Shadows

Around 15-20 minutes.

Opening scene:

Time: 8.30 pm

Thane station.

A man in his late forties gets down a bridge. His gait is slow, bordering unsure. He has a ticket in his left hand and is dressed in tacky wear. His hair is oiled and combed neatly with a side partition.

Recorded announcement with the Hindi part ending:

8.30 slow local for Mumbai Chattrapati Shivaji Terminus is arriving shortly on platform number 2.

The man waits, but seems shifty as he does so. He’s trying to smoothen back his hair repeatedly, cleaning his shoes at the back of his pants and then lifting his leg to brush off the dust, dabbing his forehead with his kerchief, once even warily checking if the fly is open. He looks around and sees a food stall. He edges near it and tries to see his reflection on one of the smooth surfaces.

Stall owner:

“Haan saab, bolo.”

The man is abashed and moves away quickly.

Recorded announcement:

The train arriving on platform number 2 is 8.30 slow local for Mumbai Chattrapati Shivaji Terminus.

The surroundings now heat up, relatively. There are only a few people standing on the platform near the edge and you see a gleaming engine’s front moving closer. The man breaks into a trot to get to the empty compartment, which incidentally is first class, and finally enters.

The compartment is totally empty. The panting man grabs the pole, swings himself inside and chooses one of the window seats. Now he’s relaxed. The recorded voice inside the new rakes is finishing the announcement of Thane station in English. The train jerks to start once again as the man settles down with a virtual ‘stage one completed’ satisfaction. He folds his hands and looks out of the window. Soon, he closes his eyes gently as the wind begins to play with and in his hair.

The screen fades.

Recorded announcement:

“Next station- Mulund”

The man realizes as he’s woken awake with a slight forward inertial jerk. Another man gets in the compartment. He observes the empty compartment till his sight sets on our man. Our man’s is a bit too drowsy to care and his eyes close momentarily, with the camera taking the perspective of the eyes.

The eyes open, lighting up the screen now the man is sitting opposite to him, looking directly at him.

The eyes close again as does the screen.

The Mulund man:

The eyes open and the Mulund man is smiling, still looking at our man. Our man sits up straight till his backbone is touching the backrest, which earlier had dropped diagonally, trying to appear civilized.

The Mulund man:

(Smiling an even wider wistful, smug smile)

Oh no, relax.

Our man feels even more uncomfortable. He suddenly realizes this might be the TC. He looks at the crumpled ticket in his hand and gives it to him hastily.

Our man:

(In an abruptly-woken-up croak)

Ticket?

The Mulund man:

Nah, I’m no TC. Although,

(Peering at the ticket)

It seems to me that you don’t travel much by first class.

(Looks up)

Our man looks at the ticket and realizes his mistake of getting into a first class compartment. He is suitably embarrassed now.

The Mulund man:

Why, you don’t look like you even travel by the train much.

Our man:

(Meekly)

Actually, there’s this event I am going to…

The Mulund man:

(Sarcasm dripping)

Ah. So those two rascals gave you the invitation passes and the train ticket and whatnot, huh…Paul?

Paul:

(Taken aback at the other person recognizing him)

How…

(Stuttering)

how do you know my name?

The Mulund man:

Come on. So what if I also happen to know other things too- like you’re a grave-digger. But how I know is not important now, my man. What is important is that what you are doing right now and is it the right, or let me put it this way, is it a ‘sane’ thing to do.

Paul:

(Baffled)

What?

The Mulund man:

Sane thing Paul, you are attending a fest, a social gathering. Is it what a person in his right mind will do? That is- is it what a grave-digger in his right mind will do?

The confusion outsmarts the obvious question of how the virtual stranger knew about it.

Paul:

(Bewildered)

What are you talking about? And who are you?

The Mulund man:

(Shaking his head, leaning back in his seat and speaking in a disappointed tone)

Paul, Paul, how many, no tell me honestly, how many times have we discussed this over? Thousand? Five hundred? Ok, take hundred, just so that you feel good about yourself. But it’s still a goddamn hundred times we discussed the same thing over and over and over again.

(Leans forward)

How the fuck do you not get it?

Paul:

(Surging mystification is now stabbing his inherent awkwardness)

I don’t know what you are talking about.

The Mulund man:

You still don’t get it? You wretched dimwitted turd pile, I am you. I am your own voice. I am your own head, your own fucking brain. Yeah, I do look somewhat different,

(The man looks at his own apparel of white kurta-pajama)

But then, seeing your doppelganger would’ve had you shitting bricks, right?

Paul doesn’t know how to react. He opens his mouth, closes it again. Opens it to say something when…

The Mulund man:

(Dismissively)

Tut tut. Accept it- I am you. I am just another side of that piece of meatball that you call ‘your brain’. And I am here to dissuade you from doing something stupid, from this being a big poop-show for you, for bursting the pretty pink bubble you have created, tied with a ribbon of hopefulness. Long story short- I am here with a sharp needle of reality and I wanna hear a ‘pop’ right now.”

Paul’s face multiples 345467 by 6541258 and gives an expression accordingly.

The Mulund man:

I knew you wouldn’t understand. That’s why we all decided that I alone wouldn’t be enough. And so more are coming here to persuade you. We all know if you slip this time, this wound will have serious ramifications.

Paul:

(Slightly disoriented and not knowing what to say)

We?

Recorded announcement:

(In all 3 languages)

Next station, Bhandup.

The Mulund man:

(Smiling)

Sweet! B’s coming now. Which reminds me- I am A, by the way. Wow, look at that, I rhymed! Anyway, we decided that just so as that you don’t get confused between so many of us, we are going to give ourselves names. I am A, the one coming soon is B, next one will be C… you get the idea.

Paul is standing up now and moves away a bit from A.

Paul:

What the hell is going on? Is this some kind of a…

A:

Joke?

(Brays)

Corny. You watch too much cinema. And no need to be dramatic. Sit the fuck down.

A stops talking and looks at the door. Paul is looking at the door too.

Enter B. He is wearing the same white kurta pajama, although the face is different. He directly goes towards Paul and B.

B:

(Without a hint that he just joined in)

Yeah, I know I look different. But then seeing your own mirror image…

A:

Already said that, B.

B:

Yeah, I know. But our Paul needs some reassurance first. Two mouths are better than one, right? So,

(Settles down opposite Paul)

where were we?

A:

I was…

B:

(Dismissively)

Bah, I know where we were. I was only warming up.

(Turns to Paul)

As you might’ve sensed already, we’re all a bunch of mentally strong people, just a bunch of wired neurons in your case- coz we don’t really exist. But this just gives you the idea that even you have that side to you- the ‘fuck you, world’ side. And that’s what we’re here for. We’re here to save you from getting all fucked up.

A:

(Discreetly)

That’s too many fucks, B.

B:

(Turning to A)

Shut the fuck up.

(Back to Paul)

Let’s back-track things a bit, shall we? A few months ago you are approached by two guys and two girls interested in making a documentary on your life, rather, a grave-digger’s life. The females sweet talk you into baring your heart out and what do you do? You tell them everything.

(Flashes of the documentary run on the screen with the following as the voiceover)

You tell them about your job, how you’ve been doing it since last forty years, starting at the young, what was the word you used, ah, ‘tender’ age of 9 with all those shitty lines ‘Continuing the legacy, in a way’ and other bullcrap. You tell them how you are a social outcast, but still want to be one with the others. You thought you managed to move them when they went all ‘Aww’ over you witnessing the beating up your childhood ‘friend’ received from his parents for playing with you.

A:

(In a falsetto)

Aww…

Both A and B snigger.

B:

(Continuing)

Half baked friendships, unfulfilling life and constant loneliness in spite of having all those corpses for company- you told them all and they lapped it all. Then one day the minister comes and after a burial ceremony, casually mentions reading about a grave-digger’s documentary being shown in some Kala Ghoda festival. And what do you do about it?

Paul chooses silence.

B:

(Tart tone, raising eyebrows in exasperation)

You sit in the train and set off to see it for yourself. I got a simple question- who do you think needs you there?

Frame fades out.

Recorded announcement:

(Begins as the next frame comes after the momentary blank screen)

Next station- Bhandup.

As the train halts, another person comes in and heads towards the troika. He is dressed in a similar fashion.

A:

And this would be…

Paul:

(His tenor is suitably bogged down after the verbal lashings)

C?

A:

Bingo! Wow Paul, for a gravedigger, you are not so dumb. I tend to wonder why we are here in the first place.

Paul:

(Annoyed)

Do you have to keep saying that?

C:

(Sits down beside Paul)

Oh yes sir, we do.

(Groaning the first line as if he is tired after a long walk)

Look here Paul,

(The tone soft)

I want you to know that the only reason why we are here is that we love you and we don’t want to see you getting hurt.

(A and B roll their eyes. C ignores them)

You do remember your last time, don’t you?

Dissolution to flashback in a B&W tint:

(There is a practice of the graves being re-dug from time to time to make place for others’, coffins opened and the remains- mostly ashes- are gathered, put in a pot and stored. Usually, the time a coffin stays buried is around 3 years in a Mumbai cemetery)

Paul is shown digging a grave around the evening time. As he opens the coffin, he is horrified when he sees a decomposing body with the face smashed inside instead of residual bones and ashes.

The DNA test establishes the body to be that of a slain politician. Next scene shows the interrogation by the police, Paul roughly shoved at relentlessly. The following one shows him taken into custody and being thrashed for details.

Next scene: He is let out. By now, he is physically shriveled and contorted, not to mention disillusioned and traumatized.

End of flashback.

You hear the loud noise of a fast paced hooting train passing by. Camera pans from the train to Paul who has dug his face into his palms in a conventional teary-eyed pose.

C:

You, Paul, were flogged for doing your job. You were whipped for being a good citizen and informing the cops. What was your fault? Where did you err? I’ll tell you why this happened. Because you are a social reject. Because that is how the world works- by trampling upon the trampled. What do you think, if you had money, they would do this to you? They knew they had nothing to lose and you had no one to turn to. Add it up, what do you get? Your life.

Paul:

(Bursting out)

What’s your point? That it’s better to die than live a gravedigger’s (deliberate emphasis) life?

D:

No, my point is you would only make a fool of yourself if you go. Listen, people don’t want you there. If they cared for you so much, they would’ve publicized about the hell you’ve been through during the murder incident ages ago. In the likes of the rich and mighty, you’ll only get spat at. There are rulers and there are the ruled. Everyone knows the kings. You know Akbar, you know Shivaji. Now name me one servant in the history who dared to stand up and wasn’t shot at.

Paul:

(Trying to defend a defeat)

Shivaji was a servant of Mughals too.

C:

(With a slight edge in his voice)

Don’t flatter yourself, Paul. The servants we’re talking about here are the kinds of a king’s horse’s poop cleaner. Was your Shivaji a poop cleaner?

No reply.

C:

(Gently)

It’s not your fault, Paul. It’s the world. It’s a shit-hole.

Scene fades.

Then lights up.

Paul is subdued and is crumpled up in his seat, brooding. A, B and C are looking at him. The train has stopped and a person enters, obviously D. He takes a quick look at the atmosphere and sits down beside C. All of them are silent for a while.

D:

(Suddenly speaking up)

What’s up his ass?

Others chuckle at the sudden break in monotony.

D:

(Turning to Paul)

I’m…

Paul:

(Muttering dejectedly)

D. I know.

D:

Smart. We’re only a station away from our destination.

B:

You say destination?

D:

Yeah, you know it. Our man is still bathing in sunshine.

(Turning to others)

All you guys, all of you are hopeless.

A:

(Annoyed)

Oh yeah? What have you got?

D:

Watch and learn.

(Makes C get up and sits beside Paul, putting an arm around him)

How you doing, Paul?

Paul ignores him. There is a brief silence.

D:

(Persistently)

What are you thinking?

Paul:

Shouldn’t you know? You are apparently my own mind.

D:

(Smirking)

Yeah, I was just trying to make a small talk.

Once again, Paul doesn’t reply.

D:

(Turning to the three)

Shame on you guys. Look how much you’ve depressed him. It’s okay Paul; I know how to lift you up. Shall I tell you a little story?

(Suddenly pepping up and rubbing his hands together)

Oh ya, let me tell you a little story. So, a long long time ago, there once lived a man. Now this man tried to stand up against norms. Guess what happened to him?

Takes a dramatic pause.

They nailed him. Know who he was? Anyone? Guys?

(The following few lines shot in a rapid way, the answers being shot from one to another)

A:

Bhagat Singh.

D:

Correct.

B:

Maharathi Karna.

D:

That’s right.

C:

Jesus.

D:

Wow, good one!

A:

Mangal Pandey.

D:

Go on.

B:

Mahatma Gandhi.

D:

Yep.

C:

(Smirking)

Paul Fernandez.

D:

(Clapping his hands)

Ooh, now there’s the question! Will he or won’t he? You see, our Paul is fortunate, more fortunate than Jesus himself. Why? Coz he’s got us. He’s got Anger, he’s got Bully, he’s got Compassion and me, Dread trying dead hard to knock sense into him. Our defeat is his scar. Our win is his victory. And as the next station comes, it will be our decider time- either we will win or he will lose. What would he like to do to himself? What would you like to do to yourself Paul?

The train hoots, signaling an oncoming station. Paul’s face is impenetrable. It is rigid as he gets up and moves slowly towards the door, his fists clenched. The faces of all four turn with him, watching him go. The train comes to a halt on platform 2. The announcement is ringing about the arrival of a Thane bound local on platform directly opposite.

There is an F.O.B. between the two platforms. Paul ignores it and goes straight ahead to the platform 3.

D:

(Smiling)

Gentlemen, our man’s getting a train back home.

The others beam too.

Paul is nearing the edge of the platform, not stopping to wait for the train to arrive properly. The engine whistle is gradually rising. Someone screams for Paul to hang back.

Screen blanks out as there’s a crash, with piercing screams and rapid footsteps filling up the audio.

Any voice- A, B or C’s- palpably stunned:

That was not supposed to happen.