Fiction and Fiction in Translation: July 2025

If I had Multiple Lives, I’d Die in One : Gourav Chakroborty

To live here in May is always painful. Bathing in one’s own sweat, catching cold for drinking too much soda, life lately has been split in two parts, winter and suffering in waiting for winter. Noon descends at 7, its suicide to go out. But there’s a Toto in its own steady pace and unsteady balance, going through. Stopping it came down a very handsome man, early 40s maybe, in his white Punjabi and pyjama, with a vintage looking analogue watch, which has now garnered a whole cultural capital in itself. He has gone quite a bit bald and also has garnered fat underneath, but he carries quite a charm with himself. He looks like an important person, at least he has that aura about him, with his aged but clean chappals and fancy but very humble sunglasses. Where might he be going?

But the Toto carries on, gaining its turtle pace cutting through the heat waves, under the shades of trees, honking at absolutely nothing. It goes on, through the yellow shops with dead concrete, though the tempting ‘mohabbat ka sharbat’, it just goes on. It encounters the gigantic trucks, constantly being humbled since the last Friday. Crossing a big entrance gate, the Toto halts at its own sudden wish, just a simple resistance towards the dominating imperial traffic rules. Whose fault is it? Why should someone stop him from his self-expression?

You come down the Toto in a very stoic manner, white shirt, beige pants, oversize, mysterious, fancy. Anyway you pay the Toto and it goes on towards continuing its rebellion. Walking in your usual fast pace, you bring your phone out of pocket and search for a song, for the ear buds which surprisingly has been silent all this time. You face the great conundrum of choosing between Nina Simone and Michael Buble, over which “Feeling good” is now. There are strikingly different modes of settlement in any choosing. Slowing down you decide to betray ‘The High Priestess of Soul’ cause today you need to be the main character.

Birds flying high,

You know how I feel.

Sun in the sky,

You know how I feel.

You approach the stairs matching the rhythm and moving your eyes, glances, hair in a cinematic manner and think how beautiful it’d be if it could be captured the way you see, perfect for an introduction. Although at that moment, there’s hardly anything feeling good with the clothes growing restless to be more akin to skin. The first floor open corridor, the burning body.

Breeze drifting on by,

That’s how I feel.

You open the door and heaven strikes your body. This is what heaven might feel like, this is not a mirage. The world cannot be a matrix, machines couldn’t possibly know about this sensation. Nature cannot produce this miracle, this is human, and this is the peak of civilisation, although it’s also a question why we needed it in the first place.

It’s a new dawn,

It’s a new day, it’s a new life,

For me….

And I’m…

Hey, when did you come back?

Motherfucker! The whole section you come in and none blinks an eye, until this exact moment.

Yeah, I just arrived yesterday, I’m great.

I was just talking about you in the production room, I think it’s really brave of you to come back so early.

With an awkward pause and trying to digest the forwardness, you smile, which thinking back is quite haunting.

Oh yes! I know, I’m really fine, thank you. People go through these things very often, no hard deal.

Oh of course, but you know, if you ever need anything.

Yes, surely, thank you, maybe I’ll catch up with you later.

Thinking about this awkward meeting you sit on the chair, switch on the computer and UPS, it’s really very amazing, how this huge institution has been able to stop time inside, scientists really should investigate this, a Windows XP device trusted for working high end stuffs. You always really wonder where all the resources go if not the core units, but then again are you even part of the core unit.

This seven hours of refrigeration is your abode. The sweat getting cold, beginning of disease, gradually numbing skin, who keeps a room at 20 degrees? But severed from the hell, drowned in working oblivion, this is what you chose. You can hear people come and go, talking about things you’re unable to make out of. But you don’t need to, why pay heed to unnecessary. You must work, there’s a lot pending. Stacked up emails, letters from unknown places, all piled up. Your numb thin fingers look into today’s assignment: Letters from Mr. H, Corporate of Tiouna, Different Ltd. Corporations, University of Kurlington, What? What is their answer? It’s probably a rejection, you click light speed.

Congratulations.

You’ve done it. Months of sleepless nights and dream from your childhood, in front of you. You have to go home, you have to leave in a month. Your life is changed now on, away from this part-time bullshit, this scorching weather and this miserable life. No more emails from now on, leaving the computer open you leave again in that death zone, but this time it’s different, the end is your wish. The office can be notified later and for friends, well you don’t have any.

Your mother died exactly two weeks ago, but you knew that was coming, you pre-grieved, but this is huge, this was a lost hope. Out of the gate, waiting for a Toto, with a red face, how can you forget sunscreen in these days? A Toto very soon finds you, today’s no day for bargaining, and you have to reach home as fast as possible. With the instructions the Toto picks up a little bit of faster pace, but to what avail actually. The unusually greener trees, unmoving, gigantic, bold, maybe they’ll be missed, maybe this “Mohabbat ka Sharbat” too, which you always planned to taste, plans should be executed as early as possible. At the interjection a truck hits the Toto and instant death, skulls bashed on the road, a blood fest. Torn skins have flown to the yellow walls. But the stains are very unclear, whether that is blood or gutka. People gather round the place, these trucks with their speed, how can they enter in these tiny roads? The government is utter failure. Call the Ambulance. Soon you reach home, with a little headache possibly from the sun. You scream to gather all the people from your house. It is so calm, the wide coloured garden, red flooring, large windows, long corridors, big rooms, all will be missed. The conversations rise, while there’s automated structural whistling in the background. Mechanical noises of the fan, heat slaps from the window, you shivering in excitement, a house out of gloom. Your room, one of the only spaces for you to partially claim as yours, will be missed, red curtains, warm blue bed-sheet, stacks of books, window the silent friend of countless nights, perhaps the whole act of love and care come down to whether its new or old. Even the steep corner connecting the room to outside will be missed.

There’s a smell of a house that has offered a death for cremation. You just wiped it out. You know that you’ll have to arrange finance for your departure, but hope comes so annually that you let it linger. The running down of water, cold, a visceral experience, the antidote to all disease. The ecstasy of taking a bath is undoubtedly the only boon of summer, it’s actually unreal how one stays cleaner during summer. There’s a long corridor that one has to cross, in your house to reach to any room, for a body like yours it becomes very daring indeed. Perky breast, long legs, one Gamcha, an interesting task indeed, but today your feet are light, it’s almost jumpy. A trip to your beloved steep corner, an impact to the ground, the bed handle has pierced the head, warm red bed-sheet. For years your mother has asked to fix this corner, just a matter of half an hour. Your mother would be happy now, would laugh indeed, her theory has been proved. Beds are dangerous too. You bring out your monochromatic attire, colours are outdated. You need to visit the bank soon, otherwise tickets will be sold. In a Toto you soon reach the bank, another heavenly abode. But the guard has locked the door, today is loan day, you always have to wait 23 minutes before entering. Men and women in lines, looking behind their shoulders, whistling, throwing and wiping sweat, cursing at sweat. Facing the full force of the sun without any fans or cooling system, and with the risks of sunstroke, but what better place to die indeed.

As expected from a loan day, the bank internet has been down. The manager calls you in, Oh! The manager has been changed from the previous crass angry old lady, always trying to fuck the customer, but this is a huge upgrade, mid-thirties, tall, dark, short hair, white shirt, clean-shaven, rectangular glasses, mole on the cheek, you are obviously attracted to him. He has a certain depth in his voice, not very calm yet soothing to the ear, this dilemma.

Why do you want this loan?

My application to University of Kurlington has been selected, I need finance to reach after that I have other resources.

Congratulations! That’s a huge success, what are you going to read there?

Indian History is my PhD topic.

Very good, we must be aware of our ancestors. Do you know that India is the first country in this world?

No, it’s Bharat now, I guess. An awkward but affirming response met you. The manager in his XP, frowns and glances at you.

The AC is surprisingly very silent in this room, also why’s everything so white? Plastic plants, plastic arts, plastic possessions, this is a plastic house. You love it, this person suddenly feels more attractive to you. The jittering legs, taps on faded keyboards, long glances at the screen, you should use a blue filter glass.

Oh, Thank you but this one already has a blue filter.

An awkward pause. Where’s your silence?

Your account can’t accommodate a loan, I’m Sorry.

Please, is there no other way available. You meet with a smirk, heinous, attractive.

There is actually one, but maybe you won’t like it, now it’s up to you, how much you want the loan. It’s easy actually, I usually finish within half a minute.

Well, you find him handsome, and today is a day of celebration. Getting up, you settle your pants, warm bottom for sitting too long, straight out of a movie, you reach him. He opens a desk, signals to get on your knees. Hearts racing, people are outside, eager to look inside, eager to know inside, but your loose shirt doesn’t care about them. The manager brings out his finest pencil and stabs you in your ear, pierced skull, a straight kill with as they say, “a fucking pencil”. Multiple continuous stabbings, no stain on the walls mostly on your dress and the floor, his control is neat, no wonder everything’s so white. Clinging of bells and two workers come in with the next loaner. The best and worst part of heaven is the fall from it. The loss makes it worthwhile. Limping with a bag you come out, the bank can’t give space for Toto, you need to wait. “Mohabbat ka Sharbat”, a sham, but this day deserves celebration, the best day of your life. Rapid sweat, faces red, stomach unfed, juices are flowing down the wet mouth. The tender licking of the lips is the denominator of taste.

Moving under a shade of advertising board, the lasting watermelon taste, indeed a great cooling system, you wait for the Toto that’s eternally in present continuous. Afternoons are always mundane, most people at that time are usually following their usually used to routine. Your standing is the only delight here, you do stand out, maybe that’s why there’s even breeze now, although definitely not cold, but you admire disjunctions. Bikes and cars moving god-speed, maybe this anomaly will be missed too. A clean strike, a fall of the upper iron clad from the board has split the skull again, the blood has soaked the shirt again, the bag has excreted most of the money and your pierced skull is with the other half. If dry, they could’ve been useful. Blood’s redder that the “sharbat” the vendor noticed. This is the paradox of mundane. Roaming with money screams of danger, so your skull is split three times more in your return.

Tired of dying, you directly go back to the warm bed, fans screaming their monotonous pitch but practically non-existent, it’s a question, even if they matter? Load shedding. The naked body burns, and the hidden body is dead. You are asleep, there’s a watery glow around your body, vaporizing, your fingers losing their shape, body imitating the liquid it lacks, but you sleep on. Your melt down has arrived.

Outside the familiar and window of nostalgia, a series of green plants, a large black lump in the middle, a cat, looking up in the house, smiles, licks its butt, a very clean animal indeed. Looking straight, screams at the screen:

“Whatever you achieve, you can’t surpass a cat.”

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