The World Through Your Eyes

Futsunushi

Swapnil had read about doppelgangers -  tabloids frequently wrote about how several popular actors had look-alikes, but to be perfectly honest, these so called duplicates looked like watered down, low quality photocopies at best. You'd have to peer at them closely from a certain angle to even spot some semblance of likeliness. But this was different. Looking at Samar had been like glancing at a mirror, only to find that this particular reflection didn't obey him compulsively.
Before Swapnil could react, Samar reached out, pinching his forearm hard. "Ouch," winced Swapnil, as the fleeting impulse of pain shot through his arm, causing him to drop the 1709 page thick textbook right onto his toe. "Double ouch," Swapnil emitted a successive groan, collapsing on to one of the benches nearby to steady himself before he had a chance to embarrass himself further, and pressed a chilled bottle of soft drink from a nearby rack to his toe, as he signalled to the counter-lady with his free hand that he'd pay for it.
          Once the throbbing in his toe had eased from excruciating to bearable, he unclenched his teeth and looked up. Samar was seated opposite him, head lowered, sometimes sneaking contrite glances at his face, his fingers drumming some nonsensical Morse code message onto the table.
        
"Does it hurt really bad?"

"Well, it was no deep tissue massage, but I'm naturally clumsy enough to have developed some tolerance," Swapnil smiled. "Oh, by the way, I'm Swapnil," he added, almost as though it were an afterthought.
         
"Samar, Samar Sen." Samar gave his outstretched hand a hearty shake, before stopping abruptly, as though suddenly scared that Swapnil would disintegrate into pieces like a porcelain doll at the merest of touches.

"You may find this hard to believe, but a handshake won't dislocate my wrist joined as you seem inclined to believe," Swapnil said indignantly. "Most people I know don't resort to pinches on the arm as a form of greeting."
 
"I'm sorry again, man." The sheepish look came back into Samar's eyes. "It's not everyday I run into a dead ringer of mine, I'm thrilled to bits about meeting you. For all I know, I might have been imagining things. Kishore(Pandey, the guy with the stubble, Economics, third year, you know) got us some excellent weed from his trip to Shimla and we spent half the last night smoking up on the terrace. It's really strong stuff, and I'm not sure it's worn off."

Swapnil only smiled. Of course he knew Kishore. That guy's reputation preceded him; he was an institution in himself, the college's resident one-man drug cartel. He was your go-to person for sneaking bottles of beer and vodka, weed joints and occasionally stronger stuff into the hostels.

"So, you majoring in Economics too, huh?" Samar asked. "Haven't really seen you around in the Eco department. I'm not surprised though, I'm barely ever in class. The only thing that makes college worth it for me is Dram Soc."

"There's no one who doesn't know you here, you're JU's most famous thespian. I've written a few plays myself, a couple of them were performed by the troupe last winter, with you in the lead, coincidentally. I don't direct them though, I'm obviously not intimidating enough to yell instructions into a megaphone and bawl at my actors when they're not up to scratch."
   Swapnil didn't know why he'd told Samar this, he usually had a lot of difficulty with peer interaction, but talking to Samar came to him as naturally as breathing. Not a soul had known till date that he was an amateur playwright. He'd simply e-mail his drafts anonymously to Rehaan Chowdhury from the Dramatic Society, who'd approved of his scripts and proceeded to direct them. A month before the performance for his first play 'Tear Gas', a social commentary on dissent and the state's response to it, was staged, when the pamphlets were being rolled out, Rehaan had mailed back, asking him under what name he'd prefer to be credited as author. Swapnil had provided an appropriate one - "Futsunushi". He'd been officially obsessed with ancient mythology and pantheons since he was a child, and this particular Japanese God of war and martial arts had always held a special fascination for him. Besides, the ambiguous gender connotations of the name further helped him keep his identity under wraps. He chuckled as he recalled how Rehaan had replied with a rolling-eyes emoticon followed by a text, "Sure, but let's hope our audience doesn't twist their tongue into knots trying to pronounce that."
     The play had been a roaring success. Swapnil's hard hitting script had anyway guaranteed glowing reviews from theatre pundits, but Samar Sen in the lead had carried the play on his able (as his growing female fan base would unanimously admit, leonine) shoulders. His mellifluous voice, impeccable diction and acting chops had kept the ticket counters ringing for over a month and a half. This had only been the beginning. Over the next two years, Swapnil had churned out two more scripts, 'Carpe Noctem' and 'Parchhaiyaan', the latter of them being in Hindi, all through his correspondence over email with Rehaan who proceeded to feverishly cast and direct them. The plays,both enacted with Samar in the lead found astounding resonance among theatre goers, the poignant dialogues began being quoted across the Internet, and a certain veteran lyricist and writer from the Hindi film industry too showered accolades on the cast and crew of 'Parchhaiyaan'. Samar Sen was an Internet sensation, his face plastered across Instagram pages, with tabloids doing polls on which Bollywood beauty he should be paired with, should he ever do a feature film. But what generated the greatest interest among film journalists was Futsunushi. There were all kinds of conspiracy theories about the former's identity - some said he was an established film writer trying to inconspicuously crossover to theatre, some Samar Sen fans believed it was the lead actor himself.
       Swapnil would only smile as he scrolled through the yarn of gossip that social media seemed to spin about Futsunushi everyday. He'd grown up a wallflower, he'd always been the person you'd notice last in a room, if at all. He'd always been the ordinary commonplace guy, the one people always seemed to find difficult describing beyond the words 'nice', 'harmless' and 'academically brilliant'. Now though, as Futsunushi, he discovered he could create entire universes that enchanted audiences enough to make them part with their money, he could create enough intrigue for his characters to be discussed for days on end. Swapnil would've felt immensely discomfited being at the centre of such attention, but Futsunushi wore his popularity like a well-fitting cloak.