Wednesday, June 15, 2022

The Old Man's Signature


 

His eyes had observed the old man daily for the last ten days. It had been the same time every day. Tailing him right from his house at the corner of the street, Alex had his sight on the rich Parsi man’s money. The Idea had been simple.  Alex had already succeeded in robbing the old man of two cheque leaflets from the entire set of his cheque book. It had been quite an act for Alex to rob off the cheque book leaflets.

The old man, Mr Dorabji was the owner of an old but famous eatery located at the corner of college street lane at Kolkata. Though Dorabji was nearing his seventies, but his sharpness and attentiveness was at the same level of any young man. But it had been one of those occasional days when he had been absent minded and had left his cheque book inside an unlocked table drawer. It was routine for Dorabji to leave the eatery around ten thirty in the night and post that in the next one hour the staff would clean and wash the floor and close the doors. Alex had taken advantage of this and entered the eatery on a rainy night when there were hardly any staff. With the help of an insider, Alex walked near to the table where Dorabji generally sat. He had checked all the drawers for any cash of leftover money but he got hold of a cheque book. He had been confused to the use of the cheque book. That was when his friend in crime, Martin, who worked in the Restaurant gave him an idea. They tore the last two blank cheque leaflets so that Dorabji wouldn’t know that some blank cheques have been stolen off.  Alex had left that night. But since then, three weeks had passed and they still couldn’t figure out the way to forge the old man’s signature on the cheque. The plan had to be stopped as the most important act of copying the signature of the old man was yet to be implemented.

Martin had recollected that the Mr Dorabji often issued cheques to his vendors on every Friday during tea time meetings, This, he assumed to be the only time when they could see the signature. The plan was simple. Alex had arranged for a small plate which had a mirror image on its backside. It was planned that Martin would simply stand near the old  man at the time of signing the cheques and hold the plate in such manner that the mirror would face the cheque for Alex to observe the signature through the mirror. As there were no sun rays entering the restaurant, there would be no reflection of any light. No one would have any doubt on the entire act. The seating arrangement of the tables were such that it made possible to view the signatures very easily through the mirror. Alex had to be vigilant enough and sharp to observe the signature for a consecutive of four to five days.

On the first day of the act, as planned, while Mr Dorabji signed the cheques, Martin stood near to him with the plate’s backside that had a mirror facing the table on which the cheques were been signed. From the nearby table, Alex observed the enlarged signature on the mirror and took an image on his smartphone. He immediately looked at the image and it was reasonable enough to copy. The same act was repeated for the next three weeks on every Friday when Mr Dorabji sat down to issue cheques.

 Everything planned was performed successfully and Alex was successful in copying the signature of the old man. He used the two cheques which he had robbed of the old man to forge the signature on them, carefully and with in-depth concentration. The signature was a simple aggregation of the name of the old man " Dorabji" which he had studied through the image of the mirror glass attached. On the first Monday of the next week, he walked to the nearby bank like a king and deposited the bearer cheque with his name as the payee to the bank which the Mr Dorabji frequented.

On looking at the two cheques, the cashier looked up at Alex and smiled. Alex smiled back. He inspected the cheque more closely and looked into the screen of his computer.

“Why is Mr Dorabji sir’s signature on the cheque appearing as a reverse of what is stored in the bank’s records?”  Asked the cashier in a confused tone looking at the computer screen.

The smile on Alex’s face disappeared and at that very moment he realized the goof up.

Texts always appear in reverse mode in a mirror glass.

The actual signature was not the name " Dorabji", it was the reverse of the word " Dorabji.

Friday, June 3, 2022

The Bookseller of Booker Rolly Street

 


‘Don’t you have any of the modern ones?” asked the tall boy looking at the old man seated on the stone slab.

 The Old man looked up at the boy. The boy observed that the old man’s face was shrouded in a forest of wrinkles due to old age. Eyes, it seemed, perhaps was pushed in. Eyebrows had turned completely white. The head was wrapped up in a silk scarf to protect from the cold air blowing. Victor, twenty- two years old working for a private bank branch had been a regular to Booker Rolly Street since the time he had joined work. His branch office was just five minutes’ walk from Booker Rolly Street Metro station.

 Booker Rolly Street was a financial center zone situated in Southern Kolkata. The Metro station was built to cater to the needs of the sprawling financial center Zone in the vicinity. It was through this station that Victor use to pass daily to his office.  An avid reader of anything written, Victor often would be found passing his free time at the city’s street side book shops and book stalls. It was many years since the time when Victor’s grandmother had told him that if he wanted to read great books he would need to search for them. Not missing this opportunity, Victor had spotted a book seller near his daily travel point i.e. Booker Rolly Street station. It was at this point where Victor came across an old man.

 Percy, aged seventy- five, was the resident of Kolkata since his birth.  With all the records available to him, it appeared to him and also others who had known him that he had perhaps spent all his life in the city of Kolkata. Though he had ventured to the nearby districts, but pre dominantly he had spent his entire life in Kolkata. His daily life would pass by selling books on a broken pavement near Booker Rolly Street station. Percy had no family, but he knew perhaps everyone who passed via the Booker Rolly street Station.

 It was since last three months that Percy had observed a tall boy often standing near his bookstall and looking at the books and then walking away disappointingly. It was only that day when the tall boy had spoken to him for the first time. At first Percy appeared to be confused, but later he gauged at what the boy wanted.

 “What are you going to find in the modern ones?” replied Percy, as he touched his white beard.

 “Why don’t you keep the newer books?” asked Victor.

 The old man looked at his stock of books. He removed a book from the right side of the stand and handed over to Victor.

 “A history of an unknown Athlete.”

 Victor looked at the book with a confused expression due to the browning of the pages.

 “This is hundred -year- old book written by an English Athlete who had visited the city of Bombay during those years”

 Victor found it very interesting. He paid him fifty rupees and walked back to the station.

 It was some three weeks when Victor again arrived at Percy’s books stall.

 “Do you have more of such books? Damn, that book was something really special. I never knew those things about Athletes before that.”

 Percy looked at him with some suspicion. In all these years, though people did buy books from him hardly had anyone enjoyed reading an old book and returned to him asking for more.

 “Do you really want to read more?”

 Victor nodded.

 “Then come to my stall around ten thirty in the night. That’s the time I pack up.”

 Victor looked puzzled. But he was craving for more such books. He agreed and left.

 At the stroke of ten thirty, Victor arrived. He observed that Percy had packed up for the day and was busy having coffee from a stall nearby.

 “Come. Follow me,” ordered Percy.

 It was already late. Victor tried to guess what the old man was up to. Age seemed to make Percy slow. Percy walked towards the station very slowly.

 They walked into the station from the back side entrance on the west side. There were not many inhabitants in comparison to the day time crowd. They walked up to the bridge that connected the east side and west side of the station, and all this time Victor followed Percy like a small boy following an elder.

 They got down towards the east side and walked towards the end of the last platform i.e. platform no 2. At the end of the platform, Percy stopped and looked all around.  The light was dim at that end of the station.  There was a small rectangular drainage cap on the side. Percy picked it up, and whistled three times. From below, there came a middle -aged boy. Percy whispered to the boy which Victor could not understand.

 “We will have to go down” Percy said looking at Victor.

 “We would what?” shot back Victor in shock.

 “Don’t Worry I am not going to kidnap you. You are two big for being kidnapped”

 Percy slowly sat on the ground and slowly kept his feet on a circular stair which would take them below. Victor followed him in utter fear. But he was enjoying the adventure though. They slowly walked the circular stairs down for some ten minutes. Their journey was followed by a dimly lit passage upon which they arrived in a dark room.

 Suddenly the lights came on.

 What Victor saw was an astonishment which he had never experienced. All around him there were only books on every inch of the walls, there were book cases filled with books.  Up to the distance where the human eye could see, only books appeared.

 “Where are we?”

 “How about “Book Rolly”?”

 “What?” yelled Victor.

 “Come boy, I will tell you the story of one of the greatest underground Cities of that time. Book Rolly!”

 Victor looked at him in astonishment.

 “Long before this place was built into a city; there was a small city here, where you would find the world’s greatest of books which would be brought here by the Britishers. This is before the time when it was turned into an industrial area, long before independence. At that time, this station was not there. People would folk here from all around the town. Books were sold in lots to the lovers of literature.”

 “During that time, there was a British Novelist “Rolly. K.” who had shifted to India from England. He had built this city of books. It was on his name that the name had been given to this place as “ Book Rolly.” And eventually today is known as Booker Rolly Street. During that time, there was a civil unrest in this area and fearing damage, Rolly had shifted all the books below the ground level by creating book racks and shafts. It was covered by a cement like underground room, and then Post-Independence, the Britishers left and along with them, Rolly Family too left leaving behind this great underground room of books.”

 “So how did you come to know about this?”

 “I am the second generation of the Rolly Family. They did go back, but did not take me and my mother along them.”

 “Here you will find the greatest of books of those era. Never to find anywhere.”

 “So many of your books are from this left behind collection!”

 “Yes, though I take care not to bring any attention to this fact.”

 “So, why me?” asked Victor.

 “I am getting old now, I saw something in your eyes. It felt as though you would take care of this treasure after me.”

 Victor recalled what his grandmother had once told “On the streets of your search, you would find your treasure which would enlighten you for the rest of your life.”

 Note from  the Author: The above story is complete work of Fiction.


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