Amdu

It was one of those Fridays when I had no plans for the weekend. When I trudged into my apartment on that fateful evening, I found a piece of paper on the floor. At first it struck me as something that might have fallen off the trash can that morning. I picked it up to examine it. Surprise, surprise!! It was a handwritten note somebody had slipped under the door. Now that got me thinking. The last time somebody left a note for me was when the housekeeping lady found that I had left the window open during a rainy day when I had the "precious" television set I had rented from them for the first month lying around somewhere within "wettable" distance. What had I done this time? 

Surprise again! It was not from the housekeeping lady. The contents of the note were somewhat like this: 

"Hi, I am your new neighbor in apartment no. blah blah blah. Just wanted to let you know that a couple of my friends are coming over later tonight. We'll try to keep it down as much as possible. Feel free to drop by if you want. Best regards, Amdu"

A lot of things about this note intrigued me. First, why does one have to inform me that he (I assumed it is a he, as a "she"wouldn't have left notes inviting strangers over) is having a party next door? And further, why invite me, since he doesn't even know me? Certainly unheard of in India. Hey, wait, neighbors do invite you over for Satsang in North India, when they play loud music (devotional, mind you), rendering all and sundry awake in the name of God, regardless of his approval. Aptly christened (no pun intended) Jagran, people stay up overnight, and make sure neighbors do too, voluntarily or otherwise. Such a scenario seemed unlikely in this country, even if the neighbors were Indian. 

Now, since I had nothing to do that weekend, and also since I had no friends in Baltimore so far, and even more so because of the social bug that I am, the invitation seemed pretty tempting to me. So I asked one of my friends here who has stayed in this country for a year more than I have. 

"It happens frequently here," she explained, "Playing loud music is generally considered rude and unacceptable, but on weekend evenings, it is more or less acceptable to a limit. The best and the most polite strategy that people adopt in this situation is to invite neighbors over. While people are not actually expected to go and join in, it is considered as soliciting an unofficial approval.." 

I took in the information carefully. So, I wasn't expected to actually join in. So I turned my attention towards the last and the most intriguing thing about the note (which you would have already guessed since it is the name of this blog post), which was the name of my new neighbor- Amdu. 

I know it is quite an uncommon name, to say the least. And this is exactly how it was spelt.

The name that inspired a blog

Now, knowing how much we, humans like making deductions, no matter how unnecessary and irrelevant, it wouldn't be hard for you to imagine that I started thinking about the nationality / origin of the person bearing this unique name. Somehow, and I reiterate this, somehow, I got a feeling that this person was an Asian. That was the first thing that struck me while I heard the name. While I cannot substantiate the reasoning behind this thought, everything I thought of seemed to add to this whim of mine. When I looked at the name in the note carefully, a part of me even imagined that the hand writing had a Mandarin-like touch to it (or an in writu version of a chinese accent). He can't be Chinese, Japanese or Korean, as the name pattern doesn't suggest so (for that matter, you might argue that the name pattern doesn't suggest anything at all; but please bear with me for the time being). I thought of other countries. Thailand, Indonesia, Malaysia and Philippines came to mind. He could be from any of these. Now, as I told you at least twice already on this blog post, I actually had NOTHING to do that weekend, so I did a search for the name "Amdu" on facebook (height of joblessness). The reasoning behind this was that if it is a common name in some country, most people whose names came up would be from that particular country, narrowing it down considerably (say, like searching for Kumar or Singh would presumably reveal the locations as India for the vast majority, though I wouldn't bet against Canada). The search revealed a lot of people equally distributed between USA, Germany, Ethiopia and Israel, among a few others. Hell, one of the items that turned up in the search was not even a person, but a university!! (I guess AMDU might be an acronym of some sort). And I couldn't get a look of most of their pictures due to privacy settings (and I was highly reluctant to send them friend requests) which would have allowed me to see if their features were Asian. So much for narrowing down. I still strongly felt this guy was Asian, and like a scientist who feels that the experiment is not right or the literature is irrelevant if he does not find what he is looking for, I refused to abandon the idea. 

That night, around 9:30 pm, I did hear some music. It was so soft that I couldn't make out the genre, let alone the language. Soon, my imagination flowed, and I pictured a situation where I would have accepted the invite and walked over to their place. I would be greeted by a friendly Asian guy, and would be offered a green tea and some chopsuey maybe. The hall would be full of Asians, some in flowing robes, talking in their language (with the extended word pronunciations) in an animated way, while eating noodles with their chopsticks. Traditional Chinese music (the kind I heard in Kung fu Panda and Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon- God alone knows if it is traditional) would be playing in the background. I will feel as if I've entered a foreign country, and would try to soak in the atmosphere and the new culture much as I can, but would soon realize that this is not where I belong, and my place right now would be in front of my laptop, watching a critically acclaimed zombie movie (which was what I was actually doing at that moment- can you believe the coincidence?). Thus after feeding my whim till it was ready to throw up, I left Amdu and his party alone. 

The next day, I was preparing to leave for the lab for half a day's worth of work. As I was locking my apartment, I saw him for the first time. There he was, next door, locking his door too. Amdu was a young man, maybe around 23-24, with a boyish look on his face and a gentle smile. And guess what, he WAS Asian! Proud of my deductive talents, I proceeded to choose this moment to pick up a conversation with my neighbor. 

"Hi!"

I seemed to have startled him. He took a couple of moments to recuperate.

"Hi" He grinned at me politely now.

"I found your note yesterday. So, had fun last night?" I beamed at him. "I heard you guys last night. But don't worry, I wasn't disturbed or anything."

He smiled at me. His smile had a sheepish look. I have noticed that some people's smiles have a naturally sheepish look without them having necessarily done anything embarrassing.

"So you live here?" He asked in heavily accented English, unsure of how to continue the conversation.

"Yes, since May."

Once we had both locked our doors, we proceeded towards the elevator. 

"So you are in Hopkins?" I asked, out of the knowledge that most people who stayed in this locality were students in Johns Hopkins University.

"Yes. I am a graduate student. What about you?"

"I am a post doctoral fellow."

"In Hopkins?"

"No, I work at NIH, in Bayview. Which field are you doing your PhD in?"

"Economics. What about you? What field are you doing research in?"

"Immunology."

"Wow, you must be really smart." His expressions did not suggest any sarcasm when he said that. Which was strange, if I come to think of it.

I smiled, taken by surprise at this utterly unexpected response from him, and unsure as to how to react.

"Nothing like that.." I managed to say weakly.

I have no clue why an immunologist should be perceived as any smarter than an economist or somebody from any other field for that matter. What is wrong with this world?

As the elevator stopped at the ground floor, it was time to exchange introductions. Moreover, I was keen to hear him pronounce his name. 

"I am Gautam", I said, extending my hand for a shake.

Amdu shook my hand. 

"Nice to meet you." he said, without telling me his name.

Disappointed, I thought of how to turn the conversation towards his nationality/origin. Before I could come up with something, we had exited the building and gone in opposite directions after wishing the other a good day.

The next time I saw Amdu was on another Saturday morning about a 2-3 weeks later. And again, we both were locking our apartments.

"Hey! Good morning! No one came over last night? I couldn't hear anything.." I grinned at him

I seemed to have startled him again. But this time he reacted sooner.

"Hello, good morning! Going to work?"

"Yeah, a bit of work pending. So how is your PhD going?" Always a bad question. I immediately cursed myself for asking him that.

"I have just started. It has been only one year now." He didn't seem to take the question badly. Wait, it has only been a year.. 

Then I got a phone call and we couldn't continue the conversation and therefore my desire to hear him say his own name remained unmet.

The next couple of times I met him in the corridor and we just "Hi"ed each other, and since we were going in the opposite directions, a conversation was out of question. 

During this time, I remember having a conversation with my sister who too, took a fancy to the name "Amdu". 

"I think he is from Thailand or Malaysia",  I told her when she asked me about the curious nature of the name .

Soon, she made it a point to ask me about him every time we talked, just so that she could say/hear his name. 

"So, how is that friend of yours with that cute-iful name?", she would ask.

"Who, Amdu?" I'd say.

She would giggle at his name.

 "I had met him the other day.."  That was it.

We both knew that the other was not actually interested in whether or not I had met him. It was all about the name. And they say, "What's in a name!!"

That was until this unfortunate incident happened.

On this fateful Friday evening, when I was travelling out of town to meet a friend, I was locking my apartment door (again!). This time I saw someone locking the apartment on the right side of mine, as opposed to Amdu's apartment on the left side. He was a tall white guy. Looked about the same age as Amdu, but was Caucasian. We greeted each other as we caught the other's eye. He caught up with me as I was waiting for the elevator.

"So, travelling this weekend?" He asked cheerfully, noticing my travel bag.

"Yup" I said.

As I stepped into the elevator with him, a thought struck me like lightning. I didn't remember which apartment number was mentioned in that note. Was it possible that...

"So you are in Hopkins?" It was my turn to be questioned.

"I work at Bayview, as a post doc." I told him. "What about you?"

"I am at Hopkins. But I just joined recently. Moved in just a couple of months back."

That was approximately the time when I had received the note. And Amdu had told me he had been here for a year. The note had mentioned "new neighbor." How did I ever overlook that? It was all  materializing before me like a pot appearing on a wheel from clay.

I had to confirm before driving the final nail in the coffin in which I was about to bury the bloated image of my supreme deductive powers. Which was not based on any sense of reasoning, mind you.

"So, you are.. uhm.. Andy?" I asked, muttering the first Western name I could think of that could possibly be confused with Amdu.

"Andre". That was it. Crash! Bang! Thud!

"And you are?"

"Gautam.", I said, disinterestedly.

"Nice meeting you. Enjoy your weekend!!" he said cheerfully.

As soon as I stepped out of the apartment, I realized that I had forgotten to pack something. So I went back and waited for the elevator. And when it stopped, who should step out of it but the old Amdu! There he was, beaming at me, like a cruel joke.

"Hi!" He said enthusiastically.

"Hi!" It was my turn to sport a sheepish smile.

And the shy Amdu, with whom every time it was me who initiated a conversation, finds this the best moment to open up.

"So, going somewhere?" 

"Yeah, calling on a friend."

"Have fun"

Yeah, right. It was almost like we were in a cartoon strip, and he could read my thoughts. And he was having the last laugh.

Since I was going inside the apartment anyway, I decided to have one more look at the signed note I had received that day. The apartment number corresponded to that from which Andre, not Amdu, had emerged. And about the signature - It does look like "Andre" now, doesn't it? I still think it looks more like Amdu.

The hand writing that inspired a blog

But, it wasn't. So, that is irrelevant. And that is how I ended up feeling like a scientist who not just made a hypothesis, but wrote a grant based on preliminary data that was never substantiated. Hell, that sounds familiar!

So the party that I had imagined to have taken place the other night was all wrong. I might have been offered beer with pizza, they might have played rock music, talked in English, and would be wearing..... Well, let us leave it at that. Else it will be another case of, "Here I go again!".

The repercussions of my folly slowly started to sink in. For all you know, Amdu might have had his girlfriend stay over and was getting lucky on  that night when I received the note. My comments the morning after about whether he had a good time last night and "I could hear you" might have caught him.. well.. by surprise. Maybe that explained the sheepish smile. Oh, and I had even asked him on another Saturday whether no one came over the night before. Well, what do I say?

"Zeese bloody Indians, zey are funny", he must have thought.

Damn! 

To be honest, Amdu was a polite guy, not in the least cocky, but had he been so, I could have pulled off a fantastic pun about confusing a cocky Asian with a Caucasian.

Well, it turns out that Amdu's last name is Lee (boring!) - which I gathered from his mail box, and he told me he is a Korean. I still don't know what his first name is. 

And I don't want to know it, for, to me, he will always be Amdu.. 

And if universe continues to work in its mysterious ways, one day both Andre and Amdu will be in the same elevator together discussing this blog post and laughing their heads off at what an ass I am.

Now, that would be surreal. 

The Haunting - A Micro Novel Based On True Events

Preface

This is the age of small  and smaller things. Smaller, sleeker phones and slim television sets when it comes to technology, thinner wallets (a consequence of investing in the above) when it comes to finance, T20 cricket for sports, nanoparticles for science and micro-blogging for the virtual world. This made me explore the idea of micro-novels. Why not write an entire novel, replete with a preface, a prologue, multiple chapters, and an epilogue - all of which so concise that it wouldn't take you any longer to read them than to watch an Australian batsman get out to spin bowling? But don't let the word "novel" fool you into thinking this is a fictitious account. In fact, it is anything but, and just like my previous post on the blog, it is a narration of true events. So here goes..

Prologue

It was a clear moonlit night. I switched off the lights and crept into my bed. The only light illuminating my now dark room was a streak of moonlight coming in through the window. A gentle wind coming in through the open windows rustled the blinds. My eyes inadvertently crossed the kitchen floor. And then, I saw it- a shadow that couldn't possibly have been human moved across the floor. I switched on the lights and went across to the kitchen. Nothing.. It must have been my imagination. A few months back I had signed the lease as the only tenant in this apartment. The only occupant. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I wasn't alone after all..

Chapter 1: Signs

I reached home around dusk on one particular evening, and made my way into the kitchen to find something to push down my gullet while going through the regular routine of starting up my computer to check my evening mail (since I usually don't get any in the morning, either). A solitary bagel greeted me on the dining table. "Damn!", I thought, "Forgot to put this in before leaving in the morning.." Then I noticed something. There were satellite particles of bagel lying scattered near the mother ship on the dining table. A more careful examination revealed that there was a small hole in the polythene cover that the bagel was wrapped in. And that was not all. There was a small hole on the side of the bagel. Something had broken through. And eaten a bit of the bagel. In a messy way too. Thomas Bagels may even take it as a compliment. After all, "Everything on it" flavor was their most widely sold bagel. I begged to differ though.

As I chucked the bagel in the trash can, I thought of the possibilities. After ruling myself out as one of the suspects, I thought of possible pests. Cockroaches were the first to come to mind. I haven't known cockroaches to bore holes through plastic or make the ones with the dimensions I observed on the bagel.  It couldn't have been a rodent. If there was a mouse/rat/mole in my house, I'd have seen atleast its most tell tale signs- droppings by now, if not the rodent itself. Since I was new to this country and had no idea what to expect (since people here have slightly different ideas about what constitutes a "pest"), I went to our most knowledgeable friend- Google. In the next two hours I learned about various types of beetles, but most of them seemed to infest houses nearer to farms and large underground storage places rather than quaint little apartments like mine. Hugely dissatisfied with my knowledgeable friend, even after typing in a plethora of search queries that ranged from sensible sounding "common pests in Baltimore" to those that bordered on the ridiculous such as "bagel eating pests" and "plastic tearing insects", I gave up, promising myself never to leave any eatable open on the dining table henceforth. 

The mystery continued to perplex me the more I thought about it, but a huge workload over the next few days kept my mind occupied until that fateful day.

Chapter 2: The First Sighting

Come weekend, come time to travel and meet friends. And the weekend coming up was a long (3-day) weekend, for which it is criminal to not have elaborate plans. My bus was at 11 pm and I had settled down to watch "My Cousin Vinny" (highly recommended) after gleefully packing my bags. The time would be around 8:30 pm. Then, suddenly, the corner of my eye caught a movement on the floor in the living room. And there it was! Furry, four legged with whiskers, scurrying across the floor. There was no mistaking the animal whose kind I had handled day in and day out for 5 years during the pursuit of that elusive PhD degree. It was a mouse. A possibility I had disdainfully dismissed due to lack of evidence.

In five years at NII, I had picked them up from cages, handling them at will to carry out my experiments. And here was one specimen, scurrying on the floor, taking the challenge to a new level. No mouse in its rightful mind would have come within yards of me if it had heard of my reputation. But then, it probably hadn't. 

Don't get me wrong here. Being brought up in villages in India, I have seen, and effectively dealt with rodent pests before. But these were American mice. They would be different. Why, they didn't even leave droppings. I knew people "potty train" dogs and cats here, but for a mouse to have achieved this feat just speaks about the level of sophistication this country has reached. For all I know, this guy can flush too.

So I got up and reached for a cardboard box that I could invert on the little guy to trap him. This seemed the quickest option, as I had just opened a package and the carton seemed conveniently handy. The movement from my side caused a sudden rush of energy in the mouse, who until then was more keen on exploration than dashing for the nearest exit (hell, these mice have read the fire escape manual too!). So before I get to have a go at him, he disappeared into the wall. Let me explain that statement. He ran towards the heating coils (the size of a bed side table), went under it and disappeared. I beat around the coils with a stick (derived from a toilet bowl plunger), thinking he was hiding in there (and from my previous experience in handling non experimental rodents says this method works) but nothing came out. Assuming that there was a hole in the wall behind the immovable heating coils into which Scurry (let us call him that) had disappeared, I packed the area with cardboard from my would-have-been mouse trap. And since there wasn't much I could do at that time, I left for the weekend after double checking that every food item was behind a door.

Chapter 3: Of Mice and Men

When I came back from the weekend (incidentally the same one when the incidents described in "A Tryst With A Neighbor" occurred), I half expected to see my house ransacked, something or the other chewed up, and droppings (I still couldn't believe they are THAT sophisticated). Well, there was none of it. I breathed a sigh of relief. Something had to be done about it though. And soon.

Over the next couple of weeks, I was once again swamped with work, and couldn't do anything other than go back to my knowledgeable friend to quiz him more about my uninvited roommate. During this time I learnt that my friend was a "house mouse" or Mus musculus, the most common variety of rodents found in homes here. I also learnt about various methods used to trap or kill mice. But soon I reminded myself, memorizing the Plasmodium lifecycle doesn't cure one of malaria.

There was no sign of him for about ten days after the long weekend, which caused me to worry about his health. After all, I was keeping all food behind closed doors. What would he live on? I almost felt tempted to leave scraps out. For a selfish reason though. I wanted to see if he was still around. I didn't give in to this temptation because of other selfish reasons. I was just starting to think that may be he was indeed taking refuge in a hole in the wall which I had now sealed with cardboard. You know, it happens so often in scientific research that when we do an experiment for the first time, not sure of what results to expect, and it works sub optimally, we tend to make exciting hypotheses aided by some frenetic hand-waving that sound fantastic and drive us into a frenzy, only to repeat the experiment and see that when it works properly, the results that show up make our hypothesis a lesser joke compared to ourselves. So as you guessed it, I saw Scurry again.

I do not know whether my reaction was happiness, relief, or worry. Probably a mixture of all three, of which the first two are inexplicable and the third one, the only negative emotion out of the three, being understandably dominant. This time he was on the kitchen floor, pausing momentarily to look at me, as if to ascertain the fact that he had successfully caught my attention. He ran around the dining chairs before disappearing behind the refrigerator. The movement was swift, but abnormal, as if he had some muscle problem like dystrophy (and given the species name, would it be appropriate to call it Mus Muscular dystrophy?). I rushed to get my plunger-stick and turned the refrigerator around to see where he was hiding. And, yet again, there was no trace of him. Second time running.

My mind started considering possibilities again. There was everything to suggest that this mouse wasn't human. Well, mice aren't human. Let me re-state that. There was everything to suggest that this mouse wasn't from this world (I didn't mean USA when I said "world", though some people around me may disagree). Was it from the netherworld? The following points were in favor of this theory: 1) I see it only at night, which is consistent with popularly perceived notions. 2) It disappears into walls. 3) It doesn't leave droppings behind, which is unlike any other rodent infestation I have seen or heard about. 4) It doesn't appear to have a food source in its residential territory (my apartment, for goodness' sake!) and thus might be surviving without food, which is not possible for a creature of this world.

Could it be a ghost? Seeking vengeance for my actions at NII where I killed scores of mice for the sake of research? Let us consider this hypothesis critically.The first question that arises is, why one mouse? Why didn't all of them come for revenge? Visa problems? Not unlikely, considering that these mice were involved in biological research. As far as I can remember, there is no one particular mouse that I have treated worse than others, so why this one? Is it a representative? That seems difficult considering that it is coming from India. Of all the strains I have "sacrificed" for the sake of research that is ultimately supposed to benefit humanity, it would be difficult to choose one type of strain to represent the others. It is a democracy after all. If one representative is chosen, it would be from the majority. Then, wouldn't minority strains be  poorly represented? Wouldn't they require adequate representation as well? How would the representative be chosen? Given these factors, it would be required to have a group of representatives, (with an adequate proportion being from minority strains) that come to seek vengeance, among other demands (?). Else it simply wouldn't be democracy. Anything else is not acceptable.

Hence, reluctantly, I abandoned this theory. It could be a real live mouse and there could be explanations for everything else that indicates to the contrary.

Chapter 4: Mind Games

The continued presence of something troublesome, no matter how less troublesome it is, over an extended period of time can play havoc with one's mind. I was no exception, and soon I started seeing "mice" and "rat" in every little thing I came across.

For example, I was once having a scientific discussion with my boss and he said something about experiments with transgenic mice. The moment he said the word "mice", my mind switched to the "pest control" channel. I do not remember any part of the "discussion" after that point. If you think this was excusable, wait till you listen to this: I was reading news on the internet and came across an article about the sad demise of Mansoor Ali Khan Pataudi. And how did this remind me of rodents? DEMISE!! De-Mice! I need to "de-mice" my apartment. There was more to come

The next evening I went to "Punjab" Indian groceries store near my home. I had gone there to buy some Indian groceries and vegetables as I was expecting guests that weekend. And while shopping I came across this packet of heat and eat "Navratan Korma". You know how that packet appeared to me? navRATan korma. I decided that was it. I needed to do something about it immediately. I couldn't let it appear over the weekend and freak out my guests.

A couple of days before, I had read up about rodent poison. One could order it at the click of a mouse (ironically). I supposed it would be easier to buy it from a shop. The question was, where? In this country, most drugs cannot be bought over the counter, even the common ones, and with the amount of mindless paperwork that is required for almost anything, I'd have to get a written prescription from the mouse to buy rodent poison, for all I know. I decided to ask the guy at the counter once I was done with the shopping.

"Do you know where I can buy rat poison?" I asked him when he was billing me.

"Rat poison? You have rats in your house?" He counter questioned. He had a calm, learned disposition. Since this guy looks Afghani,  let us call him Affy.

"Yes, I have seen one." I responded, highly impressed by his intelligent deduction.

"What happened? You have rats in the house?" I looked around to see where the  voice came from. There was this Bangladeshi man, with hair curving around his eyes as if his eyes were in parentheses, and a broad grin on his face. He definitely knew Affy, as was evident from their interaction later on. Let us call this guy Bangy.

"Yes, I do." I didn't bother to clarify it was a mouse and not a rat. 

"Rats, always a problem. You need big cages for them, and you bait with beef slices. You get cages at Home Depot." Bangy remarked.

That really wasn't great news. Home depot was far away, and there was no way I could get there and shop before my guests arrived next evening. 

"Is there nothing else I can do? Can't I get rat poison?" I asked

"If you use rat poison, it will die, but you will not find the body. It will stink and whole house will stink. Better that you catch using cages. I always use cages." Bangy sounded professional.

"Are they big rats?" Affy asked.

"No, they are small. The common mice.I live in an apartment, not a house"

"Oh! The rats I catch are this big.." Bangy parted his hands to show the size. I do not know if it was exaggeration, but his hands could hold a large cat or a puppy. If I see a rat that big, I'd move out. I hope Bangy uses  jawed beartraps to catch those things for his own good. 

"Yeah, but small mice are more common in apartments." remarked Bangy, sounding disappointed.

"You can use these traps to catch them if they are small mice" Affy handed me a spring loaded mouse trap, the kind I had seen only in Tom and Jerry cartoons before. He then showed me how to wind up the spring carefully without letting it snap on one's own fingers. It looked good.

"I use these to catch mice. Works well. Use chocolate as a bait." Affy was surely an aficionado in this matter.

"Yeah, chocolate is a good  idea." said Bangy, not to be left out.

"How much for this?" I inquired.

"Don't worry about it." Affy smiled at me.

I thanked Affy for his gift and left for home with the mouse trap in my pocket. I definitely felt more of a match for Scurry now with this as a weapon, as compared to my improvised plunger-stick, which I have to be careful while using so as to not get the plunger side of it near my face for obvious reasons.

I'd have one go at Scurry that night, before my guests would arrive the next evening.

Chapter 5: The Battle

That evening I once again visited my friend google to read about mousetraps.Coincidentally (not really, if you think about it), I came across a forum where people had discussed how to bait, trap and kill mice.There I found most of the experts, including the manufacturer of my mouse trap recommending peanut butter as the best bait for trapping mice. So, I decided to employ peanut butter. I set the trap overnight in an area where I've seen the mouse before. The next morning, there was no mouse on the trap. Only peanut butter.Well, I had lost the first round.

My guests came over, and since two of us (including me) were to sleep on the floor, I was a bit worried about whether Scurry would make his appearance around or over one of us and turn a peaceful night's sleep into a nightmare. But, credit to him, Scurry stayed off limelight that weekend and the guests had a good time, blissfully unaware of what could have been.

The night after they left, I decide to go with Affy's and Bangy's advice and tempt the mouse with chocolate. So I set up the trap, and next morning, the results were there to be seen. Scurry was caught in the trap, the clamp had broken his spinal cord as it was supposed to, leaving him dead. I had won the battle. By now nearly a month  had passed since I had first detected Scurry's activity. I felt a great sense of relief. A sense of joy was conspicuous by its absence.

Was it a female mouse, considering that it was tempted by chocolate? This was one way to define a "chocolate mous(s)e". If it hadn't fallen for chocolate either, I'd have tried bagel, then bacon or ham. If I was sure it was a male mouse, I could have tempted it by using explicit pictures of a female mouse. Or another male mouse. One can't be sure these days..

But yeah, as I flushed that mouse carcass down the toilet, I thought about all the little moments we had together. Now, don't get me wrong,  I wasn't gonna miss him or anything.

And thus I was finally back to being the sole occupant of my apartment. 

Epilogue

A couple of days later, I was rolled up on the bed, watching a movie and eating a small piece of the same chocolate I had tempted Scurry with. Then, something strange occurred to me. Where was the piece of chocolate I had laid on the trap? I did not remember recovering it from the site of the gruesome crime. There are three possibilities: 1) Scurry savored the chocolate first and was about to leave, but then came back and tipped the trap just out of guilty conscience. 2) Scurry savored the chocolate after he was dead (my favorite hypothesis, as it points towards the existence of zombies in mice models) 3) There was someone or something else that savored the chocolate after Scurry's fatal attempt to reach it. 

And then, I may have imagined it, but a movement across the floor caught the corner of my eye. I switched on the lights. There was nothing to be seen.

Maybe I wasn't alone after all...

A Tryst With A Neighbor

The day was Monday, the 5th of September, 2011. Arriving at the Greyhound bus station in Baltimore after an extended weekend with my friends, my eyes scanned the parking lot, expecting to see at least half a dozen, if not more of those bright yellow automobiles that wear the archetypal cap that says "taxi" on them. No, not to be. Not today at least. Within five minutes, most people had got off the bus, and it seemed they did not have other options of a ride home at 11 pm in the night, for they were quick to make a beeline for the taxis just as I did. I tell you, I have used this bus station at least ten times during my brief stay so far in this city, and not on one occasion have I seen less than 5 cabs in that stand. Today was a different day. 

The steady drizzle that had been going on since I had got off seemed to threaten to escalate into a "no holds barred" downpour as my mind quickly began to consider alternate options of reaching my residence. The next bus was 45 minutes away, and would drop me half a kilometer from my home nearly half an hour past midnight, leaving me the not so bright prospect of having to walk through a thunderstorm (which I later found out was tropical storm "Lee") at an odd hour in a city which, in the matter of safety, has a reputation that will induce doubt even in the bravest of the brave. And I was just another regular guy. 

And then, this one cab came in and pulled up by my side.

The cab driver came out, an average built, pleasant faced man with a shortish mustache and an enthusiasm that is almost inexplicable when somebody is working at 11 pm on the last night of a long weekend in this country. The first thing i noticed about him though, was that he was a south Asian (Indian/Pakistani/Bangladeshi) which is no big surprise since I have run into many Indian and Pakistani cab drivers in Baltimore. The Pakistanis I have run into generally wore a typical mustache-less beard, and something about his looks suggested to me he was Indian. But that was the last thing on my mind at that moment. Reaching home was the first. 

"Hello Sir, where are you headed?", the gentleman asked in a more friendly, than business-like tone. The accent was unmistakably Indian/Pakistani.

I gave him my address. 

He asked a couple of others as well. The deal was thus: since I was not the only one in desperate need of a ride home, he would give a ride to four of us (which is the upper limit of passengers in the taxi). The "four" included a couple and a guy (let us call him Lint, since he was headed to a place called Linthicum) in addition to me. After keeping my suitcase in the trunk, I was asked to take the front seat next to the driver, while the others were to occupy the back seat. Before we pulled away, he told us how much he would be charging us. The rates sounded perfectly reasonable and were no more than what would have been if we had taken individual cabs that charged us metered rates. 

"Is that ok, Sir?", he asked me about the rate as he started the engine.

"Umm Hmm.." I responded, the American way of saying yes; something I picked up recently.

As we pulled out of the bus station, he greeted us cheerfully, with the air of a tour guide taking his party through the first leg of their tour. 

"So, hope everyone had a great trip?" he asked, casting a quick look around to make eye contact with each of us individually.

As happens so often, nobody felt it necessary to individually respond to a question posed as generally as this one was. After a brief awkward silence with the cabbie (let us call him Eddie, from "AD" for "asian driver") expecting an answer, I obliged.

"It was good, just that our bus broke down and we got delayed by an hour.." The disgruntlement in my tone was apparent. The "it was good" part almost sounded sarcastic, now that I think of it. No one else seemed to be in any mood to engage in a conversation. Frankly, I wasn't, either.  Everyone was done for the day, as they say.

"Ummm, ok." murmured Eddie, was not sure of how to respond to this. It was obvious that he was in some mood for chat, but wasn't sure how to get things rolling. 

"So how long has it been raining here?" I asked. The weather was a universal conversation starter.

"Almost the whole day."

"Oh, is it?"

That was that. Today was definitely not the day. The conversation wasn't going anywhere.

Then there was a beeping noise that came from the dashboard.

"Aren't you wearing your seatbelt, Sir?" Eddie asked me, without taking hie eyes off the road.

I wasn't, and there was a reason.

"I couldn't find the buckle. Let me look for it again.."

After moments of fruitless groping around, I gave up. 

"Nope, can't find it."

"It is ok, it must be stuck in the door. Don't worry about it. I hope nobody gets a headache because of this sound."

Maybe he himself did. For, by the time we heard the beep for the third time, he pulled over for a brief moment while I opened the door, found what I was looking for, and buckled up. No more beeps. "Peace" was restored.

The rain was lashing down now, making visibility poor. Must have been quite a challenge to drive.

There were more attempts at conversation. 

"The routes are back to normal now. Everything was completely messed up because of the car races", he said, referring to the Grand Prix that happened here over the weekend.

"Hmmm.." I did not have anything to contribute to this string either. 

I had to look back to ensure that Lint and the couple were still in the car. Not one word so far.

Soon, we reached the place where the couple got off. With a quick thank you after paying off Eddie, they hurried up to the door in the rain.

"Hope they didn't have any luggage in the trunk!" remarked Eddie with a big grin. "Next we shall be dropping you off..", he said, looking at me. "And then I shall take you to Linthicum, Sir", he explained to Lint, "as it is in the opposite direction. Somewhere near the airport.. I will get you there in 25 minutes." Eddie shot a glance at his watch.

Then came the question that I had been half expecting to be posed to me at sometime.

"Are you Indian?" Eddie looked at me expectantly. It was almost as if an answer to the contrary would have disappointed him.

"Yes, I am from India."

"I am from Pakistan." he said almost as soon as the last syllable was out of my mouth. The joy of meeting someone from the same part of the world where he belonged announced itself on his face. And it really got him started.

"You see, India and Pakistan, they are the same people; they were the same country until 1947, when the leaders of these countries made a mistake of partition and made them two separate countries", he explained to Lint, who seemed  least interested in impromptu "world history on the go" lessons.

"The people from both these countries are wonderful, beautiful people.." Eddie was running out of adjectives. "They have everything in common, including corrupt leaders who mislead the people."
He turned to me, "Please correct me if I am wrong.."

I smiled back at him. "I absolutely agree with you."

"The leaders of these two countries continuously try to turn their people against each other for their political reasons. People want peace. Common man suffers. Leaders should be brave, strong, and leading by example. These people do not deserve to be leaders. They work for selfish goals.." He shot a quick glance at me every now and then, just to make sure he wasn't offending my sentiments in any way. The look of approval on my face was all he needed to carry on. I made sure he got it.

If Lint had even the slightest bit of interest in any of this, I must say he did an impressive job at concealing it.

"You see, while campaigning for elections, these leaders keep criticizing the western world just to make fools out of people. All the children of these leaders are studying in UK or USA. But they spread hatred of these countries back home. USA is a great country, it has given education, shelter and jobs to so many people from so many countries.."

And then out of nowhere, "But I like Anna Hazare."

He then looked back to Lint and explained, "You see, there is a gentleman in India called Anna Hazare. He is the real leader of the people. Very good man. He starved himself to protest against corruption. He wanted politicians to stop corruption.." Eddie turned to me, "Please correct me if I am wrong."

After a brief pause, he said in a slightly lower voice, as if thinking aloud, "We need people like him in Pakistan."

You know how it is when someone is on a roll. The conversation moves from one topic to another like a raft moving through a rapid - though the head of the raft looks like it is pointing towards the bank at various times in between, you know the raft is ultimately headed just one way- downstream.

The head of the raft turned for a brief second again.

"Are you a student or do you work here?", he inquired of me.

"I do research work here."

"Aah! So you are a scientist! Newton family!" He remarked, as if he had been "exposed" to more of us before. "Scientists are always problematic.." Eddie laughed at his own joke. I am not sure what he was trying to say though. Not that it mattered.

"We even speak the same language you see..", Eddie turned to explain to Lint again. The raft was going downstream indeed. See what I mean?

"We are speaking in English right now so that this guy wouldn't feel left out..", he explained to me, gesturing at Lint.

Given just how involved Lint was..

"Do you go to India every year?"

"I've been here for just four months."

"Oh! You are new here. It has been a long time since I've been to Pakistan. My life is here now." There was a faint note of resignation in his voice.

In the aftermath of the Delhi high court blasts of September 7,  2011, the events of this particular night may be deemed ludicrously irrelevant. Or, maybe it makes it all the more relevant.

We were now approaching my apartment building.

"Almost there" Eddie remarked, searching my expression for happiness that accompanies a milestone crossed.

The introductions, strangely, were saved for the end.

"May I know your good name?" He looked at me, like a school kid who is excited to have found a new friend.

"Gautam"

"I am Asad" said Eddie.

"And I am Lint", said Lint. (Just Kidding!)

"It was very nice to meet you, Gautam.", he said, shaking hands.

I reciprocated his gesture. "Nice to meet you too."

"You do good research and find something good for the world. You be good scientist." he said, no doubt with the best of intentions, but exemplifying the grossly misconceived notions the lay man holds about scientific research and people doing them.

He pulled over by the apartment building. After I had paid him, I got off, took my suitcase out of the trunk and then walked towards the front of the car again so as to catch his eye and raised my hand to gesture goodbye. He smiled generously at me, and raised his hand too, and kept it raised as he pulled away and out of sight.

I cannot for the life of me imagine what conversation he would have had with Lint for the remaining twenty minutes till they got to Linthicum.

And as I opened the door of my apartment  on that cool, windy, rainy night, something somewhere felt incredibly warm..