The Fraud

 

The stylish fountain pen held by the accountant stopped on the line item that gave the comparison in between budgeted and actual expenditure with respect to employee conveyance reimbursements. The variance was substantial and the accountant didn’t miss it. Almost a variance of more than 55 %. That was material and needed some explanation to be provided to the financial committee of the Company. It was not every day that significant variances were observed in employee conveyance reimbursements.

The Accountant, Mr Patel, looked at the detailed sheet that was attached for the monthly employee conveyance reimbursements. He observed that the first three months were in with the monthly budgets. The significant variance started from the fourth month and as the months passed the gap increased. Mr Patel couldn’t understand the reason for the same.

Every year, the budgeting team made annual and monthly budgets based upon business expectation and related cost. Employee related costs were budgeted based on head counts but the expense head of employee conveyance reimbursements generally never showed any significant gap in comparison to the budgets.

Mr Patel asked for the detailed employee wise monthly report for conveyance reimbursements. Over the next two days, he went through the report in detail. He observed that three employee who were at the post of managers in various departments contributed to the significant varinaces. He highlighted the three names.

His next stop was the supporting bills which were provided by those three employees whom he had marked out. Over the next week, he received the files in relation to the supporting back up document for the reimbursement claims. After in depth review of the supporting nothing seemed out of order to him. All the supporting were properly marked and signed by the concerned employees. Proper authorization was also present on all of them.

Concluding that perhaps, he was overthinking, he closed down the files. He looked at the variance sheet once again. Almost everything seemed fine except the employee conveyance reimbursements. Mr Patel decided that before he would give the final go head for the variance to be included in the finance committee meeting, he would do a on field walkthrough.  

He noted that majority of employee claimed reimbursements for either cab rides or routine bus and rickshaw rides. The next section of employees claimed reimbursements for their car fuel. For these fuel reimbursements, the bill from the fuel station was submitted. Mr Patel had checked all the fuel bills for the employees where in varinaces were observed and found nothing exceptional.

Over the next three days, he made a on field walkthrough on the process of authorization and checking the conveyance reimbursements which didn’t reveal any malpractice. Finally unable to get any lead, he finalized that it was time that the variance report be approved and included in the docket of the finance committee meeting.

That morning when he arrived at office to give a final approval, he got down from his car and met Mr. Sharma at the car park.  They both wishes each other and walked together from the parking lot to the lift. As Mr Patel arrived at his workstation, he sensed something. He recalled to see something which was important but couldn’t link it.

He walked to the floor cafeteria to get a quick coffee. As he sipped his coffee, he sprang up from his chair. He hurriedly walked to the files which contained the supporting bills of the reimbursement. He turned them abruptly until he arrived at the employee which he seeking to. He looked at the bill and then recalled what he had seen in the morning. A smile appeared on his face.

He quickly ran through the bills of the other two employee who had shown significant variance in reimbursement. He took a copy of the bill on his mobile and quickly walked out of his office to the parking lot. After searching for some fifteen minutes, he found what he was looking for.

That evening, Mr Patel sat at his workstation with all the bills of the three employees. He called them to a nearby conference room.

The three employees, one of which included Mr Sharma included, arrived at the conference room and saw Mr Patel and the company’s internal auditor sitting.

Mr Patel kept the bills in front of them to which all three agreed that it was submitted by them.

“But what’s the problem? These are original bills.”

Mr Patel showed the fuel bills to the internal auditor. It was original ones. Each of the bill had the car number and fuel type and amount handwritten by the fuel station person who had fueled up the car.

Mr Patel looked at the bills and looked up at Mr sharma.

“Mr Sharma. You have been submitted a bill of Petrol reimbursement for the last nine months.”

“Yes,” Mr Sharma replied confidently.

“But the car number that is mentioned here. I checked it in the parking lot. It’s not a petrol car. It’s a diesel car.”

Mr Sharma went silent.

“The same is for the other two of you.

“You three have been submitting petrol bills for the last nine months when actually all three of you have vehicles that run on diesel. You three surely have taken advantage of the rising petrol prices to your advantage it seems.”   

 

Flat No 309

 

Rains lashed the city. It had been raining heavily for the last two days and it was no different that evening. The city of Bangalore had almost come to a halt due to continuous rains. Majority of office goers had preferred work from home amid the heavy rains.  Amid this non -stop pouring, the third-floor lift of Lopez tower opened and a crisply dressed young man walked out. He looked around to find the chronology of the apartment numbers. After getting an idea of the sequencing, he walked to his right and continued walking towards the apartment he wanted to visit. a second later he was standing in front of the door of Apartment No 309. He looked around and then pressed the door bell and took a deep breath. After waiting for some time and not finding any reply, he pressed the door- bell again. There was no reply.

He removed his cell phone from his pocket and checked the address. He standing in front of correct apartment. He again pressed the door- bell. Finally, there was a sound from the other side. He could hear the sound of the latch opening up. The door opened up slowly and a head peeked out from behind it. It was a middle -aged gentleman.

“Yes?” the occupant of the apartment asked.

“Good evening, sir. I am here to check the Refrigerator as part of the annual maintenance check.”

The middle- aged gentleman seemed confused looking at the young man.

“But I wasn’t informed by the company about this visit.”

The young man seemed perplexed.

“Sir, the information was sent on to your wife’s registered number with the company. Request you to check with her.”   

“She didn’t tell me anything?” the middle- aged man replied back.

“Sir, it will not take much time. I will just check few parameters and then tick mark all the questions in our checklist form, Take your signature and leave.”

“Give me minute,” the middle- aged man replied and abruptly closed the door.

The young man found the apartment owner’s behavior extremely rude but he kept his calm.

The sound of the lift door opening was heard by the young man. An old lady walked out and looked at the young man. She stared at him for a second and then walked left towards her apartment. The young man waited for the apartment door to open up.

Suddenly the door opened up and middle- aged man told him to come in.

A second later, when the young man was inside, he looked around in search for the way to the kitchen.

“May I?” he asked the middle -aged man.

“Sure.”

The young man walked towards the kitchen as the apartment occupant walked behind him.

 They reached the beautifully designed and sleek kitchen. The big refrigerator stood its ground near to the entrance of the kitchen.   

The young man kept down his bag and open the fridge door and surprisingly found the fridge not cool.

“There’s hardly any cooling. It seems as if the fridge was put on just sometime back.” The young man commented.

The middle- aged man stood there confused

The young man observed that there was hardly any food item inside the fridge.

“How often do you defrost it?” the young man asked as he continued to inspect the chiller.

“Ah, sometime two weeks.”  The middle- aged man answered confusingly.

“Two weeks?” the young man looked surprised.

“Sir, you need to defrost every three days.”

“Actually, I don’t know much about the kitchen. It’s my wife who handles everything. She’s gone to her aunt’s house.”

“Can you get me a towel,” the young man asked him.

“Sure, just a second,”

The middle- aged man walked towards the bedroom and after two minutes when he was back with a towel, the young man stood there in the kitchen with a gun in his hand.

“Hands up dude.”

The middle- aged man was almost in shock and was about to fall down in despair.

“Don’t do anything stupid?”

“No. No. I am not doing anything.”

The middle- aged man threw the towel on the ground and put his hands up.

“Okay. Man. Now take me to the cupboard where you keep all the valuables.”

“Turnaround and walk to the cupboard.” The young man shouted.

“Don’t do anything. I am taking you to the cupboard.”

The middle-aged man turnaround with his hands up and walked slowly towards the bedroom. The young intruder slowly walked behind him keeping a sizable distance.

Two minutes later both of them were standing in front of a transparent cupboard. The young man pushed the middle-aged man to the side and opened the door and started to throw the clothes out and then opened up the drawer.

Out of nowhere, a small gun was placed on head.

“Hands up young man. Dare you move.”

“Caught red handed.” Said the middle- aged man.

The young man was shocked to no belief.

He put his hands up. “What do you mean caught red handed?”

“Yeah. Yeah, there were lot of complaints about you in and around this locality. Finally got hold of you.”

“Who are you?” asked the young man.

“Inspector Rakesh Sharma.”

“So, you are not the actual occupant of this house?” the young intruder asked.

“The actual occupants are now at the flat in which that old lady entered into some time ago.”

“So, this was a set up?”

“Very much young man.”

“How did you do it?”

“Simple. We got hold of the AMC head of the company who would give up the addresses of the apartments where in the AMC servicing was scheduled.”

“For the last three months, we had received complaints that a young man disguised as AMC service person of a particular brand would enter houses and rob them off their valuables.”

“And, how did you know which house was on my target this time?” the young intruder asked.

“It was very simple.” Said the policeman and continued, “This was the only address left for AMC service for this year. You have covered all the balance houses.”

“We were waiting for you to come here for the last four days and you did arrive today on the fifth day.”

“Very neat work, Inspector.” Said the young man.

“Thanks to your overconfidence.”

 

The Author

 

The world for the last three years was completely dark for the fifty-five-year-old Haruto Saito. It had been some three years ago when he had met with an almost fatal accident. Though his life had been saved by the doctors, but his eyes had got permanently damaged, ultimately leading him to become blind. Devastation had engulfed him. He wasn’t concerned about the worldly enjoyments that he would miss, he only disappointment was the fact the he wouldn’t be able to write anymore. For him it was equivalent to not writing was equivalent to not living.

Haruto Saito was a decent selling author for the last five years. He had always wanted to be an author but all his life due to family commitments and professional life, he hardly found anytime to write, and even if found time, he could hardly complete anything that he had started. Finally, taking a break from family life and professional work, Haruto had confined himself in an unknown location far away from the city of Tokyo where he resided with his family. It was just the beginning of nineties. Though computers were on their way to replace typewriters for majority of authors all around the world, but for Haruto, his typewriter was his sole friend in the confined apartment.

Inside the secluded apartment, the only sound which his own ears could hear was the that his typing. I between his would eat and sleep and then go for silent work in a disguised makeover. He didn’t want anyone to recognize him and thereby disturb his writing life. Finally at the age of fifty after completing his first novel he had submitted to a publisher at Tokyo. The publisher had rejected his first work without providing any inputs. Subsequently, he had submitted to all the publishers in Tokyo. After a wait of six months, he had received a call from a decent publishing house. They liked what he had written. The money offered was decent and thus his first book was published. The book performed average based upon sales. Haruto was a happy man. He had continued the same process for his next five books that was published over the next five years. All the books had performed average but the publisher had told him to keep going until he had abruptly met with an accident one night while returning home.

Seated at that same secluded apartment, alone with his type writer, he revisited his days of writing in his memory. It had been some one week ago, when Haruto had given an advertisement in the local newspaper for a secretary. Two weeks later, a twenty-five-year-old girl named Sakura had arrived at his writing apartment without any idea of what the job profile was.

“I will dictate and you will type. That’s it. Nothing else.” Haruto had said.

Haruto was a person who wouldn’t give up easily on his only passion that he had developed his entire life. He had planned to give his balance life to writing and literature and that would be the way, only the method would be different. He had already spoken to his publisher and his publisher was ready to take the chance.

The writing process was simple. Every day, form morning 9 to evening 5.30, Haruto would dictate and his secretary, Sakura would type. She was slow but followed his speed effectively. In between they would have lunch and tea that would be served a caretaker of the apartment who was hired by Haruto after he had become blind.

Sakura would often think deeply about the what Haruto would dictate and type without any word. In between to break the silence, Haruto would ask her about her life and family. Apart from these conversations, the only sound that could hear in the apartment was that of the typing on the typewriter.

Six months later, Haruto was ready with his final manuscript of his new novel. He submitted the same to the publishing house. The book was published two months later. In the meantime, Sakura had moved on with her life and lost touch with Haruto.

It was the month of January 1995, when the book was published. It was instant bestseller. The publishing house had been surprised with the sales figure the book was bringing in. Over the next six months, the books sold like hot cakes bringing name and fame along with great royalty payments for Haruto. A Blind Haruto was ecstatic. His family had been proud of him. The publishing house signed a five-book contract with him with an advance payment that would take care of his family for a good amount of time.

Before he would start work on his next book, the biggest newspaper of Tokyo, The Tokyo Journal had organized a book reading event of Haruto’s book where he was invited as a chief guest. Seated a crisply ironed grey shirt and black trouser with black glares over his eyes, Haruto sat awaiting the reader to start reading his book.

As the reader started with the book, and Haruto listened carefully each and every world that came out, his heartbeat fastened, he got excited and his thoughts ran all over. Though the events in the story was as dictated by him, but the language and literary style was not his and not the one that he had dictated. Over the next three hours and the book was read by different readers part by part, Haruto sat there analyzing the event that would have taken place.

It was Sakura, he thought. Though he had dictated everything but Sakura only picked up the events of the story and molded the writing style and language according to her. She had written the word and he had dictated the story. He couldn’t understand what to do. Fidgeting in his chair with his stick in his hand, he realized that Sakura was the actual author of the book. He had only narrated it but Sakura had changed the prose and language and kept intact the story. And now, he was enjoying all the success and money and not Sakura. He wanted to search for her and wanted to meet her and thank her but she wasn’t there with him and he didn’t know where to find her. He didn’t even know her address.

Little did he have any idea, there was a twenty-five-year-old girl seated among the crowd of the listeners and looking at him and smiling. Sakura couldn’t have missed it.

As the book reading session got over, and as the crowd started to disperse, Haruto remained seated his chair. Suddenly he could sense someone seated on a chair next to his. The perfume. He recalled the fragrance of the perfume.

“Sakura?” he said.

There was no reply.

“Sakura? Is it you?” he said again this time in a raised tone.

“Yes, sir.”

He felt relieved. Finally, he could thank her, he thought.

“Thank you, dear,

“Where were you, dear?” He asked.

“Getting ready, sir” she replied as she looked around.

“Getting ready for what?” he asked curiously.

“To type the next book, sir,”

A faint smile appeared on Haruto’s face.

“But there’s a condition this time, child,” he said.

“What condition?”

“Sakura Morito would be the co-author.”

 

The Connector

 

The numbers didn’t make any sense to the fifty- year -old sales head, Mr Das. He was astonished, and equally shocked. It was way ahead of what they had budgeted. The book had been available in the market for the last twelve months, but it hardly sold some four to five copies each month. He checked the first seven month’s sales report and found that the book had made a total sale in quantity of only thirty and then he compared the last five month’s report. The number was unbelievable. Nine hundred and fifty-five. Mr Das rested back on his leather chair and looked at the ceiling fan above. He recollected that the total number of copies printed was one thousand two hundred out which total nine hundred and eighty- five copies were sold out and they hadn’t planned for any further prints as the estimated time assumed to sell the initial production was planned as three years.

It was already seven thirty in the evening and rains lashed the City of Kolkata. He shut down his laptop and walked out of the office without speaking to anyone. As he sat in his car, his thoughts again rolled back to the sales figure. In his career of thirty- two years, Mr Das had never witnessed such a jump in any book sales abruptly. Books generally took their own time to get famous and known among the readers. But this book, a Bengali language self help book for young students had turned the tide against his experience. A sudden jump of nine hundred and fifty -five books in just five months was phenomenal because the publishing house had hardly marketed the book. He remembered that he along with editorial team wasn’t much excited with the book. It was published only as a filler to be kept in the book stalls so that other books written by well known authors could be accommodated as per agreement with the distributors and bookshops.

That night as he slept, he planned that he would go deeper into the mystery of the big jump in the sales.

Next morning, without having proper breakfast, Mr Das hurried to his office. He appeared excited and curious. He wanted to understand the reasons for such surprising sales. He called for various reports in relation to the book which included, area wise sales report, book shop wise sales report, distributor wise sales report, state wise sales report and offline and online sales report. After spending the day analyzing the reports, Mr Das noted down certain important observations. Initially he had assumed that the sales would have been due to online sales but he was proved wrong, Online sales number were a mere twenty-five. Based upon other reports, Mr Das noted down three important observations from his data analytics antics. Majority of the sales were from the city of Kolkata. In fact, ninety two percent of sales was from the city of Kolkata. The second observation was that there was no single book shop that contributed majorly. All the bookshops with which the publishing house had agreement, contributed almost equally which meant that the sales were distributed all over Kolkata. The last observation that was made were the block period between in which the sales had taken place. Majority of sales had taken place in between a block period of ten days in between 23^rd May 2019 to 2^nd August 2019.

It was already evening five. After sipping a hot cup of tea, Mr Das was ready with the next action. He had a list of all the book shops where the book was available along with their contact details. He started to call each of them to understand the sudden increase in sales. He dialed the first number of the shop that was located at Dhakuria locality.

After the initial introduction Mr Das came down to the point.

“I wanted to inquire the reasons for such an increase in the sale of the book. Do you have any idea why the sales would snowball without any marketing from our side?” asked Mr Das.

The reply wasn’t satisfactory to him.  After dialing the next five to six shops, Mr Das still didn’t get any satisfactory reply which could be analyzed further.

Over the next five days, Mr Das continued to call up book shops and distributors to understand the once in life time event in the history of the publishing house. At the end of the week, he was still without any answer for the sky rocketing sales.

That Sunday, Mr Das took drove out his car to the publishing house’s newest distributor. Read Hud Distributors was a newly constituted book distribution company owned by a twenty -five -year- old girl named, Kaushani Bannerjee. This was the only distribution house to which Mr Das didn’t call to as he himself wanted to visit the company. The book shops where the distributor had distributed the book were appearing in the top twenty book shops in the book’s sales ranking.

The small little office didn’t make for an impressive view to the eyes of the experienced Mr Das. After waiting for some ten minutes, he was called into the meet the young owner of the company.

Being a Sunday, Kaushani was dressed in casuals while Mr Das had forgotten that it was a Sunday, and hence was dressed in a crisply ironed white shirt and grey trouser.

“It’s pleasure meeting you, sir. We have been associated with the publishing house for the last six months and I shall say that it had been a good experience.” Kaushani said.

“Well, Thank you, Kaushani. It really feels good that young minds like you are taking the reading culture ahead.”

They exchanged routine information on various books and the publishing industry in general.

“Kaushani, my purpose of visit to you is something different. I am here to inquire about the sales of one our books.”

After listening to Mr Das for next fifteen minutes, Kaushani had a big smile on her face.

“I think I can help you with this.”

“Really, how?” asked a curious Mr Das.

Kaushani picked up her cellphone and dialed a number.

“Yes, Kaushani here. Can you come to my office urgently, I need to introduce you to a person?”

“Okay,” Kaushani cut the call and kept her cellphone on the table.

“Your guest would be arriving in sometime, Mr Das.”

Fifteen minutes later, a young boy was standing in front of both Kaushani and Mr Das.

“Mr Das. Meet Vivek Ranjan Roy. Vivek was the first one to read that book once it landed here. He read it curiously and engagingly. After reading the book, Vivek went around the town suggesting his young friends to buy the book and told those friends to also inform their friends and family to buy the book and further recommend it to new people.”

“Really?”

“That’s not all, Mr Das. Vivek also told those friends to inform him once they bought the book and told those friends to confirm with their own respective friends whether they had purchased the book. The cycle just continued and spread but the common link in all was the “Connector” that is our Vivek. Vivek loves books and he helps us during his free time in various computer related report making. 

“Connector? That’s an interesting word.” Mr Das replied back.

“Yes, sir. The concept of connector in not new but an ancient one. Majority of the brands that are famous today was because someday some one recommended that product to someone and that someone further recommended it to new people and thus the word of mouth spread and products became brand.”

“I am enlightened.” Mr Das said looking at the young boy.

Mr Das looked at the boy and said, “What’s your future plan?”

Vivek looked at Kaushani and then at Mr Das.

“Sir, I think you better sprint up the production of your book because of what information I have from my connections and friends is that by the time you reach office tomorrow, the balance of that book in the market would mostly be sold out and your office would be bombarded with calls from all over the city for new prints.”

Mr Das was astonished with the confidence.

It was for the first time in his entire life he realized the importance of networking and the powerful concept of “Connector”.

 

 

The Newspaper

 

The early morning sun rays fell upon Hallstatt, a small fairy tale like Austrian Town. It was a routine morning of 1986. With a population not crossing five hundred in number, majority of the residents of the town knew each other either by identity or in person. The early morning routine had been the same for the last few years. However, over the last few months there was an additional routine that had kept the residents of the town busy and entertained.

Some eight months ago, a small press had opened its office in the town. Puzzled by the sudden interest of press to open its administrative office and publishing outlet in the town, the residents had inquired with its office bearers.

“We are here to publish newspaper for the town and distribute to the locales. The residents can subscribe to the newspaper here at our office and we will deliver the newspaper at their house before seven in the morning.” The newspaper office personnel had informed.

The locals had been ecstatic. It was the first newspaper that would be published in the town and the residents wouldn’t have to depend upon the newspaper that was transported from the other big cities. “The Hallstatt Morning Post” was the name of the newspaper that was informed to the locales. Finding the name of their town on the frontline of the newspaper, the locales were overjoyed.

Two weeks later, the first lot of newspapers were delivered to the first fifty subscribers. Among those first fifty, was Mr. Lakorsy, a seventy- five- year- old, World War II veteran. Mr Lakorsy was extremely excited with the fact that he was among the first few to be getting a newly started newspaper. The feeling of being among the first to read the newspaper had upped his anxiety levels. As soon as he had got hold of the first newspaper, he read it a like small boy reading a new comic book with utmost interest and curiosity. He had observed the headlines that had given news about the events taking place in the capital city of Austria. The ten-page newspaper was bifurcated into Current affairs, entertainment news, sports news, and two pages were dedicated to his own town of Hallstatt. He read the news in relation to Hallstatt with utmost interest and concentration.

“Honey, it seems there has been an increase in thefts and robberies in the town. The newspaper has reported.” He said shouting over his shoulder looking towards the kitchen where his wife was making the morning tea.

Over the next eight months, like Mr Lakorsy, the other residents who had subscribed to newspaper had enjoyed the news articles of the newspaper. The number of subscribers had increased to three hundred out of the total population of five hundred. Every morning the town of Hallstatt waited for the newspaper to be delivered to their homes to start their day with news from all over the country and also from their own town.

The town of Hallstatt is known for the Hallstatt Lake surrounded by the Salzkammergut mountains. The Charming cobbled streets framed by pastel- coloured houses gave a vibrant life to the town. One evening when Mr.Lakorsy was seated inside his house which was one among those pastel coloured houses, he was listening to the news on the Radio which was sent to him by his son who was working in the United states of America. As he sat and listened to the news, he felt confused with all the news that was being transmitted. He walked to table and picked up that morning’s newspaper. A puzzled Mr Lakorsy couldn’t understand one simple aspect. “There is not one news on the Radio which appears in the newspaper.”

He tried to discuss the same with his wife but she seemed little interested in her seventy- year- old husband’s confusion. Mr Lakorsy repeated the same activity of matching at least fifty percent of news appearing in the newspaper with that transmitted in the Radio. His curiosity levels had increased one evening when he visited the local cycling coach and inquired about the robbery of the cycle which had taken place a week ago.

“What Robbery? I don’t know anything of such kind had taken place?” the coach had informed.

A puzzled Mr Lakorsy had returned home unsatisfied. He had to do something to clear his doubts. That night he figured out a simple hack he would use to clear his doubts.

For the next five days, Mr Lakorsy noted down all the news about his town that was published in the newspaper. Over the subsequent week, he visited all the places in the town that were mentioned in the newspaper. His doubts had now turned concrete. None of news matched.

 Finally, Mr Lakorsy was disappointed with his conclusion. The newspaper was printing all fake news relating to his own town and also about the other cities in the country. There were no robberies in the town. No accidents had taken place in his town. That Evening, Mr Lakorsy collected all the newspaper and walked into the local Police station and discussed his observation with the head.

That Night, a secret raid was organized in the newspaper publishing office by the local police team.

The town woke up to the news that everyone at the newly opened Newspaper office were arrested. Upon the interrogation, it was found that the entire team at the newspaper office was group of robbers who had come to the town and had planned to fake the town with their fake newspaper business.

The Hallstatt Morning Post was no longer delivered, and the town got back to the old ways of waiting for the local agents to get the newspaper from other towns.

 

The above story is completely a work of Fiction.

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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.

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.