White Knights
- Part 1 -

By N. Bobo Meitei *

Standing on his balcony with his elbows leaning over the balustrade while the chin resting on the cup of his palms he ponders over what he has become of, something he has realized lately after the go away party of his best mate who will soon be working in Hong Kong after being offered a generous offer by the bank for which he has been working since his graduation from one of the best universities in his country.

Holding his head up and one of his hands reaching out to caress his ruffled hair for a while and sensing how smooth his well-conditioned hair has been by the conditioners and shampoo his mother bought for him during her trip to Paris with her new hearing-impaired boyfriend, then the same hand moves down and starts caressing his face as if he is smearing something unconsciously.

At the go away party he was quite festive since he has been brought in a festive family so to be gregarious always comes spontaneously. There was the cacophonous talk of lager and repetitive scream of "to health and to England" in the claustrophobic but roomy room.

The clinging of tumblers and beer mugs with "cheers mates" went on till early part of dawn. An hour before he bade adieu to his mates for an hour, when they were little sobered, they sat down in the swanky couch and talked about what they all would be doing in the coming few years.

The host's delighted talk about his laid out plans took up most part of the conversation when his turn arrived all he could say was his sensually motivated supposedly adventure to some of the coup-ridden lands in the Far East.

When the host illustrated his plans and his intentions he thought the host and his childhood mates were gloating at him, but he being a mediocre ad had to harmonise with his ready to overflow emotions, controlling the rein over his emotions he clapped instead with the envious thought tugged in under the surface of the smiling face.

"My mate has been working for a reputable bank and now he is heading for a prospective offshore assignment and Jane, the refined lady from around the corner, is, soon, going to follow him," he told himself with a self-pitiable expression on his face. Now standing in the erect position and looking at the old maid pruning the hedges he retains the previous position but this time his boot-laden legs kicking the scrubbed floor as if pounding on the world for the self-dissatisfaction.

"James! Breakfast."

A voice can be heard waking him up from his retrospective state of mind. In the dining room he is met by his mother who has already adorned herself in her Paris-stitched gown and her boyfriend who greets him sarcastically, "plenty of lager, eh? Not sobered yet?"

At the table his mother restarts her sun-tanned holiday in Malta and the next trip she has been contemplating with her boyfriend, "The trip to Malta invigorates within me the desire to relive life, so, hopefully, a trip to the British India would certainly be something for a change."

To which Bill, her boyfriend, nods his head even though he can't hear what has just been expressed. James swallows down his British breakfast and takes his leave with a faint smile by saying, "I am late for work."

The loud-mouthed Samantha has already been in the bar standing in front of the looking mirror and shaking her head as if swearing to herself " bolllock! Bollock!' She releases herself from that frame of mind when she discerns James' footsteps. She inquires tersely "So, when is he going to bugger off for the land of Chinks?"

"Tomorrow and Jane is going to join him a week after. Lucky bastard,eh?" He replies.

Although he has been with Samantha after she is pregnant with someone else's child he has been beseeching her not to leave him in destitute. Quite contrary to his feeling she has already been exasperated by his beggar-like manner. And today is the day she has decidedly taken a resolute conclusion to let him know how she perceives her imperceptible future with a loafer-like man; time to call off.

He hangs his jacket on the stand, standing he rolls up his sleeves to attend to the morning chores in the bar.

There is nothing to talk about and not a single sweet phrase to deliver as his is a crumbling life with mediocre stuff. What is to be said is muffled by confusion and the sense that could leak out through the thin confusion is arrested by lethargy.

Using a kerchief the tables are wiped and the shelves are dusted off, as if cleansing himself and shining his rusted life.

When he makes his gentle move to get the mopping stick from the corner where Samantha has been standing and looking at herself with her face contorting time and again he is stopped by her " I want to have a word with you before the lads get here.'

What she has said sends a shudder down his spine, without hesitation and with a flushed look he stars, likes a school boy who is waiting for his familiar punishment soon to be delivered by his strict teacher, signaling he is ready to listen, while keeping his fingers crossed on inside he tells himself " not again."

Having summoned and told what he expected he reaches out for the mopping stick and grabbed on it as hard as he can to ensure he does not break down in front of the manipulative lady.

The flushed face is taken over by crimson colour, tear welling up in his eyes, body starts shaking and he lets go the mopping stick and rushes toward to stand where his jacket is hung, and without uttering a word he darts out from the bar.

Trudging and shuffling to he gets to a place where he can restore the composure that he has dawned on him this morning while swallowing his British breakfast.

The place where he is trying to seek solace has presented him with a gloomy picture, as though the artist's palette has been in the hand of a child who has been randomly using only the gloomy colour in his attempt to imitate the artist, as the monstrous clouds huddle around and begin their threatening thunders shooing shattered creatures like him to find shelter, reminding of the consequences, as though warning in their mocking voice " we are going to piss down mates! Ready, eh?"

Sunk in his shattered frame of mind, while astounding perplexity overtaken his now half-conscious mind he strives to restore his home-groomed composure, oblivious to the thundering warning from the melee of sky.

Sitting in a roadside bench, pondering over the possibilities that he could grab at that very moment to be able to stand up to what has bludgeoned him and left him feeling he is nobody, finally what he mentioned the previous night to his mates about his sensually motivated oriental trip where, people reckon, a shagged up and shattered lad like him can anytime convalescence in the presence of angelic touches and caresses.

Despite the tempting reckoning the Great colonial powerhouse has been the place where he has always been comfortable thanks to the lager-laden mates of his and the way his aristocratic mother has always pampered him.

If he decides to leave his lovely but shattered life in this erstwhile colonial powerhouse in search of emancipation that will result to turning himself into a black sheep in the family at the same time stripping of his heir ship to the crumbling castle which has long been passed down from his ancestors, whose presence he has felt among the scowling family portraits on the stained walls.

Thinking of the faces, which have been there for ages, the scowl on their faces turns into a sinister expression seemingly gloating at him.

To be continued ....