Story // Mr Kanetkar's Office at Tribhuvan Rd
The entanglement of an office worker in Mumbai, his new colleague, and a teenager in Philadelphia.
3rd February 2003, Mumbai
Mr Vishwas Kanetkar took over the seat vacated by his new colleague, Mr Singh. The computer screen in front of the seat displayed the small, blinking dash of a command prompt. Just above the prompt, a line of grey text read “Sometimes you just gotta light up, man. You won’t get it till you get it.”
Mr Singh lifted his backpack off the cracked-tile floor and slung it over his shoulder. “We have to have chai sometime and talk about work, Mr Kanetkar,” he said. “I’m sure there’s a lot you could teach me.”
Mr Kanetkar cracked his knuckles over the keyboard and grinned at his colleague. “You have a lot of catching up to do, Mr Singh. You know, before you, I worked with Surve Madam. We were a better partnership than Tendulkar and Ganguly.”
The young, turbaned Mr Singh made a thumbs-up gesture showing that he was impressed. He disappeared through the rotting doorframe and into the corridor outside, into a passage that lay dark under the barely-powered light bulb.
Back in the office, a new word emerged on the screen, conjured out of Mr Kanetkar’s steady typing.
“Where?”
Moments later, a response spooled out like cut-up lace.
“Party at Cransway, at Lia’s place. Smells of grass and alcohol. Bathroom smells of vomit. Hanging out in a dark corner, pretending to enjoy the music. Music is not great, but maybe it’ll grow on me. I think one of Lia’s friends is checking me out.”
Mr Kanetkar smacked his lips and grimaced in disappointment. He typed out another message on the screen, which went to a teenage boy’s mind on the other side of the world.
“Trevor, what is this? You were going to study for the Physics test due in 2 days. Why are you at a party?”
It was morning in Mr Kanetkar’s office, but the tubelight was still on from last night’s shift. The ceiling fan’s rotating shadows swung all across the office. Mr Kanetkar pressed the seventh switch in a mess of wires and switches, which turned the tubelight off, and he rummaged through one of the file cabinets in the room.
By the time he returned to his wood-framed, plastic-mesh chair, more thoughts from Trevor unspooled on his yellowed CRT monitor.
“The party seemed like a nice place. A little scary, but I made up my mind to not be scared. I wanted to go, so I went.”
Mr Kanetkar had retrieved a file (‘Say no to drugs’) from the cabinet, but he put it away and typed, “Nonsense. They are doing drugs and beer at that party. Your parents raised you better than this.”
“My parents are not going to find out,” the reply read.
“Get out right now and go straight home,” Mr Kanetkar typed in. He followed up his command with more text, which wasn’t meant for Trevor’s conscious mind. “--no-repeat --importance:500”.
In Philadelphia, on the other side of the world, 15-year-old Trevor put down the almost-empty red cup. He slid through the rhythm-soaked crowd and got out to be hit by the chill of a winter’s night. Hands in his pockets, he walked home with Avril Lavigne playing in his head.
In Mumbai, Mr Kanetkar entered a fresh command into the computer, which brought up Trevor’s actions for that day. He read message after message, all of which built up a sequence of events for him. That day, Trevor went to school, got home, got his homework done, did the dishes, was called by Lia to come to the party, and then, he said yes to the invitation.
Mr Kanetkar grumbled. “What did you do, Mr Singh?” He pressed the ‘n’ key to go to the next page of the on-screen report.
While at the party, Trevor had been approached by a girl named Beth. She had said that she hoped Trevor didn’t mind her checking him out. Trevor had replied that he didn’t.
Then, they had talked about music, agreeing that neither of them liked the band playing at the party. Trevor preferred music that most people didn’t - music from the 1980s that he got on old hand-me-down cassettes from his older cousin Darren.
Two songs later, Trevor and Beth had agreed to a movie date. They were going to watch a horror movie called Final Destination 2. With the plan confirmed, Beth had floated away to another group, and that was where Mr Kanetkar had taken over his shift.
Presently in Philadelphia, Trevor crashed on the bed with his boots still on. Darkness had taken over from twilight, and Trevor felt an urge to dial Beth’s telephone number.
Mr Kanetkar jabbed his fingers into the keyboard, spelling out his next instruction. “Tell Beth that you have to cancel the movie date.”
Trevor told Beth that he had to cancel the movie date. He sounded vaguely drunk and tired, and he told Beth that he hadn’t been thinking straight earlier.
On the other side of the call, Beth sounded disappointed. She asked him if something was wrong. Trevor replied that he had other plans. They navigated their way to goodbyes and hung up the call.
Mr Kanetkar typed into the computer while referring to the yellow file that he balanced on his lap.
“You’d make a mess of it, wouldn’t you? Remember when you spilt your Pepsi all over the lobby? Back when you went to Jurassic Park 2 with your parents?”
Trevor lay on his back and stared pointedly at the ceiling fan, letting his mind wander.
Mr Kanetkar sighed. “Exam in two days, and this boy wants to go watch movies.”
He consulted diagnostics on the screen to go over Trevor’s hydration, bladder, and fatigue levels. It was now safe for Trevor to fall asleep, but Mr Kanetkar made sure to fetch a trio of files from Cabinet CA-5, which he would feed into Trevor’s half-conscious mind.
It was only after Trevor was satisfactorily asleep that Mr Kanetkar put all the files aside and pulled out his tiffin box.
The four containers of the tiffin box shared space on the table with the dusty keyboard, three differently-coloured pens, and a small notepad he’d bought for a handful of rupees down the street.
One of the tiffin box containers held chapatis, another had spiced eggplant, the third had steamed rice, and the fourth had dal. Mr Kanetkar ate slowly and made sure to wipe the inner surface of each container clean.
After lunch, Mr Kanetkar stretched, made sure that Trevor was asleep, and then went out of the room to greet Mr Parmar, the owner of the sewing machine repair shop down the corridor.
He had met Mr Parmar a decade ago, and the two shared a camaraderie now. Dozens of firms and employees had come and gone in that decrepit building on Tribhuvan Road, but Mr Kanetkar and Mr Parmar had persisted. They joked that they had a survivors’ bond.
Later, Mr Kanetkar went to the balcony at the end of the first floor corridor. He lit up a cigarette and watched the cloudless skies. He reflected on the sun-baked dust and the missing off-season showers. No rain until the monsoon now.
He waited for the sun to turn a cooler ochre and then retreated into the dark of the corridor. He slid open the deadbolt on his office door and took his seat after a bout of stretching.
In Philadelphia, Trevor lay asleep and dreamt of being flung across an endless corn field. Falling sideways was exhilarating, and every time he alighted on the ground, he had only a couple of moments to think before he was flung again.
Mr Kanetkar sipped on his chai, which was brought to him in a small glass by a pre-teen boy employed by the local chaiwallah. Shortly after six, a curt knock on the door signalled Mr Singh, who entered with the same grin on his face as when he had left the office that morning. His armpits were lined with sweat and his cologne was deadenned by the metal lick of the local train.
They exchanged pleasantries, and Mr Kanetkar made way for Mr Singh to take over.
On the other side of the world, Trevor neared the end of his sleep. He was going to wake up, and once he did, Mr Singh would guide him through the rest of the day.
It was time for Mr Kanetkar to go home.
When Mr Kanetkar got home, he found his wife putting on a sari, ready to go out. Mr Kanetkar did not want to know why, but she told him anyway - it was Shashank’s birthday.
He replied that he did not know who Shashank was. She clarified that Shashank is the boy who lives one floor downstairs, and that Shashank had personally asked her to come to his birthday party with ‘uncle’.
Mr Kanetkar clicked his tongue. “His parents probably made him go around the building inviting everyone. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Still, we have to go,” Mrs Kanetkar said.
So Mr Kanetkar went to the boisterous birthday party, where he wished Shashank a happy birthday, gave him a ₹500 note, ruffled his hair, and then went into the back to talk to the other ‘uncles’ of the building.
“Will you have some with us, Mr Kanetkar?” Shashank’s father asked him, leaving out any words that might mean liquor.
“No, no, thank you. Maybe next time.”
“What next time? Next time will be next year!”
4th February 2003
Minutes after taking over his shift, Mr Kanetkar ran to the first floor balcony and searched for Mr Singh in the street below. He caught sight of Mr Singh’s maroon turban, but only as it disappeared down Tribhuvan Road in the direction of Lamington Road. It was too late to call after him now, so Mr Kanetkar groaned and returned to his office.
According to the logs on the computer, Trevor had called Beth and told her that he’d had a change in plans. They then went to an afternoon showing of Final Destination 2. In the dark cinema hall, Beth had touched Trevor several times on the arm, and even on the thigh. Later in the film, the two had even kissed each other.
All of this had happened under Mr Singh’s supervision, and now Mr Kanetkar believed that he had been left to clean up the mess.
When Mr Kanetkar took over, Trevor was returning from the café bathroom, beaming at Beth.
“What, were you jacking off in there?” Beth asked as Trevor sat opposite her. Her smile was sly. “Were you jacking off to me?”
Mr Kanetkar sent Trevor instructions not to engage with that line of conversation. Instead, he swerved the topic towards studies and school. It was an uninteresting topic for Beth. The more Trevor talked about how his Chemistry test went, the deader Beth’s eyes became.
At one point, she interrupted him. “Listen, T. You’re super into a studies, and I’m not. I was wondering if I could come over to your place sometime? You could teach me a thing or two?”
Mr Kanetkar had Trevor say no.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Trevor said. “I study best by myself.”
“Oh,” Beth replied.
That evening, Mr Kanetkar had two chais delivered to his office. He smiled modestly when Mr Singh arrived and offered him the second glass of chai. Mr Singh politely sipped from the glass, even though he could have just gulped the cold chai down.
“I wanted to talk to you today,” Mr Kanetkar began. “About Trevor. I think you are not used to how we do things - how Mrs Surve did things, I mean.”
“Oh, of course, yes,” Mr Singh nodded. “You must have been on top of your game after all.”
Mr Kanetkar wondered if this was sarcasm, but continued regardless. “Well, I think you are steering the boy away from what he needs to focus on, Mr Singh. Distracting him like that can never be a good thing, can it?”
“A good thing.” Mr Singh seemed to ponder the three words.
“I am, of course, talking about all this business with… going out with girls and things like that. It’s all a waste of time, isn’t it? His time should be spent on studying and getting into a good university, not on flirting with girls.”
“Mr Kanetkar, I think I see what you mean, I really do. But I must ask, are we really here to do a good thing, as a principle? I considered this role as being here simply to guide him.”
Mr Kanetkar twisted his palm up in a gesture of questioning the obvious. “Guiding by itself means showing someone the way to the good thing. What else is it?”
“I don’t think it’s that simple, sir. What Trevor needs in his life may not be what you have envisioned as ideal for his life. In fact, it may not even be what he has envisioned as ideal for his life.”
With a half-hearted laugh, Mr Kanetkar turned to leave. “You are young yourself, Mr Singh. Maybe that is why you don’t understand.”
Mr Singh nodded at this in respectful consideration. “Are you a parent, Mr Kanetkar?”
Mr Kanetkar frowned. He shook his head as he left.
5th February 2003
Mr Kanetkar read the screen with his back arched forward and his face locked in a squint. He mouthed the words he read - the words he did not like reading. He imagined all of his efforts as bricks that were now collapsing on and around him, becoming a ruin.
That day in Philadelphia, Trevor had been on the phone with Beth and the two had talked about each other’s ‘type’. Beth had then nudged the conversation into sex, and as the afternoon had progressed, Trevor and Beth had had what she called phone sex.
Mr Kanetkar read line after line of the erotic things they’d said to each other, the little roleplays they’d performed, all of which had happened with no intervention from Mr Singh.
A tinge of guilt overcame Trevor. Is this too much too soon?
Mr Kanetkar raised his hands to the keyboard without delay. “Yes! It is too much too soon! How old are you? Is this the age to be doing such things?”
Trevor’s guilt intensified, and he sat on his bed with a pit in his heart. He fantasised making love to Beth on his bed, on the floor, on a beach, touching her, kissing her, and then he shook the thoughts out of his head.
“No,” Mr Kanetkar typed. “Forget all these things. What if you get her pregnant? This is ridiculous. You shouldn’t even be thinking of such things.”
Trevor heard the doorbell ring, and he immediately went down the stairs. Mr Kanetkar read the logs in horror. It was Beth at the front door - Beth with a coquettish grin on her face, strolling right into Trevor’s living room without invitation.
“You can’t stay,” Trevor blurted out. “I’ve changed my mind.”
Beth turned to Trevor, and the eager grin disappeared. She searched his face for an explanation.
“I’m sorry. This is all wrong, it’s all a mistake. You should leave.”
Beth continued searching for some hint of a joke. “Is something wrong?” she asked, “Was it something I did or?”
“No, no, nothing like that. But we can’t do this.”
“Why not?” Beth’s voice was shriller now. “You literally told me to come ‘cause your parents aren’t here. I ran here, and now you’re telling me you changed your fucking mind?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry, Beth. It’s just, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Why are you like this, Trevor? You’re cool one moment and then you’re such a pussy.”
Beth stormed towards the front door while Trevor wordlessly waited for her to leave.
Before she exited Trevor’s house, she turned to glare at him one last time. “What, you’re not even going to say anything? Fuck you. Seriously, fuck you, Trevor.”
In Mumbai, Mr Kanetkar heaved a sigh of relief.
A few hours later, Trevor was sound asleep and Mr Kanetkar pulled out the tiffin box and opened up each container. Lunch that day was once again spiced eggplant.
He pulled out his cellphone from his shirt pocket and used the buttons to navigate to his contact list, where he called an entry labelled ‘Mrs Kanetkar’.
The call connected, and after a perfunctory hello, he got right into the heart of the matter. “What is this? You know I hate eggplant, yet you made it yesterday, and now again today.”
Mrs Kanetkar laughed on the other end, stopping and starting several times. Her laugh made Mr Kanetkar’s face light up, and he tore off a piece of the chapati. He was lucky to have her, he thought. She put him at ease.
“I was waiting for you to call me and complain about the eggplant,” Mrs Kanetkar said. “I was punishing you. I asked you to take us to Shirdi, and you promised me you would, but then you went back on it. So now eating eggplant every day is the least you can do to make it up to me.”
Mr Kanetkar laughed with his entire body, as if he was shrugging off a cloak. “Alright, that’s fair. You know what they say about arguing with your wife.”
Mrs Kanetkar laughed with him. “How is work?”
Mr Kanetkar got off his chair and ambled about the tiny office, shaking his head. “Same old. What is ever new? Forget my work, you tell me about you. How’s your day going?”
“Don’t even ask. You know Shashank, right? He got a cricket bat from some relative as a birthday present. Who knows what he thinks he is, but he smashed the Shuklas’ window clean out with his cricket ball.”
“And? You went to watch the commotion like a nosey housewife?”
Mrs Kanetkar laughed. "Only from the window. They were being so loud, I had to see what was going on. I swear, Mrs Shukla wanted to slap the boy so hard, he’d go flying to America."
"Boys make mistakes. He's still young, after all."
“Yes, but that’s the time when you have to learn to be responsible. The Shuklas made his parents promise that he won’t play cricket there again. Honestly, it’s for the best.”
Mr Kanetkar let his eyes defocus, gazing at the mosaic floor. “Why’s that?”
“It means there will be less noise. Less screaming and shouting. Plus, you’ll be able to walk in building colony without being afraid of a ball hitting you in the face.”
“I don’t mind. I catch the ball as it comes and throw it back. Sometimes that counts as a wicket.”
Mrs Kanetkar’s scoffing was the last thing Mr Kanetkar paid attention to on the call. He froze at the messages on the monitor.
“Listen, I’ll call you later,” he said into the mobile phone he was clutching, and then put it down without bothering to hang up.
In Philadelphia, Trevor stood on his bed, clinging to a noose that hung down from the ceiling fan. A whirlwind of images ran through his head, visions and memories flitting and flying too rapidly to suppress or control. Tears trickled down his face.
Mr. Kanetkar’s heart pounded, and he lost the meticulous typing style he’d cultivated over the years. The instructions he sent had several typos, but the intent remained clear. “What are you doing?” he wrote. “Are you and idiot? Don’t you remember that this is a wrong thing to do?”
Even as he typed, he looked behind him, at all the files representing Trevor’s memories. He’d have to go through them to pull out something relevant and focus Trevor’s attention. What could he use? References of when he’d been convinced that suicide was not the way - yes - but it would take too long to sort through them. How did it come to this?
He typed what came to mind.
“Don’t you remember how Dada wanted to give up but he didn’t?”
Trevor relaxed. He couldn’t understand what he was thinking about, but he was convinced that he had to follow this thread of thought further to be satisfied.
The stalling was enough for Mr Kanetkar to work with. “You know, everyone called him Dada, because he was the oldest man in the town. Eighty-six solid years and counting! He spent most of his days on the rocking chair in the verandah of his country house, down near Dapoli. Remember?”
Trevor squinted at the triceratops toy on the shelf directly in front of him. It was a grey-red triceratops, big enough to fit in a child’s hand. Too small for Trevor’s hand now. A triceratops, stomping on grass, eating leaves… chomping away.
“He once took a hunting rifle with him and sat on the roof. How he got to the roof by himself is a mystery in itself. But the whole village came and gathered in front of the house, telling him to stop, to come down, to put away the gun. The women told their husbands and sons to go ahead and take the ladder, but they were all afraid that Dada might do something if they got too close.”
Trevor thought about school shooters and massacres and firearms. He tried to recall names and pictures and headlines, all of which splattered across his mind. He had too much regret, and too little revenge.
“Everyone said 'Dada, what are you doing? Don't be a fool!', but Dada just wouldn't listen. He stayed there stubbornly with the rifle. But then, when his granddaughter arrived, he began crying and sobbing into the rifle. Even then, he wouldn't let go of it, imagine!”
Trevor’s legs buckled before he could put his head in the noose. His knees struck the footboard of the bed, his hands let go of the noose, and he collapsed to the floor in front of the bed, collapsed in an awkward, tangled mess.
Elsewhere in the house, feet shuffled into motion.
“Dada later said that Lord Krishna himself appeared before him. Just materialised out of the air around him, and with his warm, blue hand, he caressed the old man's head, hair, and cheek, just like a parent would with his child.”
Trevor’s body ached, and thought himself lucky for not having broken his neck in the fall. He groaned on hearing the knocking on the door. It didn’t sound like his mom knocking, so it had to be his dad. A muffled shout penetrated the door, asking if Trevor was alright, and Trevor shouted back that he was.
The way he said it though, made it apparent that he was in pain. The doorknob turned, and Trevor pulled his knees closer to himself. In the doorway, Trevor’s father took several moments to take in the situation - the noose in particular.
He ran to his son, helped him up, and embraced him like he would a hold on to a pillar that was keeping him from getting swept away. Trevor cried into his father’s chest.
Mr Kanetkar read the status and diagnostic messages as they spooled out on his monitor, and his heart finally relaxed. Sharing a memory from his life to Trevor’s was a mistake, but in all likelihood, Trevor would forget it within the next hour. Things like that can be forgiven in an emergency.
He considered that this was going to change a lot of things in Trevor’s life, especially his relationship with his parents, perhaps even his mental health in general. For now, though, he was safe. That was all that mattered.
Mr Kanetkar wasn’t yet out of a job.
Later, Trevor and his dad pulled the noose down while Mr Kanetkar ensured that Trevor apologised profusely to his dad. When Trevor’s mom showed up, they hid the noose and concocted an on-the-spot story about falling off the bed while bouncing on it. She seemed sceptical, but didn’t pry further.
Every time Trevor’s dad asked him why he’d do something like that, Trevor found himself struggling to find the words. He frowned, he balled his fists, he shook his head and closed his eyes. He mentioned not being able to understand himself, or why was the way he was, or why he kept fucking everything up.
Mr Kanetkar sent him messages reiterating how stupid and childish Trevor had been. He insisted that suicide was not the answer, that Trevor had been ungrateful to the life his parents had given him, that he should’ve known better.
He continued typing furiously even an hour later, as Trevor lay in bed, confused and angry and sad all at once.
It seemed to Trevor that everything he thought of, good and bad, had a counter-argument attached to it. Everything kept folding in on itself, whirling and whirling, and he wanted to get rid of his mind to make it stop thinking.
“How can you blame me?” Mr Kanetkar typed back furiously. “I’m just trying to keep things together for you!”
That evening, Mr Singh’s polite grin went unreciprocated. The outbound Mr Kanetkar did not so much as look at Mr Singh. The dim lights of the building’s corridor showed him the way just enough to go down the stairs and out into the twilit Tribhuvan Road.
He passed the vegetarian restaurant at the ground floor of the building, and the restaurant’s manager raised his hand to greet Mr Kanetkar, but Mr Kanetkar looked him over as if he were a stray dog lapping behind the counter.
Tribhuvan Road opened into the larger Lamington Road, Mumbai’s haven of electronics and computer shops. Young, thin shop clerks carried computer cases and boxes on their shoulders, passing by stalls selling pirated video game CDs, weaving around the smoke coming from kebab and samosa vendors.
Mr Kanetkar thought that this was a place that made more money than sense.
The rush hour crowd at Grant Road Station was a mass of black-haired heads, a crush of humanity that smelled of metal and sweat, and Mr Kanetkar merged into the mass before he realised it. As he swam through the crowd of bodies, his mind remained set on the boy in Philadelphia.
His reverie was only interrupted by a woman trying to shush a crying baby while simultaneously holding onto a hanging handle. He was on a local train bound for Virar, passing over a bridge between islands, and all he could look at was the black spot on the baby’s forehead - a little mark to ward off the evil eye.
Mr Kanetkar was already in bed with his back to his wife when his mobile phone rang. It was eleven pm. He wasn’t familiar with the number, so he considered rejecting the call, but ended up pressing the green button before he could finish his consideration.
“Mr Kanetkar, what am I seeing here?” It was Mr Singh’s voice. “What the hell happened today? How could you let Trevor do something like that? He nearly committed suicide! I thought you were supposed to be an old hand at this! Experienced!”
Mr Kanetkar patiently waited for a gap in Mr Singh’s measured outburst. When the opportunity was open, he asked with a low but steely voice.
“Is this the time to be calling someone, Mr Singh?”
It caught Mr Singh off-guard. “Mr Kanetkar, with all due respect, sir, you should have told me what happened at the bare minimum. This is a shared responsibility, and we have to work together. We have to cooperate.”
“What cooperate, huh?” Mr Kanetkar fired back, raising his voice to make sure it came through over the dogs barking outside. “What cooperate, Mr Singh? You are the one confusing the subject and letting him do all those wrong things behind my back. Did you ask me? Did you consult me? You did not even think to mention it to me. And now you want me to follow your lead and listen to your lecture?”
The back-and-forth continued for some time and outside, the dogs continued to bark. Eventually, Mr Singh sighed heavily enough to signal that he was done with the topic.
“Fine, whatever. I’ll talk to Mr Shah tomorrow. I can’t work in an environment like this, and I’ll see about a transfer.”
Mr Kanetkar took this as a forfeit, and he basked for a moment in his victory. “Do whatever you want to do, Mr Singh. Just don’t call people in the middle of the night. Just because we have mobile phones now doesn’t mean that we’ve given up all basic decency.”
“Good night, Mr Kanetkar.”
“Good night, Mr Singh.”
6th February, 2003
Mr Shah waited in Mr Kanetkar’s office, and when Mr Kanetkar entered the office, he offered a delayed smile, like he’d only just remembered courtesy. He was a portly man who wore shimmering, patterned shirts that had the first two buttons undone. Mr Singh sat in the middle of the office, glancing venomously at Mr Kanetkar.
Mr Shah nodded approvingly. “Welcome, Mr Kanetkar. We were just talking about you.”
“Surprise visit, Mr Shah?”
“No, no. Mr Singh told me about what happened yesterday, and well, I thought it warranted a visit. Besides, it’s been so long since I’ve checked in on you.”
“Well, I never gave you the opportunity to.”
Mr Kanetkar and Mr Singh exchanged glances, but Mr Shah moved to defuse the situation. “Now then, mistakes happen all the time, but what happened yesterday was… well, let’s call it a delicate matter. The fact remains that it happened on Mr Kanetkar’s watch, so I think Mr Singh is right to express his concerns.”
“Nonsense.” Mr Kanetkar felt the blood rush to his temples. “What concerns? You know me, Mr Shah. How many years have I worked here with Mrs Surve? I know this work like the back of my hand. In fact, this work is the back of my hand, nothing less.”
Mr Shah grinned in an attempt to assuage Mr Kanetkar. “No one is doubting your work record, Mr Kanetkar. But the management has evaluated what happened, and they did not take a favourable view of your work this week. Now you tell me, what can I do if the management is involved?”
Mr Kanetkar’s nostrils flared, but Mr Shah did not give him an opening.
“Normally, something like this would incur a harsher penalty, but as you are one of our long-time employees, we think that this can be excused. As for Mr Singh,” Mr Shah turned towards Mr Singh, who looked up from the computer screen. “Mr Singh has requested to be transferred. I think that given the circumstances…”
Mr Kanetkar waved his hand in the air. “Mr Singh was not a good influence. I don’t even think he is qualified for this job.”
“Mr Kanetkar, that’s enough,” Mr Shah responded before Mr Singh could object. “Why talk ill of him now? You are not going to see him after this, and that’s that. In fact, I’m putting you on leave. You need some time to cool off, Mr Kanetkar. And besides, we are going to upgrade the system to Windows soon, so you were due a break anyway.”
“But the files are all here,” Mr Kanetkar protested.
“It will be fine, Mr Kanetkar, don’t you worry. Take a break. Once the system is upgraded, you’ll find your job much easier. It will take some getting used to, but it’ll be much easier. Surely you must have used Windows?”
Mr Singh got up from his seat. “I look forward to the transfer, Mr Shah. Thank you very much.”
He did not glance at Mr Kanetkar as he left the office and disappeared down the stairs at a steady, youthful pace.
Mr Shah sighed and patted Mr Kanetkar’s shoulder. “Listen, the project will be shifted this evening once your shift is done, so you need not come tomorrow, okay? I will let you know what happens.”
The ceiling fan rotated drearily, casting shadows over the shelves and cabinets. Mr Kanetkar nodded weakly and went to his seat in front of the computer. He heard Mr Shah click his tongue irritatedly before leaving the office.
9th February, 2003
It was his third day on leave. Mr Kanetkar waited outside the Bhaves’ flat, waiting after having rung the doorbell. Shashank’s mother was surprised to find Mr Kanetkar on the other side of the door.
“I had a little work with Shashank. Is he here?”
Mrs Bhave furrowed her brow. “What did the boy do this time? He’s always getting into trouble.”
“No trouble! No trouble at all, no. It’s just that when I came here on his birthday, I saw that he had a computer with an Internet connection. That’s actually what I need help with, you see. I need to use the Internet for some work.”
Mrs Bhave invited him inside and called out for Shashank. Her voice was like a hammer, and Mr Kanetkar wondered how the boy could tolerate having to hear it every few hours. Shashank was also surprised to find Mr Kanetkar there, but the surprise soon became a sense of pride as he learnt that he was needed by a grown-up.
The only spare chair in Shashank’s room was a barely-cushioned stool. Mr Kanetkar hunched over his knee and nodded at Shashank’s explanation of how to use a Windows computer, how to connect to the Internet with the modem, and a gentle warning that the more he used the Internet, the more expensive the bill would be. Moments later, he reassured Mr Kanetkar that the modem is supposed to make those weird, ghostly noises.
“Listen, Shashank,” Mr Kanetkar said once the browser home page loaded. “Will you let me control the PC for a little bit? You can go out and play while I finish my work quickly.”
Shashank looked wary, but he couldn’t decline, not without incurring the wrath of his mother. Once he left the room, Mr Kanetkar pulled up Google dot com.
He searched for an anonymous messageboard that Trevor would sometimes access. On the board, he scanned box after box of anonymous messages, trying to divine which of the messages might have been typed by Trevor.
It took him several minutes to realise that it would be impossible to tell. Nevertheless, he kept going through the pages, searching for hints of Trevor’s life.
Then, several pages in, he found Beth’s full name. Below it was an address, and a phone number with the American country code. The message above asked to ‘fuck her up’.
Mr Kanetkar let go of the mouse and tried to keep it steady on his knee. Was it really Trevor? Who else could it be? The message had yesterday’s date on it. Was anyone even manning the computer? How could they let Trevor do this?
Mrs Bhave appeared in the doorway with a glass of lemonade on a tray.
“Something to drink, Mr Kanetkar?”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have.”
Mr Kanetkar accepted the lemonade regardless, sipped it, and then put it down on the floor.
He pulled out a notepad from his pocket and wrote down Beth’s address. After that, he searched for maps of Philadelphia and its surroundings. He found Beth’s place, then Lia’s place, then Trevor’s school, and finally - he figured out where Trevor might live. It may not be his exact house, but it was an accurate enough location that Mr Kanetkar could send him a letter and hope for the best.
He wrote Trevor’s address on a fresh page of his notepad, cleared the browser history and closed the browser.
11th February, 2003
Mr Kanetkar could picture Mr Shah on the other end of the call, grinning toothily as usual, hand resting on his waist.
“I did my best, Mr Kanetkar, but it was no use. They’re insistent that you’ll be a good addition to the team at Kolhapur.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“It’s only for a little while. And as you don’t have any children, you don’t have to worry about schools and stuff.”
“Of course.”
“Once the new Andheri office is in place, we’ll have you do the inauguration honours. We’ll do a full ribbon-cutting ceremony and everything.”
“Yes, that would be great.”
“Come on, Mr Kanetkar. I sense you are a little bit unhappy with this news. Am I wrong?”
Mr Kanetkar yawned and sat up in his bed. He’d gotten used to sleeping in - it was the only way he could avoid thinking of Trevor during the daytime. “It’s nothing like that, Mr Shah. I was just resting earlier, so I’m a little sleepy.”
On the other end, Mr Shah laughed. “The Kolhapur office is almost done, so you’ll be shifted there in two weeks. Next to next Monday, for sure.”
“Thank you, I look forward to it.”
17th February, 2003
Mr Kanetkar got off the local train and blended into the crowd as he had done for years. This time, walking in the streets of the Grant Road locality made him feel exposed. Not having to go to or come from work made him feel like a fugitive. He slipped into Tribhuvan Road and kept himself from sprinting to the office.
The ground floor restaurant owner raised his hand in greeting, and Mr Kanetkar paused to raise his hand in response. They exchanged quick smiles and nods, and then he climbed the stairs.
Mr Parmar, who ran the sewing machine repair shop on the same floor, hailed him from down the corridor, and Mr Kanetkar waved briefly at him. Then, without so much as a knock, he opened the door to what was once his office.
The woman inside looked young, even younger than Mr Singh. She was alarmed, so Mr Kanetkar kept the door open.
“Yes, sir? Who are you looking for?” she asked.
Mr Kanetkar held his waist and took a good look around the office. All the files seemed to be in the same place, and the computer still had the same keyboard and monitor. The dust, the tangle of wires, the closed window, they were all untouched. The tubelight was on.
The woman at the desk repeated her question.
“I am your predecessor, madam. I don’t know if Mr Shah told you about me. But don’t worry, I’m not here to make your acquaintance. I just came by for one last look at my office.”
The woman alternated between the computer monitor and Mr Kanetkar. After a few moments, once she had finished typing whatever instructions she had decided to send Trevor, she smiled warmly.
“Would you like to have some tea, Mr Karmakar? I’m sure you can teach me a thing or two about the job.”
“It’s Kanetkar, and no, there’s nothing to teach. I’m sure you’ll figure everything out on your own. I came here for something else, in fact - I had a little request for you.”
“For me?” The woman raised her eyebrows.
“Yes. It has to do with Trevor. He’s… well, he’s going to receive mail sometime, addressed directly to him, coming from India. When that mail arrives, I want you to have him destroy the letter. Just burn it. Leave no trace. Not even the ashes.”
“I’m not sure I understand…”
Mr Kanetkar repeated his instructions in a low voice, pursed his lips, and took in the office again.
The woman frowned but nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”
“Goodbye.” Mr Kanetkar left the office, and never returned.
19th February, 2003
Ms Shaikh had considered informing Mr Shah about what had happened on Monday. It didn’t seem that important - she could understand the sentimentality - but discussing Trevor like that had set off alarm bells in her mind.
As time passed, however, she had come to forget both Mr Kanetkar’s appearance in her office, and his accompanying instructions.
That remained so until Trevor picked up the letter addressed to him and went upstairs to read it. He sat on his bed, envelope in hand, and wondered why he’d receive mail from India. Could it be spam?
Ms Shaikh read the status messages on the screen over and over. She considered and reconsidered, and finally, she began typing out an instruction on her computer, in her office, at Tribhuvan Road.