Short Story - Ha Ha..Harsha

This short story with some elements of horror was written by me using a prompt given in my FB group Wrimo India.

They say that a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. But this first step is turning out to be the most difficult one. Would I ever be able to take it? I am shivering and my feet feel too numb to move ahead. After four and a half hours of waiting in the crazy sun and getting pushed around, it is going to be my turn to enter the big stage.

I can already hear her laughter echoing inside my head. She never misses such chances. Whenever I am on my way to prove myself, she invariably demolishes my hope and happiness. I press my head hard with my palms just above the ears and close my eyes. As usual, I feel better after a few seconds. The frenzy behind me is crazy, but my ears only hear her menacing laughter.

A young, smartly dressed lady calls out to me and escorts me inside. We pace across the lobby in the mall. There is a lot of activity nearby and there are about ten security guards keeping the crowd behind the tightly held ropes and separators. We proceed till we reach a semi-lit corridor.

“Water?” she asks with a smile.

“Yes, please,” I clear my throat and manage to answer.

She hands over a 200 ml bottle of packaged drinking water and ensures I dispose it off in the bin. She pastes a large sticker on my kurta, which bears my 5-digit participant number. There is a dressing table on the side, I adjust my hair and apply some talc.

A blue-coloured LED light blinks next to the giant door. She says, “Please proceed inside. All the best!” and gives a thumbs-up as I grab the door handles with my shivering hands.

I push the large door with both my palms and feel a blast of cold air. A young girl, maybe nineteen or twenty at max, charges at me and almost throws me off-balance.

“Yeah! I made it!” she exults and hops her way towards the exit. I shake for a moment but then manage to snail ahead to the centre of the stage.

“Welcome to ‘Indian Gaayak’ in Pune! What is your name and where are you from?” Music director Manu Malik asks, comfortably seated between Singer Harijeet and Actress Monali.

“Th…Thank you sir, thank you all. I am Samarpit Joshi, 25, from Nasik,” I mutter. A few months after my marriage, I had developed the habit of stammering while under stress.

“Wow! I have lived there for five years, it’s a beautiful city,” Monali cries out.

“Indeed, Ma’m.”

“So Samarpit, what will you sing today?” Harijeet asks, stroking his beard.

“I will s..sing Neele Neele Ambar Par…..”

“OK… Music!” Harijeet yells at the couple of skinny men wearing ill-fitting suits.

The music begins and the judges look at me in anticipation. I feel more beads on my forehead as compared to those on Monali’s necklace. A huge camera lunges forward, close to me, in position to gulp me down if it felt like.

“Neele Neele Ambar Par Chand Jab Aaye…

Pyaar barsaaye humko tarsaaye… Aisa koi s..saathi ho aisa koi p..premi ho… Pyaas d..dil ki bujha j..jaaye,” I croon and then stop.

I know it is over. The time, energy and money spent on two months of practice including the special coaching with my guru, all is gone.

Once again, Harsha wins and I lose. Her laughter echoes in my head and even goes on to infect the judges, who look at each other and chuckle as if they had been watching a clown perform.

“Arre bhai, yeh stand-up comedy nahi hai, singing hai!” shouts Manu and gives a high-five to Monali who is laughing hysterically.

“My friend, what was that? I loved the first two lines you began with, but then your stammer came your way. I think you need more practice, but more importantly, work on your voice and confidence. OK?” Harijeet advises.

I nod my head, join my hands and step out. A geek in a funky outfit, who is up next, pats my shoulder after looking at my wet face and eyes. The lady who had escorted me, flashes an empathetic smile as a consolation prize for a loser. I continue the long walk towards the exit. I only have the evil laughter in my head for company, as I inch my way out and take a glance at the hundreds of excited youngsters having fun and singing in groups, waiting for their turn.

Again, while most of the participants have a friend or relative with them, I am alone. ‘Bus, mai aur meri tanhayi’, I say to myself.

I march off the mall and walk into the street. Spotting a Café Coffee Day, I stride in and ask for a Cappuccino. I pick a corner seat and reminisce about my past life while stirring. I think of the one who stirred the poison into my life.

***

I was in the second year of engineering at a college in Pune.

“Excuse me, is this S.E. Electronics?” a sweet voice asked me while I was busy messaging someone, outside the lecture room.

“Yes, it is,” I smiled and kept staring at her. I could not believe my eyes. Was she really going to join our class? My two other mates looked at me with dropped jaws and gestured towards others to look in our direction.

“By the way, I am Harsha,” she whispered and offered her hand.

“Samarpit here, welcome to our college,” I replied, inhaling the jasmine aroma from her hand.

Later that week, someone had removed the piece of paper with ‘Out of order’ from outside an elevator and stuck it behind one of the boys. That is when I heard Harsha’s laughter for the first time. It came from the heart. Her laughter did to me what her stunning looks had not done as yet. That day onwards, my life took a turn. I was suddenly conscious of what I wore, how I looked and what I ate. Especially in her presence.

By the 2nd semester of the third year, we were a couple and inseparable. With her by my side, I felt as if I could do anything. And I did a lot of things I would never have done – participated in dance, jumped from 10 m into the pool, won a bike race, even finished a quarter of vodka in 5 mins. I even began singing. Her laughter kept me going.

***

A year after passing out of our engineering college, we got married. We worked for the same company in Pune and travelled together, back and forth. Life was a fairy tale. But as I realized later, it was just the interval, the entry of the villain was still pending.

The entry did happen one lazy weekend afternoon.

"Rosie! What a pleasant surprise!” Harsha exclaimed upon seeing a hot girl standing outside our door with a suitcase. She looked nothing less than a supermodel.

The guest Roshni, Harsha’s childhood friend from Mumbai stayed with us for about ten days. That much time was enough for brainwashing Harsha and making her believe what a miserable life she was living with me. After Roshni left, Harsha began splurging money on expensive clothes and accessories. She wanted the latest gadgets and wanted to visit only five-star restaurants for dinner, every fortnight. Worse, she had developed the habit of drinking and smoking, to appear ‘high-class’. Her love for me also seemed to have taken a hit. I began to get mocked for my salary and comparisons were made with others who were doing better.

Once I tried to dive deeper into stock trading and began trading. After a couple of successful transactions initially, I made a huge loss. That is when she laughed at me in a mocking and insulting manner. Her attitude continued, even outside our home.

She laughed at me when I got out on the first ball in our society tournament, she laughed when I got splashed with mud when walking on the road, she laughed when I wasn’t promoted. Every day there came an occasion when she made it a point to ridicule me.

One day, fed up with her taunts, I finally asked her what her problem was, and also made sure to remark about Roshni’s influence. The mention of her friend’s name blew her fuse.

“How dare you talk about her like that? Do you know, they live at Juhu and own a BMW! Her husband is the CEO of a marketing firm and she herself is a fashionista and an influencer on Insta. When will we reach that level?” she blurted.

“All that is fine, our time will also come. Have patience till then,” I said.

She gave out her laughter and retorted, “When? When we become old and cannot even walk?”

I tried to think of alternate ways of making money, but each time I faced a failure, I was subjected to the laughter. Slowly our differences became wider and we began travelling separately to office. Even on weekends we tried to avoid each other. Her torment reached such levels that I began to sleep in the hall on the sofa.

She laughed when I got ready for office and found a stain on my shirt, she laughed when I forgot my phone charger at home, she laughed when I slipped in the bathroom.

Once I received a call that my mother had fallen ill and was admitted to a hospital. I needed to rush to Nasik. Harsha said, “What? Must be a trick to emotionally blackmail you. Don’t even know your mom?” and laughed like a hyena.

That was it. In Singham-style, I said, “Ata maaji satakli”. I grabbed a towel and moved the ends around her neck, tightening the grip. She threw her half-filled glass of whisky on the floor, resisted, struggled and within a few seconds, after attempting her last laugh, fell silent.

I was in such a state that I finished her off without much thought about the consequences. It was the only way to shut her up. Atleast that is what I thought. It was 11:15 PM. I checked in my balcony, there was total darkness outside and not a soul in sight. I dragged the body, lifted her, fixed a nighty in her hand and let her go. A drunk lady trying to pick the night clothes to wear from the twentieth-floor balcony, slipping and getting reduced to pulp, was a tragic accident.

Unfortunately, the laughter did not leave me. It continued in my head, and got worse each time I tried to take a step to move ahead in life. I returned from the middle of a job interview when she caused a headache. I paid for a course in eCommerce but her laughter did not allow me to attend a single class. In office too, when my boss pointed out some mistake, her laughter rang in my ears till I banged my head on the desk.

***

What an irony! It was her laughter during the college days, which I fell in love with. And now, thirteen months of marriage and four months of separation later, it haunts me. The laughter I can ‘see’ is the same – it starts with a pout, then a seductive smile appears, the pearly teeth show up and finally the rhythmic guffaw. However, it is not music to the heart any more. It is noise to the ears. And it hurts.

I am not surprised that she did not allow me to pursue my passion today. The laughter is now part of my head. Doctors are unable to cure me. I am told yoga and meditation may help, but for that I need a calm mind. And that is obviously impossible.

Some say I write well. Maybe I should write a story on Harsha and her laughter. It would be a hit in the horror genre! What could I name it? How about Ha...Ha...Harsha?

THE END