Agony thy name Vicky

We kids called him Vickybhaiya, then. He was around twenty and we were a group of kids ranging from 8-10 years. His official name was Vikram Jalan. He was the only child of his parents. Tall, well built and with wheatish complexion, he was an average looker. We all kept ourselves away from him as he used to make us run errands. Often, he was found near the pan-beedi shop, located adjacent to our colony main-gate. Our colony consisted of six old buildings. Three buildings on either side of a small playground. Each building had three storeys with two flats at each floor. Women and girls were wary of him. No woman or girl would escape his eve teasing. When we kids played cricket, it was as if his right to take possession of our cricket-bat. That was it and it was we who had to listen to people for their broken windowpanes.

As we grew, we started calling him Vicky sans the bhaiya tag. As years passed, the terror of Vicky started declining. Probably he had matured with age. His occupation and source of income was a mystery. Everyone had different stories to tell. Nevertheless, he was the style-bhai of our locality. On our way to college, very often we saw him with different women behind him on his bike. Later, he purchased a second-hand car. His car was omnipresent in our colony. Women used to come in search of him. We had the privilege to direct a few to his house. We even saw some police officers paying friendly visits to him. There was a drastic change in him. He became quiet social. There was an over all improvement in his personality. Slowly he was the star attraction in our colony during festive celebrations like Dahi-handi,Ganesh Chaturthi,etc.He always dressed for the occasion. Slowly girls were getting lured to him. We once saw Gita alighting from his car. We were all startled. Gita was the most beautiful girl in our colony. Some days later Gita left our colony. According to the grapevine, she was pregnant. Her parents learnt this and they decided to leave the colony.

Time passed by. However, he was more approachable than earlier, but none of us befriended him. He had his own big circle of friends. One day, we saw there was a huge crowd outside Vicky’s building. Vicky’s mother died due to heart attack. People in cars and bikes came at large numbers to convey their condolences to Vicky. Vicky’s mother, was suffering from heart-ailment for a long time. People hardly saw her as it was difficult for her to climb up and down from their second floor flat.

His house was an adda for all his friends. They drank alcohol and made merry. The terrace of Vicky’s building was venue for his musical parties. Our building was exactly opposite to his building. His parties were a pain to others. My mother was one of the biggest victim. Every time there is a party at Vicky’s end, her blood pressure went abnormal.

Slowly, Vicky was seldom seen. We were under the impression that he could be busy with his work. However, one thing was noticed by us that he was growing thin. He started looking sick. His friend’s visits were reduced.

I finished my post graduation and immediately joined a private firm as a trainee. One day when I was returning from work, I met Vicky along with his father. We exchanged hello and had a brief conversation. This wasn't the Vicky that I knew. He had grown slender and dark His face was dull. I enquired him about his health and he told me, he’s suffering from jaundice that’s been re-lapsed. Somedays later, it was learnt that Vicky’s admitted in a hospital but he was back home after a month.

By now there were no one visiting him. A horror-stricken rumour was taking rounds. Vicky is an AIDS patient. This was unbelievable. This was a terrible news within our colony. One evening when we friends were discussing our office-affairs, we saw  Vicky and his father walking slowly towards the main gate of our colony. We lowered our voices. They walked passed us. I observed, there was slight improvement in him. I felt, he could be showing signs of improvement from jaundice. Days passed, Vicky was not to be seen. At times, we saw a doctor visiting him often. By now the news of Vicky being an AIDS patient was more or less confirmed. The whole of colony was now a quiet place with every one sure that something untoward was expected any moment.

One night we heard loud cries of a man. It was from Vicky’s residence. Vicky’s dead. His immediate neighbour had left the premises long before. No one in the colony came out of their houses. The lanes leading to the buildings were empty. Even in my house, all we were doing was peeping occasionally through one end of the curtain. That night I could not sleep. Though the lights off but I knew every one was awake. This was the case in every other flat in our colony. Early morning, we saw Vicky’s father coming out of his building. He was crying like a child who lost parents in a mela. He went out of the main-gate only to come back with four unknown persons who were ugly and dirty with some bamboo-sticks and white clothes.

We saw them make shav manchal with the bamboo-sticks. They took it inside the building. After some time, they came out. We saw Vicky’s father walking ahead and the four men behind him with Vicky’s body. As they walked towards the gate, we could see Vicky’s dark scrawny face. His body was covered with a white cloth. It seemed as if a set of bones were wrapped by a white cloth. That was the end of Vicky.

(I am sure today a Vicky’s end would be less traumatic. Thanks to the immense effort of the media , NGOs and our doctors.)