Necropolis by Avtar Singh

Author:Avtar Singh
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Akashic Books
Published: 2016-05-03T00:00:00+00:00

The open parade ground where he and Smita were to receive their medals wasn’t far away. He arrived there with plenty of time to spare. He knew from past experience that the minister wouldn’t be perfectly on time, but she wouldn’t keep them waiting too long either. The entire ceremony, with press photos after, would only take an hour. It was slated to be over well before lunch. Fine by me, thought the DCP sourly. Enough time for me to burrow under some paperwork at the office and mull my options in privacy and solitude.

The sun was, if possible, even more brilliant here. The marquee set off to one side was an improbably festive color, the big red sashes on the chairs and the flowers in the vases in front of the first-row sofas gay accessories to the smiling visages of the soon-to-be-honored cops. The entire space reeked of esprit de corps and smug Delhi officialdom. The DCP wrinkled his nose. He felt in his pocket for his cigarettes, considering the advisability of lighting up in such close proximity to his senior officers, glancing around distractedly for someone from his team. He was momentarily blinded by the sun as he turned this way and that and smelled Smita’s fresh perfume and shampoo before he saw her at his shoulder.

“Congratulations,” she said archly, “for becoming the light of someone’s eyes.”

He squinted at her as his eyes adjusted to the glare.

“So close to that person,” she continued, “that you’re lost to everyone else.”

He laughed shortly. “I didn’t think you even knew songs of that era.”

“My father used to sing it to me when I was a baby. When I grew up, I remembered the tune and used to hum it. YouTube showed me the full song and the full message.”

“Rather a sour message, don’t you think?”

“Why? Weren’t you happy last night?”

The DCP looked at her steadily, then turned away.

“‘Ajeeb dastan hai yeh,’ written by Shailendra, sung by Lata. Lovely song. You know he was barely older than me when he passed away?”

“May heaven save you from such a pass,” replied Smita demurely.

“Indeed. You remember the first verse?”

Smita’s eyes were invisible behind her sunglasses.

“The singer is sitting on a boat with her love, who of course is with someone else. She asks why smoke always accompanies the light and she wonders whether she is in a dream, or whether she has, in fact, woken from one to find herself in this position.”

“Jealous, perhaps,” said the young policewoman, in the smokeless light of the brilliant sun.

“Certainly unhappy. If she is jealous, then I wonder if that particular emotion has ever been more beautifully portrayed.”

“Smoke helps. And dreaming.”

“No doubt,” said the DCP. A burst of sirens and a cloud of dust announced the arrival of the minister’s cavalcade. “Still, a lovely song. Shall we?”

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