The Bag Of Samosa

 The Bag of Samosa

“What do you mean? You haven’t made samosa today? Why? This.... this is not good…”
“I am sorry Mihirbabu, I know how much you like samosas, but I am helpless. The owner has ordered us not to make samosas today, apparently due to some weird belief of his. So sorry, but you’ll have to find it somewhere else…”

Mihir Sanyal looked dejected while walking out of the sweet shop. Samosa had now become a bad habit, one which he was certainly not inclined to let go of on that day at least. He decided, he would walk to the next sweet shop and get his samosa from there.

Mihir Sanyal was just another average middle-aged lonely Bengali man living a characteristic mundane and inconsequential life. His day started in his rented house with a cup of tea and his favourite samosa, both bought from the shop adjacent to his house. He would wake up each day, have his tea and samosa, get ready for work, and leave at exactly the same time, without fail, like he had been doing for the entire 21 years of his service life, and would come back at the same time each evening to return to his solitary abode. He worked in a small office as a clerk, with a salary meagre in appearance but sufficient for a recluse like Mihir. His entire social interaction spanned from paying the monthly rent to his landlord and the regular social exchange with the local shop-owners, to the casual work-related mixing with his office colleagues.  He did not have the luxury of either friends or family, neither did he ever feel the need for any of these. He was happy with his inconspicuous existence, he cherished being just another face in the crowd, a nameless and purposeless member of this vast and eventful universe. ‘I may not have friends’, he thought, ‘but at the same time I am also devoid of enemies. How many can afford such a luxury?’

But, that day he was deprived of that one habit which was closest to his heart. Perhaps this was the only addiction he had, but even then samosa was not a bad thing, and though he knew people mocked him for his fondness for the same, yet he felt that was something unique to him. His desire for samosas was the only thing about him which was different from everyone else, it was something which belonged to him, and to him only. 

‘It is rather weird, the sweet shop never fails to make samosas….God knows what has taken over that owner…’--Mihir thought while entering the second shop at the corner of the road.

But, to his utter shock, even this shop had the same story for him. No samosas, apparently all their fresh stock had already been depleted.

“It’s 9 in the morning! How can all your samosas be sold?”

“Sorry sir, we made less samosas today.”

“Wow. That is great!”

He was not going to accept defeat so easily, so he walked to the last shop by the side of the lake. But when he heard that even they had no samosas, he could no longer keep his calm.

“Is this a joke? What has happened to all of you? What is it about today that nobody is making samosas? Huh?”

“Oh hello sir, stop shouting at us. Go check somewhere else, or have some other thing today. Don’t bother me…”

“I don’t need your advice…”

With those words Mihir thundered out of the shop. He was still fuming with rage. No, he would not give up so easily. Maybe it was stubbornness, maybe even foolishness, but he would definitely have his samosa. He decided to take a rickshaw to the Old Market. Evidently, he would get a samosa from there. There are numerous shops in the Old Market area, but if he goes there, he would almost invariably be late for office today. So be it, he did not care. One day late would not be such a big issue, he decided he would go to Old Market, so without further delay he quickly summoned a rickshaw, and off he went to get his samosa.

It was a funny thing, him running behind samosas like that. It was almost childish, it was uncharacteristic of him. He thought of it, and the events from the morning seemed funny and odd to him. Not getting a samosa in any of the three shops, that sure was weird. But he knew he would get his samosa from Old Market, so he smiled a little as the old rickshaw dragged forward.

Mihir’s delight erupted when he heard the words ‘yes sir, samosa, how many?’ from the very first shop in Old Market. Finally, he got what he wanted. He, in his excitement, ordered a few extra, after all, hard work deserved rewards. The shopkeeper neatly arranged them in a paper bag and handed it over to him. He could feel that the samosas were pretty hot, so after all it was not a very bad decision to come here.

But, now he realised he was pretty much late for his office, so hurriedly he came out of the market, quickly got a rickshaw, and within the next two minutes, he was on his way home. He felt pleased and relaxed now.

“What happened? Why are you stopping?”

“Procession, sahib. Political procession”

“Huh! These people still believe they can bring about ‘change’! These are not for the benefit of anyone. Now because of them, even I will have to suffer. My boss is definitely going to have a few words with me today. Big change they brought!”

“Maybe they will clear up”

“You think so?”

“I don’t know. But if it is very important to you sahib, then I would suggest you to walk the rest of the path. That way you will reach faster.”

“You will get less fare if I walk away from here on. I won't give you the full fare, mind you...”

“Sahib, what would I get by profiting from your distress? If my advice helps you in any way that will be my reward.”

“Thank you. You truly are a wonderful person.”

With that, Mihir got down and started walking beside the procession.

The procession moved forward, with their dazzlingly coloured flags and deafening slogans, in sharp contrast to the picture of Mihir walking by the side with his characteristic shakiness and unspectacular mannerism.

Mihir started to think, while walking.....

To struggle against towering odds, knowing all along what the outcome can possibly be, was something Mihir had once known. In a distant past, maybe. Or was it a dream? He could not recollect. His Ma could tell whether it was a dream or not. Yes, he remembered his Ma, her face clearly etched in his memory. She could tell, she always could tell everything. Ah! The greater forces, nobody could battle against greater forces. Hence the submission, hence the monotony....

Mihir felt he would get deaf if the procession did not quiet down. He felt a bit odd. All the energy which was surrounding him, all the enthusiasm, the clamour, seemed to be engulfing him. It was almost as if he was at the middle of a whirlpool, and the current was slowly swallowing him. He was swimming against the force, he was desperately throwing his limbs, but the current was too strong. He just kept moving downward, spiralling towards an unknown and unfamiliar new world.

Suddenly, he found himself standing in this new world; there was light all around him, so much light that he could not keep his eyes open; then suddenly everything went black, pitch black. Then again light, again black, and this continued. Amidst all this, he could hear a voice whispering, ‘We want clean system. We want our rights. Down with oppression……’

A sudden loud noise brought Mihir back to his senses. Before he could realise what had happened, everyone started to run and scream in despair. He stood there dumbfounded as the huge procession scrambled in all directions, jumping, pushing, and screaming in their own fear. But Mihir could not understand what exactly the reason was for all this.

Suddenly, a young man came rushing from the other side of the street, and in his desperate attempt to dive, collided head-on with Mihir. The bag of samosa fell down to the ground, as did Mihir and the young man. Mihir groaned as his head had struck the concrete surface. The young man did not wait for anything, he straight-away got up and fled. In his hurry, he left a thing of his own on the ground, near the place where Mihir was still sitting with a confused and dizzy look.

Mihir got up slowly. He had had enough adventure for one day. Now, he needed no more. All he wished was to return. His head was paining, there was a bit swelling too, he could feel it with his hand. Oh, what a day! So much for samosas! Right, where are the samosas? Mihir looked around and saw his bag lying on the ground. He bent forward to pick it up, and at that very instant a second thundering sound came to his ears, followed by a huge blow on his chest, like the rock from a slingshot. Mihir fell down again, only to realise the blow was not of a rock, and definitely not from a sling-shot. Just by his side, the bag of samosa lay as it is, only with an additional crimson splash over it...

Everything was white now, all around him there was only light. He could not keep his eyes open. Then everything turned black, then again light, and so on. Amidst all this, he could hear an indistinct voice whispering, ‘Yes sir, we have taken care of the situation. No sir, we got the tip from an anonymous source. We came prepared, but still we had not expected guns in the procession. What sir? The shooter? He fell down when we were chasing him. I warned him, asked him to surrender. But he did not listen. He was trying to pick up his gun again, when I shot him in the chest. Yes sir, he is dead. I repeat, dead…..”