Prediction

By Huzefa Johar

His vest was soaked in sweat and beads of perspiration ran down his face. A stout frame bearing a face defined by a sharp jawline stared back, as Roger Sendon observed himself in front of a full length mirror. He felt a delightful ache in his sinews, after having lifted a mid-sized trunk out of the storage chamber of his father’s bed. The exertion had been enormous for a body accustomed to long hours of sedentary work, and presently he felt stiffness creep across the muscles of his forearms.

The trunk had peeling green paint and rust showed in red spots across the lid and the sides, but it seemed sturdy enough. There was no lock on the lid, and although the hinges creaked with a tearing sound, the trunk opened with significant ease.

It contained three pairs of worn-out riding boots, a dented riding helmet and several sets of riding silks. These were the relics of Arthur Sendon’s profession. The old man had served as a jockey for two prominent stables that competed at the Kolkata Race Course. Roger had acquired the short stature from his late father. Of course, for Arthur, the small build was one of the traits that made him a natural jockey.

From the bottom of the trunk, Roger extracted a football jersey. He realized that there was something wrapped within its folds. Unfolding the jersey on the bed, he found an envelope and an old journal. Roger realized that his sweaty palms had left an imprint on the thick yellowed paper of the envelope.

He brushed his hands against the fabric of his trouser. “The bloody swelter!” He cursed lightly, feeling a fresh ooze of perspiration trickle down his forehead. Even with the overhead fan running at full speed, Roger felt his clothes cling to his sweating body. With an evening temperature of 31 degrees Celsius and relative humidity exceeding 80%, the weather in Kolkata and across other Indian cities was unbearable.

During past few years, the hot and humid swelter had reigned from early March to late July. And, it continued through the rainy months with just a slight respite that made the unbearable seem endurable. Sometimes, swelter would be felt in late November and early December. “Shitty summers!” Roger swore, controlling the surge of irritation he felt at the intense weather.

At last, Roger picked up the envelope and the journal and carried it to the living room. He closed the windows, turned on the AC and waited for the air to de-humidify. After a few minutes, he felt his clothes un-cling and his skin became dry. He thrust his fingers into the envelope and withdrew a thin stack of photographs.

These were the pictures of his grandfather Samuel Sendon, who was a Major in the British Indian Army. Samuel was tall and fair-skinned. Apparently, Arthur had inherited much of his physical appearance from his mother of Indian origin. Roger imagined Samuel and Arthur standing side by side, and marvelled at the contrasting effect that genetic dominance could produce in a span of one generation.

The photographs were in colour, and seemed in dire need of restoration. There was a picture of Major Sendon in the parade ground, another one where he was with his fellow officers in the backdrop of the Himalayas. There were pictures of him riding a horse, rowing a kayak and one where he was seated behind the wheels of a Ford Model A.

Roger picked up the journal, the first page was blank and the second page bore the inscription “Major Samuel Sendon, 1920 and beyond.” Roger was surprised, he had thought the journal was written by Arthur, but this was even better. He opened a random page and started reading.

April 5, 1929

I think the future will be hellish

Calcutta is slightly stifling during April and May, I strongly recommend everyone to engage in indoor recreation during morning and noon. Although, weather does become conducive for outdoor sport after 4 pm, and the evenings are usually pleasant.

I think all army men have experienced the hellishness of hot combat. When you are in a trench and both sides are exchanging fire, the air you breathe is laden with carbon particles. The heat generated by constant canon blasts makes the air several degrees hotter than what it should be. The smoky air and the heat of machinery causes a great swelter, it feels unbearable when your clothes cling to your constantly perspiring body. Men who have trained at arms for many years, find their weapons unwieldy when their palms are constantly sweating. Such are the experiences of one who has witnessed the hellishness of modern warfare.

I write of war and the hellish swelter associated with it, because I see it as the fate of humanity. Today, I had the opportunity to drive an automobile through the streets of Calcutta. It was a Ford Model A, and all eyes turned when I drove this beauty through Chowringhee. In a few decades, there will be hundreds of thousands of such vehicles plying through the cities of the world.

The internal combustion engine that powers the automobile produces enormous heat. What would happen if thousands of vehicles were to belch-out smoke and the heat of the engines was to make the city air hotter? They say, this is the century of machines and soon people will be surrounded by them. In the future, life will be convenient, but along with convenience people will experience hellish swelter.

Roger only had to step out of the AC to prove the accuracy of his grandfather’s prediction.

By Huzefa Johar