Jodie Foster, Drunken Night And The Peculiar Case Of Scarlett Keeling

I recently cleaned out my closet. No, not the Eminem way.
The keys to the almirah came across and I finally decided that living out of a suitcase was not all it was made out to be.

If you are a lounge lizard, minus the lounge these days, then you need some working order to your sorroundings. And a big tourister sitting on the table hardly provides that perspective.

Out came the key, the old newspapers, old folders etc. They were then consigned to the annals of trash, more fresh newspapers came out to be put inside.

And then I saw it.

Fiona Keeling had approached the media in Goa claiming her daughter had been killed after being raped. Influential people were behind the crime. The insensitive, with whom I share identities sometimes, would have called it Aarushi Gone Hollywood. I digress though.

My mind went back to a bachchanalian get together. There were four or five of us coming back after a long week in the office via our favourite watering hole. I am among those who have reverted to a BC period in life, (Before Cheers!) after experiencing the many crests of AD.(After Drinks)

That night was very firmly autumn 2006 AD. This Joe we were walking back with pipes up. "Dude, I got this really amazing movie with me. You remember Clarice ? Well She's done this movie 'Accused'. You won't believe the R action man!! "

Our collective receptors perk up. Hmmm, considering the cake the week had been, what the heck, lets have some icing. With renewed purpose, and better navigation, we reached home in twenty minutes. Brisk walk. Adrenaline pumping. Jodie Foster! who would have thought!

Jumpers etc. are consigned to the drawing room. The blinds are drawn. The landlady may not sympathize at this (or any other, for that matter) hour. We are in no mood for chances. There is a little brandy about the house. I ask for coffee. I am booed. What the heck, I 'll have a small. (As it is, I am not going to office before 4 PM tomorrow. Hopefully, not work, catch a weekend flick and skip work altogether.)

The movie begins. We are not very keyed in. Then Jodie Foster baits someone in the casino. We are expectant. We are also growling. She taunts a patron into the act. Suddenly, more people violate her. It is now frenzied. Sick spectators egging the perpetrators on. I don't exactly remember, except that caution was thrown to the winds and the landlady entirely forgotten. There are loud claps in the drawing room, we feel light. Some of the guys are now lurching out.

The goodbyes are dispensed with. Lets not see each other tomorrow, for a change! I come back, there is a mirror in the bath. My eyes are clear, with a few red lines. I hold my hand out. It looks steady. I turn. My head swims. Very slightly, says my ego.

I tidy up, as best as possible. The DVD is still in suspended animation. I consider my options. The light cannot be turned on. I can't read. I can't sleep. I sit down to watch the movie. It turns uncomfortably serious. I feel a little guilty now. I sleep sometime before the court scene.

The next day, I wake up at 9. Th others are still asleep. I move out. A hot bath. Then a cold one, once the hot water runs out. Tea. The paper. The balcony railing. The day is good. My stomach is quesy. I think I need breakfast. Burnt toast never tasted bitter better.

A peculiar thing happens. I remember nothing of the evening, the get together, the talk, food... Its all gone. I am trying to block out the image of the spectators cheering.

2008 BC. G S nudges me in 47/48 from 5 1/2 feet. "Kahaan ho bandhu? "

I look at the Hindu. Julio Lobo, I think that's the name, is just a front. There are some others. Fiona Keeling is a bad mother. Or maybe. Scarlett Keeling may have been ill - advised to follow the path that lead to her demise. Or maybe.

The image of the spectators comes back very fleetingly.

A girl of 15 has been raped and killed. It is said there were eyewitnesses.We could focus on her failings later. But we owe the girl a decent investigation. Or so I Guess.

But then, like I said before, I am sometimes smart in a dumb sort of way. Goodbye, little Scarlett. Sorry for the bother.