Mainak Dhar - Heroes R Us

'Man, you can't believe anything nowadays. The whole Gurgaon superhero thing was a scam, and I thought it may have been real.'

'Come on, dude, there are no heroes in our country-just keep your head down and survive, that's all. Bloody scamsters, all of them.'

'Guess you're right. Would be nice if there were someone like that around, though-someone who could make a difference. I guess it's that way only in the comics, right?'

That was the last straw. Arnab could feel his blood boiling. He was no scamster, and certainly no comic book character. He felt it a real perversion of justice that someone who had done nothing more than help another person was being ridiculed. He would prove them all wrong, and they would know he was only too real, and that someone could actually make a difference.

***

This time however, Arnab didn't act rashly. He had learnt his lessons from his first adventure and as tempted as he was to rush into another one, he decided to prepare thoroughly. He realized that the hooded sweatshirt had served him well in helping conceal his identity and he would continue wearing it. He also decided to operate only at night, since revealing his powers in broad daylight was just too risky. Also, he realized that at night, his power of vision gave him two added advantages. First, he would be able to see clearly when any likely adversary would not, and secondly he would not be encumbered with managing his bulky glasses. Years of reading detective novels and comics gave him another idea-he brought a pair of gloves. Not only would they help keep his hands warm in the winter nights, but also ensure that he would not leave behind any fingerprints.

All of this took the better part of a week, a time during when Arnab did precious little studying, appeared even more absent minded at work and earned a few more sarcastic comments from Jayantada. He decided he would go out again on Friday night, and with three days to go, he also decided that next time he encountered trouble; he wouldn't be just evading blows and wondering what the hell to do. A trip to the nearby video rental shop yielded a hoard of old Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan movies, which he watched late into the night, hoping to learn some moves. When he tried to emulate a kick and lost his balance and landed on his face, he realized that he would need a bit more help. Looking at the DVDs suddenly gave him an idea.

A wiry old man known to everyone around as Khan chacha, Hindi slang for Khan Uncle, ran the video parlour. It was rumoured he had once been a famous boxer, but nobody really knew the full story. As Arnab reached the shop to return the DVDs, he waited for the other customers to leave so he could have some time alone with Khan.

'Khan chacha, I wanted to ask you something.'

'Go on.' Khan replied in his usual gruff voice, as he sorted the discs that had just been returned.

'Can you teach me a few boxing moves.'

Khan looked up, startled.

'What are you talking about?'

Arnab decided to persist. 'They say you were once a famous boxer. You surely could teach me something.'

The man didn't even deign to reply, and got up saying he had to close the shop for the night. Arnab pleaded with him to wait.

'Why do you want to learn? I don't teach youngsters so they can get into silly fights to impress girls.'

Arnab told him about the incident on the bus, leaving out how he had thrashed the two goons, and saying that he felt so helpless in situations like that and if he knew some moves he could at least try and help in future. It was a lie, but Arnab figured it was all for a good cause, and it seemed to work as the old man's features softened a bit.

'Come upstairs with me.'

He took Arnab to a small room above the shop. In a corner wall hung several photographs of a younger Khan, many featuring him in the boxing ring. Beside the photos was a frame displaying several medals. Arnab was speechless.

Khan pointed to the medals, speaking with a bitter tone. 'National Championship Gold, Silver in the Asian Games.' He saw the unspoken question in Arnab's eyes, questions he had been asked a thousand times earlier. Questions he tried to avoid by keeping his past a closely guarded secret.

'Arnab, all I got for my efforts were photos with some political bigwigs and a few photos in the papers. I was an ordinary infantryman in the Army, and with three mouths to feed, I earned barely enough to get by on, let alone cover the cost of training and equipment. Those days, there were no corporate sponsors, no lucrative ad deals and we were at the mercy of the bureaucrats. The Army was supportive, but to really compete at a world-class level, I needed equipment and training that nobody had the money for. I loved boxing, but I had to choose-struggle through it or raise my family. I made my choice.'

Arnab didn't know what to say, so Khan walked up to him and said, 'Yes, I'll teach you. Come here every evening.'

And thus Arnab's training began. He met Khan the next evening after dinner when the old man had closed his shop.

'Khan chacha, I really want to learn the best way to hit someone.'

Khan chuckled at that, 'Boxing isn't just about hitting, it is as much about balance, conditioning and learning to block.'

Arnab couldn't tell Khan what his real agenda and needs were, and that with his speed, blocking wasn't much of a concern, so he asked Khan to at least start teaching him the basic stances and punches.

Khan said that before he learnt to throw a single punch, he would need to learn how to face one. Confident of his speed, Arnab agreed, and began watching the old man's hands, trying to see where the punch would come from. Khan's right hand twitched and Arnab began moving to his left, thinking he would dodge the punch with ease. Just then, the old man's left hand shot out with surprising speed. Arnab was facing the wrong way, still waiting for the right hand that never came, and when he did see the left fist streak out at his chest, he tried turning the other way. Speed was not his undoing, since despite the speed at which the old boxer had shot his fist out Arnab's reflexes would have allowed him to dodge it with ease. What did him in was his lack of balance, as he tripped over his own foot and stumbled onto his back, falling in an ungainly mess to the ground.

Khan held out his hand to help Arnab up.

'You can't guess where a punch is coming from by watching the hands. You need to watch the eyes and the shoulders.'

Suitably chastened, Arnab agreed to learn the way Khan would teach him, and his training began that night. The training session went on late into the night, the old man relishing a return to an art he had once loved and Arnab soaking up his teacher's encyclopaedic experience. He promised to come every night and learn more from the old man.

That Friday, Arnab set out on his next mission, carrying his sweatshirt and gloves in a plastic bag. Soon enough he realized that in a city as vast as Delhi, just setting out randomly in search of crime or people in need of assistance was a stupid strategy. After loitering about for an hour or so, he realized it was pointless, and his enthusiasm deflated, returned home. The lessons with Khan continued every evening, and that Sunday, Arnab met Chintu on the stairwell.

'Hi Chintu, tell me, how do your superheroes know when people need their help.'

Chintu looked up at him as if he were retarded.

'Superman has super-hearing. He flies over the world and hears people. Didn't you know that?'

He didn't, but he did know that possessing neither the power of flight nor super-hearing that was a strategy he couldn't afford to try. Monday morning and he was back in college, and as he entered the library, Jayantada called him over.

'Arnab, is everything all right?'

Arnab didn't know how to react so just nodded in response, but Jayantada wasn't about to let him off the hook so easily.