I am a man of simple tastes - a few lectures to students, a few articles from the Nature and a few hours of introspection - this was how my life progressed.
But on this day, ten years ago, I entered my empty office to find a little note on my desk.
Dear Dr. Wasan,
He’s at it again. Need your help.
- M.H.
And thus began, to put it more dramatically, my one little adventure!
*********
"Good evening, Miss Holkar!" said I, seating myself in a wooden chair on the grass lawn.
The glow of the evening sun fell delicately upon the old woman's face, as she nodded. Her skinny hand held up a steaming cup of coffee.
“What is it this time?” I asked, sipping the coffee with relish.
“The scientist’s shut in the lab seven days at a stretch!” Miss Holkar declared.
“That’s quite normal by your son's standards”, said I.
“Quite so”, agreed Ms. Holkar, “but I am afraid he’s getting worse."
"Why? What happened?"
"This afternoon I knock on his door at lunchtime. He opens it and gives me this queer look - as though not recognizing me at all. When I ask him to come down for lunch, he says in this dreamy voice, ‘Ah! It’s you mom! Do you know the name of the Persian woman whom Alexander the Great married?’”
"Well...” said I, unable to suppress a smile, “Did you give him the answer?”
"Oh yes", Ms. Holkar nodded, “I took back the lunch."
Stirring her cup of coffee, she continued, "And he keeps scribbling weird stuff into scraps of paper and throwing them out his window.”
She handed me several paper scraps. Each was filled with a random phrase like – 'Reichenbach Falls' – ‘Spiders’ – ‘Gilbert Chesterton’ – ‘Cheese Fondue’ and so on.
“Sleeplessness and constant work seem to be affecting his mind. His focus is too much on research”, spoke Ms. Holkar with concern.
“Wonder what that stuff he’s researching is...” I spoke, half to myself.
“Definitely stuff that I don’t care about”, came the frank reply.
I could do nothing but nod. I took another sip of coffee as a little kid came running across the lawn.
“Grandma! Grandma! Let’s go to the circus!” he shouted animatedly.
"You want some coffee, Rajan?" I asked the kid.
"I hate coffee!” he said with a grumpy look, “It tastes like rotten chocolate!"
"Rajan!” spoke Ms. Holkar sternly, “Why don't you go out and play with Mohan?"
"He's gone to the circus grandma...” he said and added gloomily, “with his dad...”
“You can go with your dad too”, I smiled, "pretty soon."
He gave me an annoyed look and turned around.
Watching him walk dejectedly towards the house, Miss Holkar spoke, “You know something... Rajan doubts if you really are a good family friend...”
I fumbled over my cup of coffee and started coughing.
“Miss Holkar...” I spoke clearing my throat, “I shall talk some sense into your son’s head. Right away!”
*****
Thus, I was entrusted with the mission of counseling a scientist - to persuade him to stop spending his entire day locked up in a lab – to spend more time with his son and mother – to keep them happy.
But, he was a tough man to convince - Dr. Shanmukh Holkar.
"You're here to see ME?" asked his voice from within his lab, "Not having enough lectures at the university these days, Wasan?"
"I do", said I, talking to the closed door, “But some lectures, I prefer to give them personally. Could you please step out?"
“Interestingly, I have the power now to make my dear lecturer wait", came the reply from within, "Pray seat yourself."
I turned away from the door and looked around. It had been a few months since my last visit. His study still had the same extraordinary sense of orderliness. Stacks filled with neatly-labelled reference books, a couple of soft-cushioned chairs adjacent to a window that looked out into the lawn, a wooden table in the middle of the room with the day's newspaper and Shanmukh's food on it - everything was the same.
"You've lost a lot of hair, my friend", spoke Dr. Shanmukh, stepping out of his lab.
"God is a hair-stylist with a bad sense of humour sometimes", I said, fingering my almost-bald head.
Shanmukh smiled and picked up a biscuit from the plate. Munching it, he walked towards the window.
"Just tell my mom I will be done in two days."
So, he knew the purpose of my visit. But, I played innocent, "Done with what?"
Shanmukh turned and paused, gauging me with his eyes. He then picked out two scraps of paper from his coat pocket. “I guess these two will add to your little collection."
I noticed his fingers were stained with a white powder-like substance as he handed over the paper scraps with a lot of care.
"Two days Javed. That's all I ask", said he and walked back into his lab, shutting the door behind him.
I looked at the scraps in my palm. One had the words ‘What happened after Hanuman flew back from Lanka?' while the other 'Kaleidoscope of Mathematics'. I knew which collection these scraps belonged to.
*****
For the next two days, this little thing kept nagging my mind. No matter how much I diverted myself, my mind kept springing back to what Shanmukh might be up to. From my balcony, I could see the light in his lab turned on through the nights. I tried piecing together the mystery by sitting down with the scraps of paper and a pipe - Sherlock Holmes style. The result was the exhaustion of my tobacco supplies.
Finally, two days passed. I was seated at Shanmukh's study once again. He passed me a glass of orange juice and sat down. I took a sip, waiting expectantly for him to open up on his research.
"It's been real hard work", he said, picking up the newspaper, "I should relax and watch some movie now. Any good ones playing?"
I grew fidgety but managed to reply, "There's one called Sweet Blade. The usual guy-meets-girl type..."
"What's the story?"
This question made me impatient. But I played along, giving him a thorough description of the story that had filled the pockets of all producers of Indian cinema for the past several decades.
Shanmukh listened and nodded occasionally.
"What did you say the name of the film was?"
I thought for a while, but could not recollect.
"Could you repeat the story? Especially the part after the villain abducts the heroine..."
I was shocked to realize I could not answer his question. It felt funny because I had said it moments ago.
Shanmukh smiled seeing my predicament and declared, "Wasan, you have just experienced my little invention."
His eyes sparkled as he pointed at the orange juice.
"A concoction of U0126 Ethanolate that modifies the neuregeulins in your brain and helps to selectively delete memories."
I was too stunned to talk.
"All you have to do is drink and recollect and voila! It's gone!"
"And I've tested it on all possible memories. Memories of smell, memories of taste, music, literature, places and even people. Whatever’s on your mind gets deleted!"
I stared at the glass in my hand. Shanmukh was smiling with silent pride.
Finally, I found my voice. "Do you... do you realize how useful this thing could be?"
"Would it really help?" asked Shanmukh in a playful manner.
"I mean... imagine how many people could get on with their lives. Forget their sorrows, the ugly incidents. This... this is a boon for psychotherapy!"
"I never thought of it that way", confessed Shanmukh.
“Well, what did you make it for then?”
“The world could do better with a little more chaos.”
Taking a cue from my gaping mouth, he continued, “Nothing revolutionary. Don’t worry. It’s just that everything is so very well-rehearsed these days. Nothing is spontaneous. My drug is a feeble attempt to make the human, human once again.”
A mischievous smile played on Shanmukh’s lips. It was a smile that reminded me of a young kid, back in my school days, who played with chemicals in the lab and concocted wacky-flavoured syrups and let people try it.
“I don’t understand. What do you intend to do?”
To be continued.
Nice tribute to SH there:) with the names and title
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