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25 Minutes (story in brief)By Pinaki Ghosh
Email: Pinaki@pinakighosh.com
Jimmy’s version (11.05 AM)
 
“The Metro station?” the girl looked questioningly. I looked at her.
 
“This way,” I answered, pointing my thumb towards the Metro rail station.
 
I have to repeat this reply at least two hundred times in a day. My little tea-coffee joint
 Jimmy’s Hotties
is a two minutes’ walk from the Metro…the tube-rail station of sector five of Salt Lake, Kolkata. My joint is merely a five by five kiosk with three sides
 
open but does fair share of business. Luckily the New Writers’ Building, the stategovernment administrative house has come up right opposite my kiosk two years back in2013.
 
During the great worldwide economic depression of 2009-2010 many large informationtechnology companies closed their shutters and departed. The vast township of Salt Lakelooked like a haunted city then.
 
My father established this stall many years ago and looked after its affairs till a few yearsback. The old aluminum kettle was still used on the gas stove to make tea those days.Now everyone uses slick machines for making tea and coffee. From 2011 onwards themarket improved again. And the new Writers’ Building started coming up at that time.Now this is our state Chief Minister’s address.
 
“Thanks”…the girl left. Pretty girl…poor thing, there was a huge plaster in her arm.
 
“Tea,” a man of about twenty five stood in front of my counter. A printed white CheGuevara portrait frowned at me from his black tee shirt.
 
“How many, Sir?” My routine question.
 
“Can’t see anyone else around! So, one cup would be enough,” he looked around andreplied.
 
“The Chief Minister hasn’t yet entered office I suppose.” he continued.
 
“Telling me, Sir?” I said.
 
“No.” He said. He was on his cell phone. His sunglasses are his cell phone. These daysyou can’t make out who’s talking to whom.
 
“Has the Chief Minister entered?”
 
“Are you talking to me now?” I asked.
 
“Yes.”
 
“No. Her convoy comes at eleven. Will arrive any time now.”
 
Within a minute the Chief Minister’s convoy approached noisily.
 
“Thanks.” The boy spoke over his sunglass phone. “I’m entering now. The Chief Minister has arrived. Navin Goel has already entered, I can see his car.”
 
The guy left in a hurry leaving half his tea unfinished.
 
 
Ten minutes after this, the massive video billboard across the road suddenly blacked out.In a gust of wind something must have come and hit it… I stared in surprise. A train waspassing overhead noisily. I noticed a crack across the huge video billboard screen.
 
Suddenly there were hooters screaming from everywhere. Or maybe, it was coming fromthe direction of the government building. Something must have happened inside theWriters’ Building. Security forces were running towards the Writers’ Building. Hasanyone attacked the Chief Minister? I crossed the road and walked curiously towards thegovernment building. What could have happened?
 
I saw the time – 11.30 AM.
 
Rahul’s version (11.05 AM)
 
Our car halted right behind Naveen Goel’s Mercedes. While getting off, I told Natasha tokeep the audio recorder on.
 
“Sure,” said Natasha, “All the best.”
 
I asked a police constable posted at the gate of the government house when the Chief Minister was expected to arrive. He wasn’t sure. He looked away.
 
I had to spend time. I thought of having a cup of tea from
 Jimmy’s Hotties
, a stall acrossthe street. Crossing the road was a pain – traffic has increased immensely in the last 4-5years. But pollution level has definitely come down.
 
At the tea-stall I briefly exchanged glances with a pretty girl with a plastered arm. Shewas probably looking at the picture of Che Guevera on my shirt. A lot of people look atit. She left as I stepped in front of the tea stall. I sipped my cup of lemon tea. Natashacalled me, her voice was screaming from my sunglass-phone, “Why did you cross theroad? “
 
“The Chief Minister hasn’t yet entered office I suppose,” I replied her.
 
Immediately I heard the convoy approaching. I paid the boy and left, leaving my tea half-finished. The security guy at the gate asked for my appointment letter. I missed a fewheartbeats. Because even though the letter I was carrying was genuine, the time and datehad been altered. The security supervisor frisked me and asked, “Carrying any electronicgadgets?”
 
“Nothing officer, except the sunglasses,” I smiled. I chose to remain silent about myelectronic button. The electronic button on my shirt could record any sound within 500meters.
 
“Can I enter, then?”
 
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