me by showing the way.

Eventually, after again getting lost for a bit, I managed to reach my intended destination and meet my host. He was Mr. Arun Mazumdar, one of the many known real-estate brokers of North Kolkata. My many known references had allowed me to find a way to access his contact, before he introduced me to a decrepit structure, where accessibility was convenient, and most importantly, it was situated in a serene neighborhood.

'It's one of the many coveted places for tenants, ' exclaimed Arun.

I nodded nonchalantly before musing about how tourists and out-of-towners might have an ulterior motive to lodge themselves in a similar building.

‘Consider it as a way to complain!’, continued Arun.

'How is that?' I asked.

'Well! For starters, it's an old house, and tenants only want a reason to get a rebate on their deposits. Besides, at times, some of them even complained of odd creaks and groans without any idea about their source. Since that time onwards, I have faced increased difficulties in finding proper clients. You understand that when word-of-mouth spreads like wildfire, it sets ablaze a business owner's reputation as well.

His mention of random abnormal sounds within the place ignited my curiosity.

'Here we are, ' revealed Mr. Mazumdar as we took a sudden turn within a building which looked half-burned from a fire that might have raged in the past. Moreover, the dank and damp surroundings caked soot on its pillars and lattices. A daylight glow swooped down from its apex, which struck the ground floor, keeping the shadows at bay.

Our steps made tapping raps on the cemented ground, which spooked a few pigeons roosting in the higher rafters away. Instantly, I was seized by a maze-like sensation, like being swallowed by a visceral beast that was less aware it had consumed us whole.

Ascending a similarly styled wooden staircase that displayed broken linings, we made our way to the fourth floor, where a common balcony looked before room 401. Mr. Mazumdar made a meal of locating the right key, let alone getting it hinged properly in the lock.

'Lack of light, I am afraid, ' chuckled Mr. Mazumdar, as I turned on my phone torch to give him some assistance.
The door budged midway a click, giving way to a well-spaced living room with furnished items that looked tawdry. Closely connected to the same was a lean bathroom where broad pipes snaked across each other in different directions, ending with tap mouths in certain locations.

Luckily, it had a mirror nailed before a sink, although its glass meagerly allowed for staring at a full face by concealing half of it in dust. Beside the bathroom stood a forlorn room of fair size that had a bed to accommodate a single individual. Still, the distasteful part of the entire household was that it was minimally ventilated, preventing negligible light from penetrating from outside, with only a couple of windows.

I raised my concerns to the broker, half-expecting him not to differ with my case. This way, our understanding allowed him to take me to the landlord who owned the premises.

‘Mr. Dixit lives out of the city and travels frequently overseas, but he has just arrived a few days ago. Luckily, your visit coincides with his availability, explained Mr. Mazumdar.

Apparently, the landlord resided two blocks from the house, where we managed to nudge a steel gate and make way up another flight of stairs before getting invited in.

The interior of the residence exuded chill, wealth, and comfort. Mr. Dixit, a sexagenarian, was in his housecoat while he sat cross-legged on a chair suited more for his needs. The air-conditioners were thrumming gently, while the house echoed our voices. The broker expressed my interest, including my concerns. At which, Mr. Dixit allowed his hands to stir and elegantly touch his lips with a few of his fingers. I noticed how his congenial expression turned into a frown on his face.

‘I would like a word, if you would care to leave us for a few minutes, Arun, ' said Mr. Dixit.

With this, Arun acknowledged the request and left us promptly to give himself a little breather. Mr. Damodar Dixit was a Central government employee posted in Delhi, but had his birth and upbringing in the city of joy. His wife and kids were in Delhi, while he had to come and go as he pleased to ensure his business in Kolkata was up to speed after their own property was looked after here. He had a few maids who assisted him in cooking chores and cleaning, while he did the rest.

‘Even if I am away from this city, it always feels like I am near. I mean, we also have our community Durga Pujas, Kali Pujas in Delhi, but it always feels like something is missing without looking at those lights from your flight window during arrival, noted Mr. Dixit, softening but at the same time taking a grim tone with words.

'Initially, it was difficult for me, given that Monima had her house to look after, since she too had parents surpassing their seventies. However, how could one not give a nod to a public service post? Especially when you've worked so hard to attain it. We had our share of fights which arose from these dilemmas, ultimately it was Monima’s mother who passed away suddenly, and his father couldn't bear the shock six months later.’

A brief pause permeated our conversation until Mr. Dixit, conjuring a resolute look to overcome his worrying lines, spoke again.

'For a time, it destabilized the family. We continued our functioning, but Monima became inconsolable. She got over her fit after a long time, before I finally decided to request a transfer of my family to Delhi. Its sanction allowed me to consider what to do with my two houses here. Finally, the idea dawned that I might get good tenants such as yourself to keep me with a regular generation of money.

That would allow me to come back for a reason. Meanwhile, looking at how Monima had things in this house, she convinced me not to rent it out. Instead, it turned out that we had a place to return to after all. While we considered giving the one, you're interested in to offer up for renting.’

I listened to his words attentively and almost didn’t fail to notice the slight daylight that surrounded his disposition, before getting enveloped in a shade too heavy to wear off. I thought maybe it was similar for any number of individuals getting a taste of a similar fate.

Mr. Dixit continued, ‘Now, before you decide anything about the renting, I consider it my responsibility to be frank about the house and its past dwelling experiences. '

I urged him to go on.

‘The house is old and we have had very limited time to perform maintenance, given that I myself have stayed so little in this city. For that, that-I have considered reducing the deposit demand and even moderating the rent value’.
He paused again by moving his hands next to a stool, where a glass of water was covered by a porcelain plate. I noticed how his hands shook slightly until he managed to steady them and bring them close to his mouth to undertake a few swift sips.

Through random stares in between the sips, he noticed me watching him.

He took a deep sigh and placed the glass back in its place.

‘Perks of having high blood pressure and a wife so far away, ' he laughed and cleared his throat.

‘Anyways, it was rude of me not to ask anything about you. Pardon me saying so, but you don’t seem like a Bengali.’

With that enquiry, I answered, ’No! I am originally from Jharkhand; I am in the city because I wanted to study in a premier institute and prepare for the Indian Administrative Service exams. Although there isn't a shortage of such establishments near my home, a professor in my college referred me to his colleague, who was the Head of the Physics department in the institute here in the city. My professor thought it was beneficial for me to be under his guidance and study under his auspices. Since my parents allowed me to explore the world from an early age, I didn’t see how they could say anything if I wished to pursue my dreams alone.’

Damodar Dixit listened fixedly to my monologue until he interjected, 'Arun was saying the other day that you had a rented flat in the South? Why did you decide to shift so far away?’

‘Well, my institute branch was in the South near Deshapriya Park, then I asked for a transfer to the north, given that I was facing increasing difficulties in finding an appropriate place in the nearby vicinity. Now, I am near the Shyambazar branch.’
'I see, ' exclaimed Mr. Dixit

All of a sudden, another one of those earlier escaped glooms crept back onto his brow. He looked pensive and inwardly distressed about a matter. Yet, I had a limited idea of what that comprised.

After another of those prolonged pauses, he resumed, ’Ever since I have given the house up for rent, my former tenants hardly ever stayed more than 6 months. Their complaints were rather odd, as some alluded to random noises in the night, while others indicated that they saw apparitions of an old lady in a White Saree roaming the corridor. We even had two young tenants like you last year, who took up a grievance with Arun'.

'They had an altercation in our locality, until the local party officials and nearby folks had to intervene. The youngest among them was convinced that he saw a bloody woman in the bathroom. He described it as a blood bath, where even the wash basin seemed whitewashed in gore. The eldest said he saw a guy on fire committing suicide by flinging himself over the balustrade in the same corridor, where sightings of an old woman were indicated by others.’

‘Arun didn’t just stand there and take up all the insults; he rushed ahead with a few of the party members and the tenants to verify the claims. Naturally, there were none of the anomalies that were confirmed by our tenants. Even the bathroom was free from insects and cobwebs'.

'In spite of the evidence before us, the tenants continued fussing about how this was a setup by me, the owner, to get them out and seize the deposit money for myself. They ranted that I was leeching money from different people in the same way. They shouted in front of my locality buildings, announcing that if they didn't stop me in time, I was going to get away with all the hard-earned money from their cousins, daughters, and other distant relatives’.

‘Now I leave it up to you, as I will not force anyone such as yourself to occupy a so-called haunted house. You're young, an academic, and going up in the world; I wouldn't want a curse upon me that I was the first stone beneath your feet on the way. Even if the accusations were all rumors at best, certain insinuations travel far and faster, especially when people around you do not wish you well’.

‘I only want to say that the locality is friendly and clement, but the house might invoke some dreary experiences after what I said. Unless you have other options, I can say………’

'I will take it, ' I replied.

Mr. Dixit was at a loss for words the moment I uttered the sentence. He conjured up a smile from the pits of murk spreading throughout his demeanor. He put forth his hand to shake on the deal.

My readers might be wondering why I accepted the offer. An aspirant like me, whose logical sense should have prevented him from even being in that conversation with the owner, after hearing the word haunted.

The reason was rather unusual, which I could never express wholeheartedly to anyone ever. It evoked my childhood memories of days when my uncle and father were in the same room as me. My mother would be off for a local sojourn at the bazaar, while they would immediately close the door behind her.

During the interim, while my father conversed with his brother, I would doze off to be awakened by crashing plates in the kitchen. Each time I woke up in the same room, I would find myself naked below my waist and the absence of both. I had this throbbing pain that rushed down my groin. Initially, I used to think that, as my parents wanted me to believe, I was prematurely peeing a lot.

The doctor needed to get a look at me. However, one fine day, I pretended to sleep in the presence of my two guardians again, as I needed to know what brought on the pain since no medicine from the doctor actually worked to dull the ache. I felt someone pull down my pants, when I was fully conscious that no pee had discharged on my pants. To my horror, I started feeling a deep warmth in my pelvis, it was thick hands that squeezed……

'Are you alright?' prompted Mr. Dixit.

I was quickly out of my reverie. Thinking that I couldn’t possibly explain to the man before me the extent of my acceptance. Ever since that day, I was not too inclined to connect with the society around me, in which case I preferred being alone, and the house to which I accepted a rental offer provided me that ominous seclusion I might have been seeking forever. It was as if I wanted to be part of those bricks, part of those broken shards that partially blocked daylight, to bask in the shimmering dust that culminated around the ray to fall on the ground.

I felt like the halo itself was floating or perhaps standing there beside Mr. Arun in the middle of the main lobby, staring at the apex. Perhaps believing that those pigeons which tried to escape their fright were perhaps in some way like me, who was trying to get away from his father and his family. Although I still worried for my mother, who often called me to ask about my whereabouts, my daily food routines, my studies, and if I had met any pretty Bengali girls. I couldn’t just stay back……not for her or anyone.

‘I was only thinking about how I will get myself underway with the payments and moving in practices.’ I explained to Mr. Dixit.

‘Do not worry about that, let me and Arun take care of that for you.’

I moved into the house within a few days and settled down by arranging my things in an orderly manner. In the interim, Mr. Dixit ensured that the agreement was properly drafted with his lawyer, which allowed me to choose an auspicious day to sign the agreement, considering other formalities.

The initial few days were spent normally, with my departure on weekdays by attending the institute, sometimes taking a trip to purchase books in College Street, or taking other excursions across the city, like Maa er ghat and Coffee House. At times, the other houses within the building revealed inhabitants who tend to avoid me and allowed me to return the favor. Other times, I was stopped on my way in by housewives who egged me to reveal when I had moved in and if it was a case of a love affair gone wild.

Then one day, I arrived late at the premises, given my prolonged studying in the institute’s library. The entire locality had experienced a power failure, which also caused our building to lose its light. I had a tough time figuring out both direction and where the stairs ascended. While coalesced clouds gnawed at each other to create clatter and momentarily infuse awareness into view from the apex. I took a stumble with each flash and the ensuing rumble, but eventually managed to find my way to the fourth floor.

Suddenly, as if I was manifesting from a potential hallucination, my eyes witnessed a glowing form emerging from a cranny by the wall. This figure approached me, and its closeness revealed a burning. Its entire visage was set ablaze, whereas it let out a suppressed groan before turning and climbing up the balustrade. I was too scared to even go anywhere and call for help, then my tongue-tied mouth made a deep recess as the person disappeared while the lights came back on.

To my dismay, there was no one in the corridor or four floors below lying splayed on the ground. Further horror pursued when I couldn’t even find a blackened or jelly-like footprint running the way he had commenced his end.
I thought it was just my tired subconscious that was manifesting from the words dictated to me by Mr. Dixit. As I had studied non-local consciousness, it was nothing apart from being just another errant vision.

However, I had difficulty having restful sleep that night. I would wake up with a jolt from the earlier nightmare I had encountered and urged myself to try and stay mindful about working harder next time onwards. Meanwhile, I usually squat in the bathroom when I am feeling restless. This night was not so different. I was sitting hand folded in the commode when its cemented corners leaked a reddish liquid, which started getting thicker and spreading from every part of its body. I presumed it was a random seeping issue from the heavy rain that had halted a few hours earlier.

As I flushed and got up to turn and locate the leak’s source, I noticed that the liquid had a corporeal stench, and soon it was guzzled out of the commode itself. Then, out of the commode, I saw thin, bark-like white hands with sinewy white fingers protruding out of the commode seeking a handhold on its side.

Again, I suppressed a gut-wrenching scream to not cause any stir and rushed out of the bathroom. I closed the door behind me and shut my eyes to get my nerves in control.

Behind my lids, a scene played when I was younger and had reached an age beyond 10. I was playing Kabaddi with my friends Rikki, Bittu, and Sati in my abode’s courtyard. We were engrossed in the game until I was inadvertently tripped by someone’s ankle. Instantly, my father rushed out at the commotion and picked me up. He brushed my trousers for dirt and cleaned my shirt.

Then, as if on a whim, he hugged me tightly, then went to his knees and tried to kiss me on the lips. It made me uncomfortable, and I tried to fight away from him, but he restrained me with force than before, which made my friends uncomfortable, and they eventually grew tired and left. All the time he kept saying,' Nothing will happen to you while I exist………. A scratch in your body puts a dent in my heart……I will never abandon you.

I remembered his eyes from that day. I was like an unfathomable valley, except that which was decayed from lack of touch made by nature.

Reality washed over me as I opened my eyes to a vacant room that seemed pale from the horror I had witnessed before. Yet, it had somehow managed to get a grip on its debilitating state. I opened my bathroom door again to check if my vision was true this time.

There was not a squiggle or splash of blood anywhere within, allowing me to pour some water on my face and neckline by the wash basin. I stared at the mirror for some time, then took a deep breath, reaching for the towel by the rack.
I rested prematurely to wake up early the next day. It was another tiresome day for me as the classes dragged on for extra hours, and I had to take up additional notes to take home for studying.

I was dying to hit my bed and thus returned before the afternoon skies turned dark blue. As I decided to give the night to rest my body and head. As soon as I opened the main door of my rented place, I noticed an old woman seated with her back to me on a stool by the window. Apprehensively, I approached her with little steps, seemingly unaware of any stranger's arrival or their entering unannounced.

‘Who are you?’

‘Grandma, are you lost?’

Not a single syllable invoked a response. It wasn't until I put my hands on her shoulders to make her turn that a shock of utter disbelief shoved me backwards. I missed my footing and landed on my back, witnessing a charred body draped in White Saree staring at me with a nonplussed expression. She had hair white as the Winter Snow, whiskers bushy as untamable bounty, and eyes white like Ocean pearls. All around her, blisters erupted out of her wrinkly skin that looked grotesque with blackish coal-like exuberance.

I was again lost for words and kept on chanting the Chalisa mantra (40 verses for Lord Hanuman), before the window opened by the rogue wind and its shutters started falling inwardly nudged by the gust. That brought in a sudden sunlight that temporarily blinded me.

I was awakened to find myself again in a childhood memory, where incessant feminine screams allowed me to rush to their source. I peeked from a corner outside the room, where voices emerged. It was my father who was arguing with some other woman who brought her son with her, while my mother looked in confusion.

'I saw him the other day, clear as daylight, he was touching my son’s….' exclaimed the anguished woman.
‘Don’t you dare lie and make such heinous accusations, ' replied my father.

'I am afraid I don't understand, ' intervened my mother.

‘He had gone to school to pick up his son, and I was running late. In the meantime, he figured out a way to get near my son and assuage him about my arrival. I could never in my life have imagined him getting this dirty…….’
‘Your son is lying, I have never in my own life touched a kid untowardly or based on what you're insinuating, ' defended my father.

My mother entered the discussion but was shut out intermittently. It, however, did not befuddle me into figuring out the basis of the arguments.

The blindness triggered by the splash of daylight escaped my consciousness, like a receding wave, and my concentration returned to normalcy.

I soon discovered a familiar environment with the same cold, comfort, and prosperity, until my neurons fired to expose a known individual before my vision.

I was strapped to a chair, and my legs were clasped.

Mr. Dixit spoke out to steel my attention, 'The progress you've made is worthwhile. However, we need to intensify your treatment in the next few weeks'.

His housecoat was replaced by a White gown. He had a pad on the table, which previously balanced a glass. His right hand had a Parker pen. He called for his personal nurse,' Monima, oh Monima, come here for a minute'.

Right before my eyes, a dream or a nightmare was unfolding. As she stepped into the room, my pupils traced her movement. She was an aged Sati.

She was my nurse here at Pavlov hospital.

Yes, my childhood friend Sati. It was she who assisted my doctor, Mr. Dixit. Their duty was to expose my subconscious through my most dreaded fears. Same fears which might make a labourer at Barabazar look away at the prospect of being the owner of a profitable logistics firm, a young person to lose his hair across the Nimtala crematorium, or a beautiful girl turned doctor to find herself helpless and lifeless in a hospital filled with staff.

It might be abnormal for others to understand my deep sentiments. While it might be completely normal for others to perceive ordinary things.

Maybe I didn't deserve an ordinary life with ordinary friends, a life with normal parents, and a life completely free from exposing my pain regularly. A life to try and relive every day...

Only to become cured. Although I don't even know what that means.