An Ugly Face

Sameer rushed into the stuffy cyber cafe and looked around.

He was fair with light brown eyes and a cute chubby face. A lean cut below his lips disclosed that his early attempts at mastering the art of shaving were not yielding good results.

The cafe  interiors were painted in red and yellow while the small wooden cubicles bore a brisk white shade.

All the machines were occupied except one in the right corner.

He closed in with his heart pounding against his ribs and sank in the chair like a dead weight.

A few quick clicks and he was already at the bank site.

Some more hits at the keyboard and a message prompted him to enter the credit card number.

He took out a shining black card out of his pocket and examined it tensely.

He had stolen it from his father’s wallet in the morning while the later was out for his customary morning walk. The old man was scheduled to go to a friend’s place thereafter for breakfast.

This was the gap he needed to make the payment. 

He had also casually picked up his father’s mobile which was lying on the dining table. After all, he would be required to delete the ‘Transaction successful’ message! That would give him a breather and he could plant some more lies afterwards at his convenience.

Actually, he had lost a cricketing bet to a friend last week.

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon, a bit warm as he had lazed around in the college canteen with his gang, staring at a plasma screen hanging from a wall. There were loud whistles, shouts and claps at every run scored and every wicket lost. India was batting and he was sure as hell about its win. But a studious looking guy, wearing round rim spectacles didn’t seem to agree with him.

‘It’s South Africa all the way man,’ he said in a derisive tone, pushing back his glasses from the tip of his nose.

‘Come on, this game belongs to India!’

‘Bet?’ the studious looking guy thrust forward his hand challengingly.

There was a moment’s pause before Sameer made up his mind.

‘OK,’ he said as he clutched his opponent’s hand tightly.

‘How much?’

‘Two thousand.’

‘Make it five.’

‘OK, done deal.’

They struck their knuckles together one last time and turned their attention towards the screen again. The match had a nail biting finish, not meant at all for the weak hearted. But in the end, India lost.

‘I told you,’ the winner buzzed proudly, ‘now keep your words and transfer the money to my account.’

‘I need some time,’ Sameer said dejectedly.

‘How much?’

‘A week or so.’

‘Right buddy, let it be next Saturday then. But no more extensions, right?’

The guy chuckled maliciously and stormed out of the canteen.

The time raced by quickly.

He could neither lose his face at college nor inform his father about it.

So, he took the easy option out.

And huddled inside that congested cyber cafe, he pondered over his next move.

As he was so engrossed in his thoughts, a young kid, smeared in blue paint with a tiger cloth covering his loins, slipped inside the cafe. His hair was formed in to a bun at the top of his head and a silvery necklace ran around his neck with a rectangular mirror fixed in the center. He was carrying a small iron bucket which displayed a photo of Lord Shiva.

The owner took out a few coins from his desk drawer and tossed them into the bucket. The boy moved to other cubicles, collected his share and in the end, landed up at his desk.

As Sameer dropped a coin inside the bucket, his eyes traveled over the boy’s blue skin and then rested on the rectangular mirror hung around his neck.

He saw an ugly, dark face with long white teeth staring back at him.

He gave a start and rubbed his hands over his face frantically.

‘What’s the matter sir?’ the Shiva alike asked him with concern.

‘N…nothing,’ he stammered, stuffed the credit card into his pocket and staggered out.

When he reached home, his father was already there.

‘Where had you vanished?’

‘Papa, I…I need to tell you something.’

The old man looked at him carefully.

‘You seem to be tense.’

Sameer wiped off the beads of perspiration on his forehead with his sleeve.

‘I lost some money to a friend in a bet.’

‘In a bet?’

‘And to pay him back,’ he struggled hard with his words, ‘I …stole your credit card.’

‘What?’

He pulled out the card out of his pocket and placed it on the table.

His father gaped at him, his mouth slightly open. ‘Have you made the payment?’

‘No.’

‘But that’s what you wanted to do!’

‘When someone lies, he turns ugly. That’s what happened to me.’

The clock struck ten.

‘How much was the amount?’

‘Five thousand.’

‘Go, pay it.’

‘But papa…’

‘I said go.’

Half an hour later, as he stepped out of the cyber cafe, he again ran into the mini version of Lord Shiva.

‘Are you all right sir?’

‘Oh, yes!’ he said jovially and sneaked in to the mirror slung around the boy’s neck.

Someone fair with a chubby face smiled back at him.