Face in the Window __________________ Hidden nuances, The sweet ground of Dandaka, In a lion's den. The machete was busy today. And it was making the most of this rare burst of activity by leaving a flurry of branches and leaves in its mirthful wake. What was once an inpenetrable green mass got the semblance of a trail under its sharp and busy supervision. Ms. Gupta was busy today too. Busy keeping away those thorny branches and biting insects and other sundry flora-fauna in the mass of green and yellow that went by the name of Dandaka. Busy as she was, her eyes followed the path of that red branch as it flew in a parabolic path from in front of her. A non-fussy person, nonetheless she was glad for the lead charupa, and his machete. Dodging yet another errant flying branch dispatched by the energetic machete of the charupa, she plodded solidly into the grinning green mouth of Dandaka. The rest of the team followed closely behind. The building was ornate, that was for sure. Everything from the elegant vines creeping on the red brick, to the exquisite grillwork adorning the windows, to the ... to the poignant and regal face in the window. The window on the second floor, the right wing. The face was staring at him, Kumar was staring at the face. A poignant scene if there ever was one, but then he almost had an inkling of what was going to happen next. He was resigned to it if you will. He woke up. Kumar was having second thoughts of having dragged himself here. The room was all white, with a trace of blue streaks that lended that modern touch that was so much the rage nowadays. The walls had various colourful diagrams and pictures on them, but what caught his attention was the stern looking face with the horn rimmed glasses that was glaring at him from behind a portrait. The stern face also had a gaunt finger to its lips with the poignant message - "Sssshhhh" Just as he was cogitating on its potent message, the receptionist's cough, and a shove and a shuffle later saw him seated in a chair, and staring at a stern face again. With two stern fingers to its lips. All he could do was gape wordlessly at the stern face before him, when she coughed even more sternly, and leaned forward - "Wellll Mr. Kumar?" Somehow, psychologists always had that quietening effect on him. After all, one cant be too cautious in front of a creed who pursue defenseless dogs and cats - and measure their saliva while deafening them with bells. A practice apparently started by a psychologist named Pavlov. It was ostensibly to see if the poor dogs and cats could be trained to associate bell ringing to food. Apparently, the training starts with a pleasant ring a bell -> give food, ring a bell -> give food and so on. Only, life is evil and all that, and the happy cycle ends soon, and then it becomes ring a bell -> run after the felines who pitifully scurry for cover, and measure their drool. Needless to say the felines and canines must have felt they had the shitty end of the deal so to speak, on not only being pursued by ringing bells but also having their saliva forcibly taken out and measured. And what with cats and dogs being quite nimblefooted these days, it seemed quite conceivable that full bodied psychologists might be facing a modicum of difficulty in their running-after-cats-with-ringing-bells routine. Kumar looks at the doctor with newfound sympathy - when she reaches into her desk and draws out - a bell. Stressful images of frenetic psychologists, in hot pursuit with frenetic bells flits across his stressed mind. He is shaken from his nightmarish reverie by a plaintive ring of the bell or perhaps it is the poke from the doctor's pen. A helper had shimmered in front. "Would you like a coffee? Mr. Kumar...Mr KUMAR?" the psychologist leaned over her desk concernedly while he emerged from his slinking defensive posture. "uh.. yes yes a coffee please... hehe" he managed while castigating himself on doubting that this angelic woman could possibly chase anybody with bells. "So...lets see. You said you have a sleeping problem?" Ms. Gupta started. His eyes flicked over to her ivory nameplate on her desk. Dr. Nidhi Gupta, it said. Psychologist par excellence it didnt say. At least according to his colleague who had recommended her very highly. He got to the point immediately. "Yes Doctor, I..um...I dont have an insomnia problem exactly." The doctor took out her writing pad with a flourish. "I keep having this dream about this building. This ornate building with this face behind a grilled window, and then..." "And then?" "And then I wake up, either not being able to sleep after that, or sleeping fitfully... I tried sedatives but they just delay the inevitable dream+waking up sequence..." he said in a bluster. "hmmm.... I see" said Dr. Gupta while playing with her earring. Her earring was a silver elliptical affair, with a red stone in the middle. A red sun in its silver solar system, albeit a tad lonely without the merry company of its planets and moons. And right now, the desolate thing was being tormented by a chubby finger. A chubby comet, tracing an elliptical path, slowly spiralling towards the red sun... "Kumar, Mr. KUMAR...?" He tore his eyes away and into the stern eyes of Dr. Gupta. The good doctor seemed to have asked some question. He tried fiercely to recall what she had asked, but drew a blank. Twas time for a spot of the Kumar presence of mind, he thought. Without missing a beat, he just smiled and nodded vaguely. Even waved his hands in an offhand manner. Which in his experience had served splendidly as an answer to niggly questions thoughtlessly posed when his attention was towards things of a more momentous import. The doctor's face remained impassive and enquiring. Egad... He coughed tentatively, and while scratching an imaginary itch at the back of his neck, ventured, "um.. wha.. what were you asking?" "I was asking if you could...if you knew the face Mr. Kumar" "The face?" he asks with marked interest. "Yes, the face in the window Mr. Kumar" "The face in the window that recurs in my dreams?" he asks further, wanting to put things in clear perspective. "Yesss Mr. Kumar. Is it somebody you know or have met before?" asks the Doctor in a patient voice. "No... no I dont think so, no. No freudian connections there I assure you" he laughed. "Well, Mr. Kumar tell me about your childhood..." Twas an half hour later. Kumar has just finished his childhood saga at a fairly quickish pace, but somehow he gets the feeling that the doctor was markedly unimpressed. Not just her pursed lips, so to speak, but her callous interjections to move ahead when he was dwelling upon particularly interesting episodes such as the Fight With The Ferocious Street Cat, and Finding Of The House Attic... Sure, it wasnt a James Bond life, but surely the traumatic experience with an enfanged cat would count towards something, he thought. But apparently not what the doctor thought. "hmm... nothing there" she remarked flippantly. Just then his eyes dwelled over a photo frame on her desk. Verily, Kumar was not the type to stare and ogle truth be told, but danged if he didnt give the photo a good left-right so to speak. Besides, it seemed naggingly familiar. " ...ment. And so Mr. Kuma.." "Um.. Who is that?" he interrupted pointing towards the frame. A frown marred the doctor's face. One would have thought she would be more accomodating towards interruptions given how free and liberal she was in HER interruptions when he was covering his childhood heroisms with Ferocious Cats et al, he thought, a tad pettishly. Frown intact, she looked at the frame wordlessly and leaned towards him. "It is my niece..." she said stiffly. "Oh.." "To come back Mr. Kumar, what we shou..." she started again. He just looks at her lips moving as the words and sounds floats past him like an electron cloud over a negative charge. Faint phrases about sleep unfettered Ids fritters along the edge of his consciousness while he focusses on the more important issue at hand - The person in the photo seemed so familiar, and yet so tantalizingly out of memory's reach... Also, nieces of voluble psychologists were, as a species, markedly lacking in frequency in Kumar's social circle. who pray who...? Which was still the predominant question as he came out of the doctor's place, after having nodded and hand-waved his way through the rest of the session. He squinted at the office building pensive in thought. It was a hottish afternoon, and the sun was making the red brick building almost shine. Except for the part where vines had made a beautiful greenish-yellow trellis. It was the vine trellis which struck the gong. The face. Kumar bites his tongue in taut tension. The face in the frame was The Face In The Window. Kumar pauses a moment to let it sink in - after all a session with a voluble psychiatrist is always a stressful event that countenances imagining fanciful things. But no - it becomes increasingly clear. The ostensible niece IS the face in his dreams. Clearly, some Sherlock-Holmes-ism seems to be in order. Kumar punches up a coupla keys on his cell. "Gaurav?" The friend who had recommended the doctor. "Whasup man?" "That Dr. Gupta you had recommended, could you by any chance get some info on... um... her niece? And... and is she married - who is she married to? Also does she ..." "Whoa whoa, stop up dude. Like, next you'd be asking about what brand of soap she is using perhaps... All I know is she is a good psychiatrist man..." interrupted the unco-operative fellow. Kumar senses a need to be liberal with the butter spread. "Oi - I'll fill you in on the details later, but - and I am not kidding here - this is a matter of... great importance man. Who else do you frickin expect me to go to other than a brilliant investigative journalist who has received last year's Civic Medal man... " There is a pregnant pause. Gaurav, Kumar's friend, is a veteran investigative reporter for the City Daily. He has come up in the journalism industry after having put up with a lot of shit. By being alert, sharp and working hard. And by devoting his life towards the furtherance of democracy in a city of people who are, to be frank, full of shit. But the civic medal that the Mayor bestows upon him (for a brilliant expose of corruption in the Mayor's opposition party) makes all the shit worthwhile. Gives a silver lining in the frickin smog cloud so to speak. And praise about the civic medal is a silver bullet that never fails to hit home. "ok man, wait up" he growls. A beep indicates that he is on the prowl already. A half hour later sees Kumar picking up a call. "She has no brothers or sisters man. She isnt even married man. Where did you hear about her niece...?" "I...well its just an ... important ... photo that I was informed was of her niece. I.. know it sounds corny, I'll explain further over dinner this weekend." "Okie dokie then..." A beep indicated that he was back to matters of greater civic importance than this niece and no-niece shit. Kumar is left standing on the footpath scratching his chin in deep cogitation. A street-footpath is a very modern construct. Imagine you are hit on the head with a brick and are at a sudden amnesiac loss to figure out which age/era you are in. A look at any street - and its footpaths - should be of high mnemonic value in such a desperate situation to ascertain the modernness of the age/civilization. Older civilizations did have streets but did not have paved footpaths. Carts and people jostled on the same space, a practice which while not seemingly bothersome, was marred in its wholesomeness by the fact that cattle and horses dont give a shit about giving a shit. On the streets. It wasnt long then till man just couldnt take the shit anymore and went and invented the automobile. Now since the early automobiles had to swerve a lot to avoid the cattle and more importantly the cattle-shit, a few collateral pedestrian martyrs were quite understandably mowed down - which thus led to the modern invention under discussion - the footpath. It is thus very ironic that a chin-scratching Kumar is standing on the footpath when a wayward automobile swerves and hits him. Perhaps it's even more ironic that it has swerved to avoid hitting a stray dog. The lighting was very dim. So dim that he can barely see all the food on the table before him. But he knows it is food cause - looking at it logically and all that - if you are sitting on a plush chair in front of a table with a fork in your hand, the possibilities are sort of narrowed down. He is an astute fellow - given to keen observation so to speak - and he can tell from the dim light that it is a Classy Place. Some places are so classy - like the one he is in - that the only way to see is to use a flashlight, but that would be the dishonorable way about it - the non-classy approach if you will. The classy approach is to be stoic about it all - and to use your fork to chart out your immediate neighbourhood by poking anyone who stumbles near you in the darkness. He is thus ready to poke the hand that has materialized near his plate when there is a cough behind him. "Hello ..." He turns. And sees a smiling woman dressed in Classy Clothes. "Are you feeling fine now, Mr. Kumar...?" He rolls this new information on his tongue like savoring a particularly sharp wine. "So my name is Kumar?" he asks finally. "At least thats what your wallet tells us, Mr.... Kumar." Kumar considers all the information at hand. Does some 2 plus 2. And some 2 times 2. "I have amnesia...?" "I...apologize for having nudged you with my car Mr. Kumar. I had swerved to avoid hitting a stray dog, but... I had stopped just in time, but you seem to have fainted nonetheless." Kumar considers this. The gears in his head run to the tune of his fork drumming against the table. "Then why am I not in a hospital?" "You did not seem to have been injured. And I am a part-time medical practitioner myself - so I thought the judicious thing would be to..." The gurgling brook of memory starts flowing hesitantly along the mountains again. He remembers bits and bytes - Dr. Nidhi Gupta, a niece, a face, the car... And mulls on the fact that the medical industry has been particularly bad to him this day - what with foisting fake nieces and swerving cars on a poor soul who is already having somniac vexations in his duffel bag of sorrows. "Um... thank you, I guess... Ms...?" "Samvi. Samvi Gupta. Am a botanist by the way." "Shalmvee?" "Samvi" "Shalvee?" "No no SAMVI..." Kumar purses his lips. He would have liked to continue this carefree banter but he owes to his empty stomach his first allegiance. He points with his fork at the food with emphatic strokes. "Shall. We?" he says thickly. "Oh yes yes, of course." "Um...Do you remember where you were standing, Mr. Kumar, just before I..uh.. unfortunately nudged you with my car?" Kumar racks his memory cells. "Outside the clinic of Dr... Dr. Nidhi Gupta..?" "On the footpath, if I recall correctly..." he adds with a mordant tinge to his voice. "Yes... yes." Samvi says quickly glossing over the latter part. "You see... I am her niece." she giggles. Kumar clutches his fork for moral support. He considers fainting but remembers that he has just regained consciousness from a faint. So he makes do with a vicious jab at the food in his plate and takes a bite. The renewed nutrition enables him to think more limpidly. "But you dont look like her" he says severely. "wait -" he adds after an afterthought, "you dont even exist. I mean... uh.. that is.. Dr. Nidhi has no niece. I think" Samvi looks at Kumar with a look of kindness that a patient teacher gives to a student who is having trouble with his 2 + 2. One has to, after all, make allowance for the traumatic after-effects of being almost nudged by a car. "I am her step-niece if you want to be particular" she says kindly. "And I do exist..." she adds. "Do you have any other step nieces. Aik... I mean does Dr. Nidhi Gupta have any other step nieces, or nieces even...?" Kumar blusters. Ms. Gupta frowns. "No - I am her only niece, or step-niece." "And why are you asking me all this..." Kumar devotes a further few seconds to his fork and pasta. He is of the opinion that if one is forced to face the vagaries of fate, one must at least do it while partaking of adequate nutrition. Though he never was a rabid fan of pasta. Long white strings that inconsiderately conspire to glide away from his fork. But then, he consoles himself, at some level of abstraction, every thing in this world is made up of strings. 'Strings' which are in turn constituted from 'symbols' according to rules of a 'grammar'. Just as English Grammar has rules for constructing sentence 'strings' from alphabetic 'symbols', similarly some culinary grammar has wrought the pasta strings from innocent symbols of rice-flour and other secret ingredients - strings that are pursued with a grim determination by Kumar's fork. Conquering the truant offsprings of the pasta grammar gives him renewed confidence and energy. Wiping his chin with a napkin, it epiphanously strikes him. This darned situation he is in, aground with badass-driving nieces and mysterious-photo-wielding psychologists, is not without its 'grammar' too. He just starts laying out the symbols, when he is rudely and rather inconsiderately interrupted by a cough. "Mr. Kumar...?" He looks up, and is taken aback to find a woman in flowing clothes peering at him. He takes a swig of the coffee in front of him, and peers at the woman back again. Ah yes, the niece woman. "Mr. Kumar, what made you enquire about the ostensible other nieces of Dr. Gupta?" Kumar sips from a glass filled with a lightish-purple juice. He thinks it is Grape, but one can never be sure in these philistine times of mixed fruit juices. "Well.. I was mistakenly led to believe some photo - was that of Dr. Gupta's niece - and was later told she had no niece, and later you tell me that you are her step-niece and that yes, she indeed doesnt have any nieces" he sums up with a tired look in the eye at the eddies of nieces swirling around him. Samvi giggles. Perchance she didnt catch much of the previous sentence with its multitudinous nieces, but she looks towards Kumar much more warmly. "Ah I see you have finished your pasta. Here have some more...." Kumar's reflexes are a bit slow from all the goings around, and before he could take evasive action, finds his plate filled to the sides with pasta. Samvi is saying something and laughing, but Kumar is too engaged at the onslaught of the evil pasta strings to listen to or say anything. Dr. Nidhi is a patient woman. She has however been losing a tad bit of patience with her patients lately. Especially with that Kumar fellow - that dreadful rude mathematician and his dreams. Her lip quivers as she buries her head in her palms and sighs. Nidhi is a psychologist, and as any psychologist worth her smugness would tell you - 'it all' starts a long time back. In this case too, Nidhi reflects, it indeed started a long time back and - for additional effect - on a rainy day. Nidhi is running towards a building to escape the downpour, while sheltering her head with a book. The tropical rain is leery of her valiant efforts to protect her hair - and coming from all sides drenches her hair anyway. This in turn triggers her female genes which promptly cloud her consciousness with detailed steps of how she is going to bring her hair back to shape and other sundry Hair Related Issues. Which thus countenances her headlong rush into a grey coated gentleman. The GreyCoat falls. Nidhi and her book fall. The tropical rain does not fall, rather pours. She is still thinking about her hair when she notices with interest that she is experiencing a vertical elevation. On closer inspection, she perceives that she is being foisted to a standing position by the GreyCoat. "You seem to be in a hurry" he observes. Nidhi is a psychology student, and though faced with the immediate mental trauma of Misplaced Wet Hair, perceives that GreyCoat does not actually give a shit about her hurry, but is trying to initiate the preliminary steps of the male mating ritual, which consists of asking rhetorical questions in an awkward fashion. As she peers up, her hair in disarray and water streaming down her face, thunder sounding in the distance, she is the very epitome of wet pulchritude. At least to GreyCoat. "Coffee?" he utters choked with emotion. Thus started her side-interest in archaeology. Aniruddha - Mr. GreyCoat - was an archaeology major, and like many in this world was of the opinion that his occupation, in this case, his major, was of enduring and overpowering interest to all and sundry, and that he is duty bound to proselytize for its Church. To her surprise, she found archaeology pretty interesting, and even accompanied Ani on a few field tours. She even considered switching her majors, but then her professors managed to convince her against this, telling her she was practically made for psychology, so to speak, and that volcanoes would erupt and the polar ice-caps would melt if she would change her majors. This finds some resonance in her, so she stays put on her psychology course - and starts piling up those laurels. But she could still remember that last field trip that..that stills rings a shrill persistent bell that goes RINGGG TRINGGG.... She opens her tired eyes to the plaintive shrieks of the phone. "Dr. Nidhi speaking" "Its Samvi" "Howdy! Any news on that..." "No.. the lab didnt come up with anything. But one of your patients did." "One of MY pa..." "One Kumar, a mathematician apparently. He was..." "Wha.. uh uhkk.." Dr. Nidhi's eyes had widened and she was making unintelligible noises. With one hand on her chest, she took a gulp of water from her desk. That Kumar was going around giving grief to all her relatives even. She looked at her schedule with slanted eyes and calmed slightly on noticing that he wasnt scheduled for a session until next week. "I am...uh.. sorry there. Where were you - ah yes. Wha.. What was Kumar doing at your place?" "I hit him with my car" Dr. Nidhi nodded with approval. The Kumars of this world could do with a spot of car bumpings, she felt. Would be good for their system. "He had fainted, even though I just nudged him, so I thought I should maybe revive him at my place..." "Anyway, after a fulsome pasta dinner - I think he likes your pasta recipe by the way - we were chatting up in the living room, when I got a call. I must have left the papers with the vase patterns all over the coffee table. When I came back to the living room, he was sitting amidst all those papers strewn around him staring at the distance." Dr. Gupta nods, she can imagine that. "I thought maybe, you know, he needed some medication or something. He waved a piece of paper scribbled with some wierd formulae at me, and started mumbling about strings and symbols and grammar." Dr. Nidhi takes another gulp from that handy glass of water. "I think he was raving coz he comes up to me with wide crazed eyes, holds his scrap sheet in front of me, and slapping the sheet with the other hand says..." "What does he say?" "Like pasta" "Like pasta?" "Thats what he said. Like pasta. I thought for a moment he was talking about your recipe, but he started mumbling about strings and grammar again, all the while slapping the scrap sheet like it was a naughty child. So..umm..so..." "So?" "So I sedated him." "You what?" "And I am bringing him over to your clinic. In fact I am on my way. Bye" Dr. Nidhi just looks blankly at the phone receiver. She opens a drawer, and pops a valium. If she was lesser woman, she would have ran way from it all, escaping the Kumars of this world to an easier world of archaeology and fossils and... and... she could still recall that last field trip of hers... Ani has been talking about the trip for days, she can barely take it any more. Oh please let the day come already. When the day does come, Ani is like a pomenarian on a leash given steroids. To tell the truth, she is also not without due excitement. The venue is a national sanctuary, the site is in the middle of a forest. The study has been given special government permission - Prof. Joshi has pulled a few strings - since civilians arent normally allowed inside the national sanctuary. The site is a recent find by some forest officers. A small area in the forest was cleared for a veterinary clinic cum outpost. The work was delayed for a couple of months due to some bureaucratic goings on, and when they came back after a month, they find that the tropical rains have left them a snazzy gift - stone artifacts poking their eager heads out of the rain-washed soil. It was all over the news, government teams were dispatched promptly, the works. The site was off-limits to the public. But they - a mere study team have managed to get permission. Perhaps, Dr. Joshi being in the Academy of Sciences might have helped a little, as is the fact that they are but a study team. "Egad" she says with emotion on surveying the site. Which mirrored what others had to say - only their expression was in more colorful words. For the site had so little of its 'site-ness' left after the government archaeos had combed through it, that she could now see why they got permission so easily. Well - except for the wall. A wall had been excavated and - had wierd symbols all over it. "Linguists all over the nation are onto it..." comes a voice from the back. She would have jumped, but the sun had sapped much energy from her jumping muscles, so she just turns around tiredly. Ani grins. "I wonder what the symbols say. Oooh, perhaps it is a curse. 'Curse ye that steps foot on..' " "Shuuuut up Ani" Nidhi growls. Not coz the intrepid psychologist was wary of any sundry curses, but because she wanted to concentrate. For she cannot throw back the feeling that she has seen the symbols before. Something fundamental. Something like... She looks up at the knock on the door. "Come in" she barely says when the door slams open to reveal the cheerful face of Samvi. And the calm face of Mr. Kumar - reclining in marked comfort in a wheelchair with his eyes closed. "Here - I brought him in a wheelchair." she says with a brilliant smile that is lost on the blackhole of Dr. Gupta's frowns. "You know - I am busy, have an appointment with a patient shortly and..." "Here are his scribblings" Samvi interrupted, the sun of her smile not one to wane with any truant blackhole. "They make any sense you think" she asks while chewing an insistent piece of gum. Dr. Nidhi Chandra Gupta is a decent woman. But some things are beyond her control. Like her name. DNCG. Which also expands to Do Not Chew Gum. She just looks at the piece of gum rolling around in Samvi's mouth like a piece of seaweed in a stormy sea, thrashed about and stomped upon, and and... "Can you stop that?" "Stop what?" asks Samvi sprightly. "Your chewi..." "Ahk uhk ahh" It was Mr. Kumar. Interrupting again. He was conscious, and seemed indignant about something. After shaking his head to clear it of seeming cobwebs, he looks around with marked grumpiness, when his eyes settled on Samvi. Twas a frosty look. Verily, a man who had to endure a car hitting, manifold plates of pasta, and a clunking on the head on refusing to be injected with an evil-looking yellowish liquid - all from the same woman - would have reasons to be on the frostier side of things vis-a-vis that woman so to speak. He sputters incoherently for a second. "You" he manages with emotion. "Hi there" Samvi replies smiling like a ray of fluorescent light. Kumar notices with pursed lips that there is a woman standing next to her. Dr. Nidhi! Who is wringing her hands for some reason. No doubt in evil glee. "YOU" he says, now on a roll. Dr. Nidhi has a jump. For a moment, she is even weakened to the point of wanting to chew a piece of gum. But the moment thankfully passes. There is a moment of silence as the protagonists have an eyeful at each other. Actually not so much silence as the solitary sound of chewing gum. Dr. Nidhi is looking at Samvi and her piece of truant gum. Samvi is looking at Kumar and his quivering face. Kumar is looking at Dr. Nidhi, and the photo behind her on her desk. It is classic triangle situation of the movies wherein we have some bigtime badasses A,B,C and we have A -> B, B -> C and C -> A. Where M -> N indicates that M has a gun pointed at N. It is what one calls a stalemate. In the movies the stalemate is always broken by the biggest badass of them all, who also doesnt get shot and wins in the end because he, frankly, is the biggest badass of 'em all. In the stalemate at Dr. Nidhi's clinic, the first shot was fired by - quite obviously - Samvi. With a breath intake to give force, she spits out the gum aiming quite perfectly for the waste-basket beside Dr. Nidhi. Dr. Nidhi, in a desperate fit of Murphy's law proving, lunges out of the way of the gummy projectile, only to fall right in its path and gets hit in the eye by the errant gum. With a yowl she moves forward and butts into Mr. Kumar who was just getting up from his chair in concern. They crash into her table and bring down its contents upon them in a satisfying loud finale. And like in the movies Ms. Samvi Badass doesnt get shot at all, and with an amused shake of her head pops another piece of gum in her mouth. A fair bit of disentanglement of legs and gums ensues at the desk end of the room. "Mr. Kumar?" Samvi enquires, for he was lying limp gazing dazedly at the floor. "Meeester Koomaaaaar...?" The words float around in the edge of Kumar's consciousness. But Kumar is not on this plane. He is staring at one of Dr. Nidhi's desk's accoutrements. The Face. "Uhk ook mmmphtt" Kumars points agitatedly flailing his hands around. He has a wild look on his face. He is breathing heavily. Ms. Samvi Badass just shakes her head. She knows what she has to do. With a sad sigh, and a handy book, she clunks Kumar on the head. "What do you mean they are gone? I thought you said there were many of them, these Pancharuthus?" "Ya yes, the forest office is conducting a small-scale investigation, but I dont think it is too gung-ho about it. Very definitely doesnt want to publicize it. Some art-smugglers or something you think?" Kumar strokes his goatee, that he has grown recently so that he can stroke it when thinking, to appear like a major badass. He wishes he had a fat and furry cat that hisses at strangers - stroking that would be even more badass he thinks. But he is a bid reticent about felines after a traumatic childhood incident involving an enfanged ferocious cat with attitude problems. And right now he needs to appear as badass as possible. For he cant shirk the nagging doubt that the philistine Ms. Samvi is somehow involved in the disappearance of the Pancharuthus. Is she a smuggler herself maybe? Verily the abyss of her philistineness knew no depths. His mind flits back to when he was clubbed at Dr. Nidhi's clinic by that evil female.... On regaining consciousness from the rather uncouth clubbing by Samvi, Kumar finds himself in a bed. A hospital bed. He grunts approvingly. Here, verily, he would be safe from the rather dangerous ministrations of that step-niece Samvi. "Hi there" comes a dreaded voice from the side. He turns fatalistically. Samvi and Nidhi were seated to his left with grim faces. "You...you" he sputters words failing him. "Wait..." he says when Samvi leans towards him. "Before you club me on the head again, please wait. I need to discuss something with you." Samvi nods. "The vase patterns" "Those patterns were from a vase? Wha.. wher... Anyway, I need to talk about these patterns... " "They follow a grammar you see, all except one..." Samvi and Nidhi look back at him blankly. "Grammar? Oh.. ok. Take for example the English grammar which has rules for constructing patterns - which we call sentences, from basic symbols - which we call alphabets yes?" He gets a tentative nod from the two. "Well, these patterns you have got - they have a set of rules - a grammar - for constructing them too, all from 4 symbols." Nidhi feels like a pile-driver has crashed into her plexus. Now she knows why the patterns were so familiar. "They are perhaps... some sort of genetic code you think. I..I thought I saw them before. I...I mean taking the four symbols to denote the four A,C,G,T DNA bases[1] and..." she stutters. It is Kumar's turn to look impassively. "Maybe. Maybe not. But you see, one set of patterns, though I am not able to prove this, does not seem to follow the same grammar. I..." "The central Pancharuthu perhaps?" Dr. Nidhi is all excited. "We must go find us some Pancharuthus" Samvi concurs, chewing her gum introspectively. Kumar furiously strokes his goatee. He can sense a lag in the phase of the conversations so to speak. Notably his not knowing what the heck a Pancharuthu means in the first place. "Um... What doe.." "A Jar. Or rather 5 jars. Oh make that six. 5 jars in a circle with a bigger jar in the center." Kumar slits his eyes. He feels like he is in a bad foreign language horror movie without subtitles. "Oh I am sorry. I should clarify further. You see - these patterns that you are so excited about, are from inscriptions on a 6 jar artifact - 5 big jar type things in a circle, and one even bigger jar in the center. Apparently such 6 jar constellations dot the landcape of our Dandaka forest. Pancharuthu was the name our guide gave to one of them. In fact.." "So you have one of these jar thingies?" Kumars interrupts excitedly. "No no... we transcribed the patterns from some photos I took of one of the Pancharuthus. From a trip I had taken some time back to the Dandaka forest." "Though that trip was to collect some fern samples" Samvi laughs. "We need to go find us some Pancharuthus" she repeats. Kumar nods. For once that plebeian Samvi was making sense. Kumar recalls the hospital conversation while stroking his goatee and suppresses a shudder. He hates hospitals really. He could still recall that week, when he was still a tender infant verily, 5th grade he believed it was, and he had to be cooped up in a hospital for a week after having being mauled by that utterly ferocious cat that that... "Mr. Kumar..." He looks up. "So what do we do..." Ah yes - the missing Pancharuthus. Ostensibly the Pancharuthus 'dotted the landscape' of the Dandaka forest, but now, according to the Forest Office, not one of them remained. They had just disappeared apparently. As before, he really cant shake the notion that the dreaded niece-aunt combo wasnt involved somehow. And all his badass goatee stroking has failed to instill terror into their hearts and make them confess or something. "hmmmm" he mutters. His eyes stray and fall on Dr. Nidhi's desk again. "Egad" he cries like a cat had sunk his claws into him or something. Samvi looks worriedly at him. Perhaps yet another clunking on the head was in order. She eyes the heavy dictionary on a side table. But Kumar has learnt from his previous mistakes. He gives a wary look to Samvi and steps as far away from her as possible. "Dr. Nidhi...?" She lifts her head from her palms. Life hasnt been good to her lately. There was too much Kumar and too less Pancharuthu in her life recently for her liking so to speak. Kumar feels awkward bringing it up, now that they are all cosy and friendly and stuff, but really he has to. "Um... That photo on your desk - that you said was of your niece... Samvi says she is only a step-niece, and you have no niece. I..uh...dont mean to, I mean..." There is a gurgle of laughter. Kumar jumps. He has never seen Dr. Nidhi do something mundane like laugh. "It is not a real person actually. It is... actually the result of a project at one of the universities I am teaching. Digital photos of many people were taken, and many averages - artificial photos basically - were constructed using different algorithms. This photo, you see, was considered the most beautiful." "I call her my niece out of affection. Not really my daughter, but close to heart. So niece." "Ah I see." Kumar says, not really seeing. "So the face in my dreams was that of an algorithmically constructed image eh?" he mutters wryly. "Um... ya. We were trying to construct basic generative patterns for various facial features... and..." "EGAD" Kumar slaps his forehead. "The face - it is not really human, but I couldnt prove it could I?" "huh? See, that was the point of the project. To..." Dr. Nidhi begins indignantly. Kumar waves his hand wildly. "Dont you see - The pattern that didnt seem to follow the grammar of the rest of the patterns. The central jar. If the patterns from the jars are our genetic patterns, then... then... perhaps the central set of patterns were..." "Were what?" "Godel's incompleteness statement[2] really. No wonder I couldnt prove that the specific genetic pattern of the central jar can be derived from the same grammar as the rest..." Kumar is overcome with emotion and is flailing his arms excitedly... Samvi eyes the blabbering frothing fellow fondly, and partakes of that handy dictionary on the side-table. There is nothing a good clunk on the head cant solve really. "You see the central pattern really shows that our genetic grammar is indeed finite, that that..." CLUNK. "Arent these samples enough?" asked a disgruntled fellow. She couldnt blame him - as competent as the Charupa definitely was, the jungle was the jungle, and the initial euphoria of being given permission for a study trip into the Dandaka forest to collect fern samples got sort of jaded with the upmteenth branch that poked you in the eye, and the gazillionth insect that wanted to get jiggy with walking piles of food. "Yes... I too think we are just about done here" Ms. Samvi Gupta took a deep breath of the Dandaka Air, gave an approving eyeful to the Dandaka Leaves, and swatted away a bit of the Dandaka Insects curiously exploring her nostrils. And thanked God that there was a salutary lack of Dandaka Big-Fauna-that-roar that wanted to canoodle wth them. Yet. "Owww" came a yelp from her side. Perhaps the Dandaka Fauna had decided to say Hi after all. "Ankur?" she turned, with her machete at hand, only to find a dark-green menacing wall of vegetation and nothing else. Which parted to disgorge an agitated Ankur. "You have got to see this" he breathed. The clearing had a ceremonial tinge to it. There was a stone dial type table at the centre, with 5 identical jars in 5 corners. And a bigger jar in the center. The charupa gave it a ceremonial bow, and explained that many of the tribals worshipped this 'pancharuthu' as it was called. There were other 'pancharuthus' dotting the Dandaka landscape apparently, according to the Charupa, who with a pensive tilt of his head estimated the next one to be just a day away and asked if they wanted to go there too. "Perish the thought" breathed one portly fellow in the group, and poked her in the ribs for added emphasis. "No.. no Charupaji, we shall be going back now." she says quickly, and on a passing thought decided to take some photos of the pancharuthu. Perhaps her aunt might be interested in these. In an impulsive moment, she also decides to leave a radio transmitter in one of the jars when no one is looking. She would like to come back to this place again sometime. As she turns around for one last look, she could swear the constellation of the Pancharuthus had changed somehow, it had rotated maybe. "Come onnn I say" bellowed an irate fellow, after spitting out an over-inquisitive insect. She looks again, it seems the same. She shakes her head. The heat and insects are getting to her already. "Lets go" she tiredly smiles, patting her camera case. The photos would have to do till the next time she comes to see this again. With a last bow towards the Pancharuthu, the group trudges back, and the clearing was empty and silent once more. Empty that is, except for the Pancharuthu and a radio transmitter. And silent that is, except for some faint rotations and creaks that were too faint to be discernable really... _________ FOOTNOTES: [1] DNA is composed of nucleotides. A nucleotide consists of Deoxyribose(sugar), a phosphate group, and one of FOUR bases - Adenine, Thymine, Guanine, Cytosine. Mutations, Deletions etc. happen with the four bases, and hence for most purposes, one can represent a chain of DNA nucleotides by a string of symbols denoting the four bases. [2] Godel's Incompleteness Statement: Roughly speaking, for a finite 'grammar', that is a grammar with a finite number of 'symbols' and a finite number of 'rules', one can have a 'string' or a 'pattern' that one can neither prove that it belongs to the grammar, nor that it does not belong to the grammar. Thus, any finite grammar is incomplete in its deductive power. The existence of such a 'string' or 'pattern' could serve as an indication that the grammar is finite.