morning and had already been viewed 5000 times. By the time Arnab got home in the evening and checked on his computer, that number had climbed to over 100,000. If he had thought his adventure would be forgotten soon, he was very wrong. All night, there was a veritable feeding frenzy in the media on the video clip. Channels would freeze on frame after frame, zoom in to try and see more details and linger on the point where he seemed to accelerate like a rocket and run after the car. Arnab woke up the next morning and walked to the nearby newspaper vendor to see what the papers had to say. What he saw astounded him. Every paper carried the story as its lead item on the front page, and while there was little by way of any more information than had been available the previous day, there was a lot of speculation. Arnab bought about a dozen papers and spent the rest of the day doing little more than reading what they had to say.
'Is he some genetically modified experiment?' speculated one paper.
'Do we have our own real life superhero?' screamed another.
As he read story after story, he found himself getting obsessed with what they had written about him, and some of their wild speculations and theories made him laugh out loud, since he was the only person who knew the whole truth. In the evening, he turned on the TV to see the Minister he had met, Balwant Singh, on a news programme.
'Mr Singh, as the Law Minister, what is your take on this superhero story in Delhi?' asked the anchor.
Balwant Singh seemed to be chewing tobacco once again, and was wearing a khadi kurta-pyjama and a cap that made him look just a little bit comical. What he had to say was however not something Arnab found funny at all.
'You see, nowadays with technology you can do anything. You can make a man fly, run fast, or take a bribe.'
He smiled broadly at the studio audience, many of whom cheered. As the camera panned over the audience, Arnab could recognize PC Sharma, the Minister's flunkie and wondered how many in the audience were plants as they had been in the college Press Conference.
'Mr Singh, I presume you're referring to the cash for votes scam, where your colleagues were caught on camera taking money, but you continue to insist those are doctored photos.'
'You see, the Opposition..'
The Minister looked visibly upset when the anchor cut him in mid-sentence and tried to steer the discussion back.
'To come back to the Gurgaon video, are you saying this is a fake?'
'All I know is that this superhero talk is bogus. Someone helped that woman out, which is a good thing. But I request your audience not to conclude that taking the law into your own hands is always good, and also not to sensationalize this with wild rumours. Now coming back to the Opposition, you see..'
Arnab switched the TV off in disgust. He sat there, wondering why he was feeling so agitated. He had not wanted nor asked for any recognition or reward for what he had done, but to have what he had done, what he was, dismissed as a hoax and a publicity stunt made him feel angry. He realized that this was the first time in his life when he really felt proud of who he was and what he had done, and to have that undermined and ridiculed really got under his skin.
What made things worse was that on Monday, the media got a new favourite story-a Krishna idol that had suddenly started playing the flute in a Mysore temple. They dumped Arnab's story like a hot potato and descended on this new sensation, where thousands of devotees were lining up outside the temple, to get a glimpse of this miracle and to seek blessings with offerings of cash and valuables. Two days later, the whole episode was revealed to be a hoax by the temple priest, who had placed a small wireless speaker under the idol. To Arnab's dismay, a lot of the media began linking the story to his video, talking about how scamsters can use technology to mislead people.
That Wednesday, while sitting in the college Cafe for lunch, he overheard two students talking at the neighbouring table.
'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
