But now there is a different problem. It’s about some of those youngsters that I feel drawn to, though I don’t understand them. It started in a very ordinary way. A few of us were sitting around in the ground floor canteen a little after lunch. Akhil’s daughter lives in Asansol with her husband. There was news of curfew in Asansol last month, the Army had been called in.

All of us had been a little worried. Akhil’s son-in-law is a building contractor and spends a lot of time out of door, meets all sorts of people. But Akhil’s daughter has come to visit him now and she says there was nothing much the matter really, police had taken control of the situation fairly well, the curfew was only a precautionary measure. The conversation turned to the role of police, and from that to the Bombay riots. The newspapers had reported how policemen stood and watched slums being torched. The police, it seems, followed instructions from their political bosses, not the administration. Nothing is going to change in this country, too much politics everywhere. Comments like this, loosely bandied about, and it was time to go.

At the table next to ours, there were some young men from the billing section’s computer room. I didn’t really know them, but I was familiar with their faces. One of them suddenly got and came over to our table. “It has become a habit with you people to blame your own community. Look at other communities, how they stand by each other, they accept whatever their leaders tell them. And look at us, we have no love for our country, no respect for our own religion. Why, the people you were talking about, what harm have they done?” There was only Akhil and I at our table, the others had sneaked away. Those young boys are our colleagues, we’ve brushed past each other so many times on the office premises, but how strange they seemed now, how unfamiliar. I had never imagined they could have spoken so rudely to a colleague some 25 years older than them. But no one else seemed to take any notice, no one so much as turned to look. Most of the tables were empty now, only some people from the new business section were sipping tea at two tables near the counter. They went on talking nonchalantly, as if nothing had happened. “I’m off to the section, then…” I heard Akhil muttering behind my back. He was leaving too. I looked at the boys more closely now. Expensive clothes. One or two of them had their shirt buttons open, and I could see small blue lockets peeping out, linked to silver chains. One of them had a bead of rosaries.

There were five of them crowding around me now, their expressions hostile. I felt threatened, really, frozen by the fear that they might suddenly attack me. Also, I was angry.

“What happened? Why don’t you say anything?”

One of them said, “What is there to say? It’s such a trend-setter for the country…”

“But in a land where so many communities live side by side, have always lived, is it good to start a riot and destroy lives of poor people?”

“Poor people! Oh! So they are poor people for you! And in other countries these poor people are razing places of worship to dust, how is it that people like you never have anything to say about that?”

“If that has happened, certainly that’s very wrong, but it is also true that a lot of rumours fly about during riots. And then, is it right to punish some people for what someone else has done?”

“Of course, it is right! They are real men, those who are doing it.”

I wanted to leave now. Chitresh and the rest had finished their tea and gone. I was alone in the canteen with these boys. I saw Satya looking our way from the counter, for a moment I locked eyes with him. I drew myself together and stood up straight.

“Look, I don’t think it is possible to discuss these things like this. In my opinion, religion is a private thing, killing for faith is … anyway, we can discuss that later, I have to get back to work now, the lunch break has been over a long time.”

I did not wait for a reply. Just as I was going out of the door, I heard someone say – “Son of a bitch! The quisling!”

I felt my blood rushing to my face. Should I turn back and face them? But I was also scared. Maybe that was what they wanted? An excuse to hit me?

I was restless in my seat. I felt people staring at me in a strange way. Do they all know what happened in the canteen? But there was no question from anyone. And if I happened to look into someone’s eyes, they immediately started peering into their files. An hour passed and I hardly did anything. Then I got up and went to the union room. I found Bipul and Chitresh there. Chitresh is our branch secretary, he’s a member of the divisional committee and the party’s district committee. I buttonholed him.

“What is going on here? Has the office become a place for religious llllbonding? These young men, how dare they behave like that with a senior colleague?” My voice shook now, not out of fear, but anger.

Chitresh said, Sit down, sit down, why are you so excited? What’s happened?

What’s happened! Didn’t you see how those boys spoke to me? The language they used?

Oh, no, I think you are taking it a little too seriously. I was there, I saw you talking to Sourangshu and his friends, none of them looked hostile to me.

They were defending the rioters of Bombay, they were using foul language. No, no, Bijoyda – Chitresh was now shaking his head – you are a senior colleague, why did you start a discussion on communal issues at a sensitive time like this? I did not expect this from you. You know that such talk only increases ill feeling on our own side, it only strengthens the enemy.

Bipul had been sitting quietly. Now suddenly he said, “Who supports which party, that’s a personal thing, it isn’t right to interfere about that.” Bipul was waving his hand as he spoke, I noticed he had gem stones on three of his fingers.

And then Bijoyda, you are close to your retirement now, aren’t you? Why do you get into arguments with these young people? Let them do what they like. As for their language, well, it’s bound to seem shocking to you – these are the new generation, computer type!”

Chitresh and Bipul were now laughing at their own joke. I left the room, slowly.

This was the union room we had struggled so hard to get. And before that, there had been a strike for the right to form a union. There was a pen-down, fifteen to twenty people were show-caused, I was one of them.

I did not feel like taking the lift. I chose the stairs, climbing slowly. There was a time when one could look out at a lot of trees from the windows on the landings. They are gone now; when did they go? There is a supermarket being built, there is a Maruti showroom right in front. Has it been a long time since I last took the stairs? Climbing gets me out of breath these days, so I take the lift – it’s been so many years now! I stopped at the second-floor landing, clutching the railing. There was a small crowd around the water cooler in the inner passage. Were they the boys who spoke to me at the canteen? I wasn’t sure, but yes, they were, and some others too. A couple of them came forward. No, they did not approach me, they went and stood at the window and looked out. Then they walked down the stairs. They were talking loudly, their voice carried quite clear.

The old idiot – amazing, doesn’t feel any hatred for them, I swear!

A small crack on the head, and the brains will be out…
Now they were laughing in mirth. I felt empty inside. I shouldn’t have taken the stairs, now I had trouble breathing.

All this happened day before yesterday. I haven’t told Tanu. She was chanting the Laxmi Panchali that evening, she turned to look at me when she felt my presence. I knew she was embarrassed. I picked up the newspaper and crossed over to the easychair on the other side of the room. I could make out the words she was chanting, some lines came back to me too, I had so often heard my mother reciting same words in the past. Is Tanu a Hindu? Why then, did it only contain prayers for the good of the world, why did it say nothing about the enemies? Yesterday I did not step out of my section at the office, only slipped out for tea once and came back quickly, took the lift. Still, I was uneasy, as if someone was watching me. Today was the same.

The others in the section were unperturbed, as if nothing had happened, chatting away comfortably. The other day they said something about a crack on the head – was it me they were talking about? Come on, it is not that easy! Aren’t there people on the streets? But then, there were people in the canteen that day too, in the beginning. What if they hit me that day? Maybe there are more like them in the streets, in neighbourhoods like mine.

You come across these whole-night chanting sessions, they make a marquee in the middle of a street and carry on through the night, for three nights in a row – why, no one raises a finger in protest! Who goes to these programmes? Who organizes them? And where do the funds come from? All that noise through the night, and think of all the children, students, sick and old people …… yet there are no objections from any of the families. Are they all scared? The police, too, do nothing, though everyone knows there is a ban on loudspeakers after nine. But why did they talk about me like that? Everyone knows that I am not affiliated to any party. And what power do I have anyway? I have lived through 56 years without bothering about religion, no one ever raised any questions.

Iknow nothing about religion, actually. My parents worshipped separately, Tanu worships in her own way. It takes all kinds to make a world – there are so many Hindus who do not accept divisions of caste, so many Muslims who don’t have four wives. How do people hate on the basis of religion?

Well, that is my problem. It seems that to be safe one must hate people of a particular country or group. But who I hate? Before I start hating, I must know why I must hate. I don’t even know people of other countries, other communities, other groups! The few names I can think of, why, they are household names, cricketers, singers, painters. How then do I hate strangers, people I do not know? I am so lonely. Will even Tanu understand that I am looking for someone to hate? I need someone to hate if I must be safe, is it? But who? I don’t know. I am doing my best, but so far I haven’t found one known face that I can hate.

A Bengali short story by Joya Mitra and translated by Sarbari Sinha.