That night it rained. It was summer, but yet it rained. The winds hit the windowpanes which creaked in pain holding on to the latch. The thunder was loud and so was the lightning. The thunder was so loud that we felt something might have fallen on our roof. The rain splattered on the mangalore tiles in a pattern that determined the force of the wind. I lay wide awake, thinking of the ghost that lived in the temple near by. Shaiju, Sit and I slept on a mat on the floor. The floor of the house was usually smeared with cowdung. Many a times, earlier, I had seen my ammamma collect cowdung from the shed and then apply it in the house and in the courtyard. I hated the smell of it, but it kept the rooms cool in the summer. Ammamma said that it also kept the mosquitoes away. But the cowdung floor had its disadvantages too. Some times a rat snake would enter into the house in search of jumping frogs. The snakes usually hid in a corner of the house unknown to anybody, unless a hapless soul happened to sneak below the furniture in search of a lost object. That happened to be the last day of the snake’s life on earth.
I walked out into the verandah. The verandah did not have a window, but a netted grill that was framed in wood. A few years ago, it was completely open until one day a ripper landed in the village. He had a penchant to smash people’s head in the sleep. He had killed over 14 women and 5 men. After that, he disappeared. The police never caught him. But every house in the village now had spruced up security in the form of grills on windows. I looked out of the window. It was raining heavily. The heavy rain that fell on the ground created a pattern that defined the direction of the wind. The rain was intermittently mixed with a falling coconut leaf, or a lonely plastic bag that was left outside somebody’s house. The light across in Das’s house was still on. I could see shadows in the windows. There would have been approximately three shadows in the room. All of them were in violent action. I could see one man with his hands on his waist as another person paced in front of him. The other shadow would come into the frame of the window once in a while. The heavy rain made the viewing a bit difficult. Later, the lights were switched off. A while later, three people emerged on the ground floor, one of them carrying a bag and the other carrying an umbrella. I thought the other guy standing inside must have been Das, for I couldnot recognise the other two people who then left on the bike the man behind, holding an umbrella, which I thought was of no use in the heavy downpour.
Next morning, the rain had subsided. Little drops hung on the cloth-line like pearls on tied to a string threatening to fall at the sense of a slightest breeze. The courtyard was full of uprooted weeds and fallen coconut leaves, that angered ammamma to no extent. The non-seasonal shower had added up ammamma’s woes. She rushed off to the field, to check if the crop was not affected. I chewed on my toothbrush, enjoying the juices of colgate that came out of it.
Hamsa, the fisherman cooed in as he entered the gate on his cycle with a basket full of fish. My mother came out with a vessel, and I tagged along her saree to his bicycle.
Seen you after a long time, Parvathy?’ he said to my mother.
‘Yes, Last year we couldnt come. His father had jaundice.’
‘This your son?’ he asked. She smiled putting her hand on my head ruffling my hair. ‘Yes’
He was tall, and he stooped down on me and asked me ‘Which class are you in?’ I could see two golden teeth in his mouth that glittered as he spoke. ‘Fifth’ I replied.
‘Oh yes, I forgot, he and Abdul were born in the same year.’
I knew Abdul. He was Kannan’s friend and we had met briefly at the playground last year when there was a volleyball tournament.
‘The rains yesterday were really bad. A few tiles flew off the kitchen roof. The kitchen is completely flooded’ mother said as she counted the number of fish in the bowl.
‘Yes, indeed’ Hamsa replied. ‘We were lucky to be back to our houses before the storm began. If we were in the sea, we would have been in big trouble’
My mother counted the money and gave it to him.
‘I will send Abdul in the evening for the milk’ he said as he climbed on to his cycle and started cooing again. I saw Das standing on the window smoking a cigarette. I waved out to him, but he did not notice me. He just stubbed his cigarette on the window sill and went inside.
The rain had damaged the crops. The raw mangoes had fallen down early which meant that we will have to wait a while longer to steal it from our neighbor’s yard. Ammamma was particularly disturbed. She ate little and sat at the verandah that day looking into the sky as we played cricket in the courtyard, with a bat that was cut out of a coconut leaf and a rubber ball.
Kannan was bowling while i was with the artificial bat, when Namboodiripaad appeared at the gate. He rushed inside and sat next to ammamma. Kannan threw the ball with great ferocity and I swung the bat with all my might. The ball missed Namboodiripaads head, who was startled for a second, then scowled in anger, thanking his luck of surviving a vital blow on his cranium. Ammamma shouted ‘Enough of this madness. Get inside both of you.’ We dared not not listen to her. She was upset and so both of us sulked into a corner. We overheard the conversation that transpired between ammamma and the Namboodiripaad.
‘These are bad times, I am telling you, it is all because of the evil spirit in the temple’ he said.
‘This is not the first time it happened. Non-seasonal rains have come before too!’
‘Yes, but not with this ferociousness. People were saying they heard noises coming from the temple in the night.’
‘That is strange’ she said ‘The sound of the wind and rain was so strong in the night, I wonder how someone could have heard it.’
‘I think it is time we hurried up the yagna. That is the only way out of this mess.’ He got up to leave. ‘I am going to speak to Shankaran Pillai at the Panchayat. We need to hurry before the evil spirit damages our village even more.’ he said as he hurried jumping over puddles that formed on the muddy path to the gate.
‘Liar’ Kannan proclaimed. Ammamma looked disapprovingly into Kannan’s eyes. ‘He is doing for his own benefit’ he said, trying to justify himself.
‘He is older and wiser than you. You should not say such things’ she said.
‘I dont believe a word he said’ Kannan persisted.
‘Sometimes a small little lie can be overlooked when you know the bigger truth.’ she smiled.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Monday, December 31, 2007
The Summer of '82 - Chapter 3
Our immediate neighbors were a small dilapidated house on the west and a mansion on the east. On the south was a palm tree plantation beyond which were vast rice fields that spread to the horizon lined with coconut trees. Most of our afternoon used to be spent at the canal that ran in the centre of the vast fields. The water was shallow and we would put our paper boats in it and chase it till the point where the canal disappeared under the highway road. This activity usually was limited till the rains, after which the canal would become very rough and would sweep away anybody who came in the way of its ferociousness.
In the nights after listening to the Bhagwad Gita, we would look on the jackfruit tree that hid itself in the dark, which housed so many glowworms blinking in unison as if it was Diwali. The sounds of the crickets and the occasional croak of the frog would be interrupted by a drunk man passing by swearing on his dead ancestors in the darkness.
That particular summer, we had company. In the night, from the dilapidated house, we heard sounds of laughter. Ammamma/ Grandmother told me that the owner of the house had given it on rent to young students who studied in the ITI close by.
The days were moving on in a slow pace. My parents and my siblings left for visiting our relatives, but i stayed behind, courtesy, the stitches on my head. As the clock ticked away in slow motion, I would keep my eyes glued to the gate for Kannan and Suma to arrive. Looking at the gate with longing, I did not remember when i went to sleep. I was awakened with a hat trick of sneezes. Suma had taken a grass blade and tickled my nostrils. Both Kannan and Suma laughed their hearts out. Suma and Kittu went into Kittu’s room and started playing with their dolls, while Kannan and I ventured out into the neighborhood.
‘Where are we off to?’ I asked in expectation. ‘If ammamma sees us sneaking out, we will be in for trouble.’
‘I saw Ammamma leave with a sack of rice to the mill’, he said. ‘It will take her at least an hour or two to come back. We will be back home by then.’ He assured. We went to the boundary that separated our plot from our neighbor’s. The Cacti was tall that acted as a natural fence, but the gap between two of them was big enough to sneak both of us in by crossing it carefully, sideways, taking care that the thorns did not prick our butt or belly.
Once across, we made our way through the dry leaves crackling beneath our feet to the house. The house was hardly cleaned. The ceiling and the beams were filled by cobwebs from days of yonder. The only place that was clean was the wooden ladder that led to the first floor, probably because of constant use. The walls were damp with the thin white coat peeling off randomly at places. The wooden ceiling was sagging, threatening to fall off any moment. The external wall had slogans painted with fresh red color with the symbol of a sickle and a star, D.Y.F.I Zindabad written and a poster with a smiling moustached photograph accompanying it. Kannan climbed the wooden ladder, the stairs creaking with each step. I followed him holding to a rope that hung from the ceiling above, lest the ladder gave way, one could hold the rope for support.
The ladder opened into a balcony. There were books lying on the floor and a circuit board lying on a stool that was placed sideways, nearby. A soldering iron was plugged into a socket hanging from a broken switch box. The rod glowing red, jutting precariously from a platform made of thick engineering books. A man with thick moustache and a hairy body wearing a lungi sat on the parapet with a cigarette dangling between his lips. His eyes shifted to Kannan and then towards me.
‘Kanna, who is this?’ he asked Kannan. ‘He is my friend from Bombay, Shibu’ Kannan then turned to me and introduced the huge man ‘This is Das, the great’ he said. It was apparent from the way he described Das and ran around him, that he had made Das, his hero, his idol. Das was a man of very little words. He allowed me to look at him as he skillfully soldered the chips on to the circuit board. I tried to read the books on electronics and tried to differentiate between an ohm and a lamda. Das would work silently, continuously smoking cigarettes. He would light the next cigarette before the first one was finished and the steel tray that doubled as an ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts.
‘Why do you smoke so much?’ i asked Das.
‘Some people need oxygen to live, I need smoke’ he said as he turned around to pick up a tester.
Later, when we were back at our house before ammamma came back, Kannan was excitedly telling me about Das being one of the student leaders and how people in his college followed every dictum he issued. He was the leader of the S.U.F.I. wing in his college. Kannan animatedly spoke of a hartal when the police lathi charged and he took the baton from the police and hit many policemen. He was arrested, but he became an instant hero in the party and he is now the rising star of the political group. Kannan was sure, being in the good books of Das today, will earn him a handsome position in the party when he is grown 3 more years.
Ammamma entered the gates, with another man in tow. He was an elderly man. Fair and plump, he had bhasma on his forehead. With one hand holding the long umbrella and the other hand holding the mundu, he walked very fast. Ammamma took off her slippers and handed a stainless steel container in my hand. ‘Put it in the kitchen’ she told me. I obediently took it and left for the kitchen. He asked for water. ‘Get the boiled water from the pot’ she shouted. They both began speaking in hushed voices. I peeped through the window grills and i saw my ammamma take out some money from her purse and give it to him. The man was ready to leave.
‘Didnt get the water’ the old man said to my ammamma. I thought he purposely did that to make me feel like an incompetent grandson. His face was arrogant when he said that.
‘Shibu!!’ she shouted loudly ‘Where did you get lost?’ I stumbled out of the door and offered him the glass of water. He looked at me intensely, piercing into my eyes. ‘Is he Parvathi’s son’ he asked ammamma. She nodded in agreement.
‘He has got her beautiful eyes’ he said proud of my inheritance. ‘Do you know me?’ he asked me. I shook my head. ‘How would you?’ he was now nostalgic ‘I had taken you in my arms when you were six months old. I used to carry you and sing lullabies when you would cry.’ I could sense, he now had become melodramatic. After a while, he left. The last thing i heard him tell my ammamma was that being a daughter of the village, it was her duty too, to contribute for the yagna in the temple.
Kannan took me aside and told me not to believe a single word he said. He said, he was Narayana Namboodiripaad, the high priest of the temple and it was his habit of forcing people to donate money for the welfare of the temple. He said with a tense voice, that there were rumors of a lurking spirit in the village around the temple. People had seen shadows on moonlit nights without an owner. Also, very recently, when the temple door was opened for the early morning pooja, the deity had been smeared with a black substance. The Panchayat was called and an astrologer summoned to find out what was going wrong. The astrologer did some calculations holding some sea shells and then told that an ancient priest who had died of a sin is responsible for the unholy happenings in the temple and a yagna has to be performed to drive the ghost away from the village. Kannan felt that Namboodiripaad wanted to make money out of the yagna, and he was swindling the innocent villagers with the power of superstition.
I was intrigued by what Kannan said. A ghost! I was living in a house that was close to a temple haunted by a ghost! I was thrilled. ‘I want to see the ghost!’ i earnestly told Kannan.
‘What?’ Kannan was a bit startled. ‘Are you crazy?’
‘Have you ever seen a ghost?’ I asked him. He shook his head.
‘Neither me...’ I was now excited. ‘What if he is a friendly ghost?’
‘Ghosts are never friendly’ he replied.
‘Says who?’ I was stubborn. I really wanted to see a ghost! I had heard of ghosts in films, in books, but never seen one in reality. It used to be an illusion of a lady walking on the street with a lit candle in her hand, her hair open and spread over the shoulders. But that was how they were shown in films. I wanted to see a real ghost.
‘You are mad’ he said. ‘What if the ghost kills you?’
‘I dont think ghosts can kill’ i was pretty sure. ‘You said the ghost was a shadow without an owner, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Then how can a shadow kill a man. A shadow can only kill a shadow, Isn’t it?’
‘Right.’ he said, giving my logic some intense thought.
‘So when do we go to see the ghost?’ i was now very enthusiastic.
‘No... wait’ Kannan fumbled. ‘OK, I have an idea’ he said ‘We will tell Das. I am sure he will help. He does not believe in God!’
I was game. I felt fear in Kannans voice but as long as i saw the ghost, i had no problem. I just wanted to see the ghost.
‘Shibu! Will you go to the mill and get our sack of rice?’ Ammamma yelled out. Kannan and I left for the rice mill.
In the nights after listening to the Bhagwad Gita, we would look on the jackfruit tree that hid itself in the dark, which housed so many glowworms blinking in unison as if it was Diwali. The sounds of the crickets and the occasional croak of the frog would be interrupted by a drunk man passing by swearing on his dead ancestors in the darkness.
That particular summer, we had company. In the night, from the dilapidated house, we heard sounds of laughter. Ammamma/ Grandmother told me that the owner of the house had given it on rent to young students who studied in the ITI close by.
The days were moving on in a slow pace. My parents and my siblings left for visiting our relatives, but i stayed behind, courtesy, the stitches on my head. As the clock ticked away in slow motion, I would keep my eyes glued to the gate for Kannan and Suma to arrive. Looking at the gate with longing, I did not remember when i went to sleep. I was awakened with a hat trick of sneezes. Suma had taken a grass blade and tickled my nostrils. Both Kannan and Suma laughed their hearts out. Suma and Kittu went into Kittu’s room and started playing with their dolls, while Kannan and I ventured out into the neighborhood.
‘Where are we off to?’ I asked in expectation. ‘If ammamma sees us sneaking out, we will be in for trouble.’
‘I saw Ammamma leave with a sack of rice to the mill’, he said. ‘It will take her at least an hour or two to come back. We will be back home by then.’ He assured. We went to the boundary that separated our plot from our neighbor’s. The Cacti was tall that acted as a natural fence, but the gap between two of them was big enough to sneak both of us in by crossing it carefully, sideways, taking care that the thorns did not prick our butt or belly.
Once across, we made our way through the dry leaves crackling beneath our feet to the house. The house was hardly cleaned. The ceiling and the beams were filled by cobwebs from days of yonder. The only place that was clean was the wooden ladder that led to the first floor, probably because of constant use. The walls were damp with the thin white coat peeling off randomly at places. The wooden ceiling was sagging, threatening to fall off any moment. The external wall had slogans painted with fresh red color with the symbol of a sickle and a star, D.Y.F.I Zindabad written and a poster with a smiling moustached photograph accompanying it. Kannan climbed the wooden ladder, the stairs creaking with each step. I followed him holding to a rope that hung from the ceiling above, lest the ladder gave way, one could hold the rope for support.
The ladder opened into a balcony. There were books lying on the floor and a circuit board lying on a stool that was placed sideways, nearby. A soldering iron was plugged into a socket hanging from a broken switch box. The rod glowing red, jutting precariously from a platform made of thick engineering books. A man with thick moustache and a hairy body wearing a lungi sat on the parapet with a cigarette dangling between his lips. His eyes shifted to Kannan and then towards me.
‘Kanna, who is this?’ he asked Kannan. ‘He is my friend from Bombay, Shibu’ Kannan then turned to me and introduced the huge man ‘This is Das, the great’ he said. It was apparent from the way he described Das and ran around him, that he had made Das, his hero, his idol. Das was a man of very little words. He allowed me to look at him as he skillfully soldered the chips on to the circuit board. I tried to read the books on electronics and tried to differentiate between an ohm and a lamda. Das would work silently, continuously smoking cigarettes. He would light the next cigarette before the first one was finished and the steel tray that doubled as an ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts.
‘Why do you smoke so much?’ i asked Das.
‘Some people need oxygen to live, I need smoke’ he said as he turned around to pick up a tester.
Later, when we were back at our house before ammamma came back, Kannan was excitedly telling me about Das being one of the student leaders and how people in his college followed every dictum he issued. He was the leader of the S.U.F.I. wing in his college. Kannan animatedly spoke of a hartal when the police lathi charged and he took the baton from the police and hit many policemen. He was arrested, but he became an instant hero in the party and he is now the rising star of the political group. Kannan was sure, being in the good books of Das today, will earn him a handsome position in the party when he is grown 3 more years.
Ammamma entered the gates, with another man in tow. He was an elderly man. Fair and plump, he had bhasma on his forehead. With one hand holding the long umbrella and the other hand holding the mundu, he walked very fast. Ammamma took off her slippers and handed a stainless steel container in my hand. ‘Put it in the kitchen’ she told me. I obediently took it and left for the kitchen. He asked for water. ‘Get the boiled water from the pot’ she shouted. They both began speaking in hushed voices. I peeped through the window grills and i saw my ammamma take out some money from her purse and give it to him. The man was ready to leave.
‘Didnt get the water’ the old man said to my ammamma. I thought he purposely did that to make me feel like an incompetent grandson. His face was arrogant when he said that.
‘Shibu!!’ she shouted loudly ‘Where did you get lost?’ I stumbled out of the door and offered him the glass of water. He looked at me intensely, piercing into my eyes. ‘Is he Parvathi’s son’ he asked ammamma. She nodded in agreement.
‘He has got her beautiful eyes’ he said proud of my inheritance. ‘Do you know me?’ he asked me. I shook my head. ‘How would you?’ he was now nostalgic ‘I had taken you in my arms when you were six months old. I used to carry you and sing lullabies when you would cry.’ I could sense, he now had become melodramatic. After a while, he left. The last thing i heard him tell my ammamma was that being a daughter of the village, it was her duty too, to contribute for the yagna in the temple.
Kannan took me aside and told me not to believe a single word he said. He said, he was Narayana Namboodiripaad, the high priest of the temple and it was his habit of forcing people to donate money for the welfare of the temple. He said with a tense voice, that there were rumors of a lurking spirit in the village around the temple. People had seen shadows on moonlit nights without an owner. Also, very recently, when the temple door was opened for the early morning pooja, the deity had been smeared with a black substance. The Panchayat was called and an astrologer summoned to find out what was going wrong. The astrologer did some calculations holding some sea shells and then told that an ancient priest who had died of a sin is responsible for the unholy happenings in the temple and a yagna has to be performed to drive the ghost away from the village. Kannan felt that Namboodiripaad wanted to make money out of the yagna, and he was swindling the innocent villagers with the power of superstition.
I was intrigued by what Kannan said. A ghost! I was living in a house that was close to a temple haunted by a ghost! I was thrilled. ‘I want to see the ghost!’ i earnestly told Kannan.
‘What?’ Kannan was a bit startled. ‘Are you crazy?’
‘Have you ever seen a ghost?’ I asked him. He shook his head.
‘Neither me...’ I was now excited. ‘What if he is a friendly ghost?’
‘Ghosts are never friendly’ he replied.
‘Says who?’ I was stubborn. I really wanted to see a ghost! I had heard of ghosts in films, in books, but never seen one in reality. It used to be an illusion of a lady walking on the street with a lit candle in her hand, her hair open and spread over the shoulders. But that was how they were shown in films. I wanted to see a real ghost.
‘You are mad’ he said. ‘What if the ghost kills you?’
‘I dont think ghosts can kill’ i was pretty sure. ‘You said the ghost was a shadow without an owner, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Then how can a shadow kill a man. A shadow can only kill a shadow, Isn’t it?’
‘Right.’ he said, giving my logic some intense thought.
‘So when do we go to see the ghost?’ i was now very enthusiastic.
‘No... wait’ Kannan fumbled. ‘OK, I have an idea’ he said ‘We will tell Das. I am sure he will help. He does not believe in God!’
I was game. I felt fear in Kannans voice but as long as i saw the ghost, i had no problem. I just wanted to see the ghost.
‘Shibu! Will you go to the mill and get our sack of rice?’ Ammamma yelled out. Kannan and I left for the rice mill.
Monday, December 17, 2007
The Summer of '82 - Chapter 2
My grandmother was 72 years old that year. Her face filled with wrinkles of knowledge, she worked in the fields along with other younger farmers. She used to walk with a little stoop, but I had hardly any memory of her with an illness. The village of Pariyaram, in those days had rarely seen electricity. Though the entire village had poles holding the electric wires upright, it hardly used to reach the house in a way it reached us back home in the city. As the sun set behind the mountains, the bulb would emit a dim glow that we used to mistake it for a man smoking a bheedi without the smoke. The dusk used to bring with it the aroma of camphor and the hymns of the Mahabharata recited in a very peculiar fashion. All the kids would gather around grandmother and she would tell us the story of how Arjuna was reluctant to fight his brothers, when Krishna, in the midst of the battlefield recited him the Bhagwad Gita.
‘How many days did he read the Bhagwad Gita in the battle field?’ Shaiju would ask innocently. Grandmother would then close the book and tell him that the Bhagwad Gita was recited by Krishna, to Arjuna, and it stands the test of time and rings true even in today’s world. In the midst of this story, my cousin, Kittu, would squirm and ask her to tell the stories of her childhood when the British ruled the land, she would tell us how they were to sing praises of the Queen in school. She would remember those days with fondness when she bought her first Saree for 8 annas. 8 annas! We would scream in despair, we hardly got two toffees in 8 annas!
My grandmother loved telling stories from her fond memories. Her husband, our grandfather, had died in an accident. Our house was on the main road. It was very narrow, but was one of the main roads in the country then, now called the NH17 highway. He was returning early from the temple after his bath when a car hit him. He died instantly. Those days in Kerala, my grandmother used to remember, there were so many women who had more than one marriage. Surprisingly, very distinct from other cultures, the society in Kerala was a matriarchal one. The women in the family wielded the power. The men usually shifted into the woman’s house after marriage, unlike now. And in particular castes of the carpenters, who used to travel for years building temples and palaces, when they would come back to the house and see an umbrella outside their house, they would know, their wives are theirs no more, and that they are married to another man. But my grandmother never married again.
When we asked her ‘Why?’ She would smile and tell us, ‘One day you will know, Why!’
Our house in Pariyaram was a huge one, with small little rooms. Each room had another room within, which my mother used to tell me, were places to store food, since agriculture was our main occupation. In many rooms were secret chambers which were to store and hide grains when the British would come in demanding for taxes. Later, after Independence, it also became a place to hide people during the Communist struggle.
Communism ran high in our family. My grand mother was a strong supporter of the communist. It was strange that a village so remote, where electricity used to reach in trickle, was completely opinionated in its political stance. But as children it hardly mattered to us. We would enjoy sitting on the compound wall as huge processions of people wearing mundus (south indian dhoti’s) would march with red flags shouting loudly DYFI ZINDABAD, and we kids would jump up and down echoing Zindabad Zindabad! Shouting along with them used to give us a sense of power. The procession would last for more than 10 minutes with a sea of people walking in a line, their faces smeared with seriousness and determination.
Kannan, was our next door neighbor. Two years younger to me, he would tell me about the politics in school. He would tell me that SYFI was the student faction of the DYFI party. Apparently, there were more than one communist party in our state, which were led by two different leaders. These parties would help the students in their elections in school. He supported SUFI which stood for Students United Federation of India, because they used to give them 5 Rupees for shouting slogans in the procession other than tea and biscuits while the SYFI only offered Tea and biscuits. Kannan would be scolded and punished by his maternal uncle for all his pranks in school. Kannan being a staunch supporter of the communist party, it was not liked by his uncle who supported the Congress. He would whip his legs with a twig saying that he would land up as a naxalite, if he continued attending the rallies of the SUFI. His mother and sister would sob in the corner of the house as he scowled in pain.
Kannan's father had died an untimely death. One day when he was coming back from school, plucking a bunch of flowers on the way for his sister, he was shocked to see people crowding the gate outside his house. He ran into his house and saw his father lying still, wrapped around with a white cloth, with cottons stuffed in his nose and ears. He had taken his own life. His uncle had taken the responsibility of the family then. He left the army for the sake of his sister and decided to stay in the village and take care of her and her children.
His upbringing in the army bought in a martial rule. There was a strict discipline in the house and Kannan hated him for it. Suma, Kannan's sister and Kittu, my first cousin were best of friends. My parents were very fond of both Suma and Kannan as if they were from our own family. They were like family to us. Their relation with our family ran a few generations back. Kannan's grandmother and my grandmother were best of friends. They used to work for my grandmother in the fields, but the relationship of friendship surpassed that of the societal caste system and they became best friends. They were always together through thick and thin of things, and Kannan's grandmother considered us as her own grandchildren.
Kannan's mother, after her husbands death got her husbands job in the village office. But it was never easy for her. She had left school when she was in the Tenth standard, because she was getting married. So, after her husbands death, she had to go back to school, clear her exams and then go through college, after which she got the job of her husband so that she could support her family. She had a magic smile on her face that hid the pain in her eyes, and she lovingly cooked food for all of us when we came back from play on Sunday afternoons, completely exhausted. We would lie on the floor putting our head on her lap and she would stroke our hair lovingly and put us to sleep, as she fanned us with a newspaper on another hand. Their house, then never had electricity, and in the sultry hot summers, there was no house that was cooler than Sarla aunty’s house. The house was small, made of thatched roof and the floor smeared with cow-dung, that used to cool our heels, the moment we stepped in, from the hot courtyard. The doors were small in size and the elders had to bow down before they could enter. Directly opposite the entrance was the deity of Krishna in all its glory. My mother used to tell me that it was to make people bow down to God when they enter the house, that the door was so short. It was easy when I was 12, i could run past it without any effort, but later, as i grew older, there were many a times i banged my forehead on the lintel and fallen down with a swollen head.
This time, as i ran into meet Kannan’s grandmother, my forehead hit the lintel with such great force, i hardly remembered anything after that until I opened my eyes, to see myself surrounded by everyone in the family. Kittu, Kannan and Suma, Shaiju and Sita on either side of the bed. I had been asleep for an entire day. I was later told that i had lost a lot of blood and I was to take a lot of rest for an entire week.
‘How many days did he read the Bhagwad Gita in the battle field?’ Shaiju would ask innocently. Grandmother would then close the book and tell him that the Bhagwad Gita was recited by Krishna, to Arjuna, and it stands the test of time and rings true even in today’s world. In the midst of this story, my cousin, Kittu, would squirm and ask her to tell the stories of her childhood when the British ruled the land, she would tell us how they were to sing praises of the Queen in school. She would remember those days with fondness when she bought her first Saree for 8 annas. 8 annas! We would scream in despair, we hardly got two toffees in 8 annas!
My grandmother loved telling stories from her fond memories. Her husband, our grandfather, had died in an accident. Our house was on the main road. It was very narrow, but was one of the main roads in the country then, now called the NH17 highway. He was returning early from the temple after his bath when a car hit him. He died instantly. Those days in Kerala, my grandmother used to remember, there were so many women who had more than one marriage. Surprisingly, very distinct from other cultures, the society in Kerala was a matriarchal one. The women in the family wielded the power. The men usually shifted into the woman’s house after marriage, unlike now. And in particular castes of the carpenters, who used to travel for years building temples and palaces, when they would come back to the house and see an umbrella outside their house, they would know, their wives are theirs no more, and that they are married to another man. But my grandmother never married again.
When we asked her ‘Why?’ She would smile and tell us, ‘One day you will know, Why!’
Our house in Pariyaram was a huge one, with small little rooms. Each room had another room within, which my mother used to tell me, were places to store food, since agriculture was our main occupation. In many rooms were secret chambers which were to store and hide grains when the British would come in demanding for taxes. Later, after Independence, it also became a place to hide people during the Communist struggle.
Communism ran high in our family. My grand mother was a strong supporter of the communist. It was strange that a village so remote, where electricity used to reach in trickle, was completely opinionated in its political stance. But as children it hardly mattered to us. We would enjoy sitting on the compound wall as huge processions of people wearing mundus (south indian dhoti’s) would march with red flags shouting loudly DYFI ZINDABAD, and we kids would jump up and down echoing Zindabad Zindabad! Shouting along with them used to give us a sense of power. The procession would last for more than 10 minutes with a sea of people walking in a line, their faces smeared with seriousness and determination.
Kannan, was our next door neighbor. Two years younger to me, he would tell me about the politics in school. He would tell me that SYFI was the student faction of the DYFI party. Apparently, there were more than one communist party in our state, which were led by two different leaders. These parties would help the students in their elections in school. He supported SUFI which stood for Students United Federation of India, because they used to give them 5 Rupees for shouting slogans in the procession other than tea and biscuits while the SYFI only offered Tea and biscuits. Kannan would be scolded and punished by his maternal uncle for all his pranks in school. Kannan being a staunch supporter of the communist party, it was not liked by his uncle who supported the Congress. He would whip his legs with a twig saying that he would land up as a naxalite, if he continued attending the rallies of the SUFI. His mother and sister would sob in the corner of the house as he scowled in pain.
Kannan's father had died an untimely death. One day when he was coming back from school, plucking a bunch of flowers on the way for his sister, he was shocked to see people crowding the gate outside his house. He ran into his house and saw his father lying still, wrapped around with a white cloth, with cottons stuffed in his nose and ears. He had taken his own life. His uncle had taken the responsibility of the family then. He left the army for the sake of his sister and decided to stay in the village and take care of her and her children.
His upbringing in the army bought in a martial rule. There was a strict discipline in the house and Kannan hated him for it. Suma, Kannan's sister and Kittu, my first cousin were best of friends. My parents were very fond of both Suma and Kannan as if they were from our own family. They were like family to us. Their relation with our family ran a few generations back. Kannan's grandmother and my grandmother were best of friends. They used to work for my grandmother in the fields, but the relationship of friendship surpassed that of the societal caste system and they became best friends. They were always together through thick and thin of things, and Kannan's grandmother considered us as her own grandchildren.
Kannan's mother, after her husbands death got her husbands job in the village office. But it was never easy for her. She had left school when she was in the Tenth standard, because she was getting married. So, after her husbands death, she had to go back to school, clear her exams and then go through college, after which she got the job of her husband so that she could support her family. She had a magic smile on her face that hid the pain in her eyes, and she lovingly cooked food for all of us when we came back from play on Sunday afternoons, completely exhausted. We would lie on the floor putting our head on her lap and she would stroke our hair lovingly and put us to sleep, as she fanned us with a newspaper on another hand. Their house, then never had electricity, and in the sultry hot summers, there was no house that was cooler than Sarla aunty’s house. The house was small, made of thatched roof and the floor smeared with cow-dung, that used to cool our heels, the moment we stepped in, from the hot courtyard. The doors were small in size and the elders had to bow down before they could enter. Directly opposite the entrance was the deity of Krishna in all its glory. My mother used to tell me that it was to make people bow down to God when they enter the house, that the door was so short. It was easy when I was 12, i could run past it without any effort, but later, as i grew older, there were many a times i banged my forehead on the lintel and fallen down with a swollen head.
This time, as i ran into meet Kannan’s grandmother, my forehead hit the lintel with such great force, i hardly remembered anything after that until I opened my eyes, to see myself surrounded by everyone in the family. Kittu, Kannan and Suma, Shaiju and Sita on either side of the bed. I had been asleep for an entire day. I was later told that i had lost a lot of blood and I was to take a lot of rest for an entire week.
The Summer of '82 - Chapter 1
I woke up in a startle. It was dark when i looked around. Far on the other side of the room, i could see two neon needles. The shorter one was close to the number 5 and the longer one marking the number 2. Under normal circumstances i always woke up when the shorter needle pointed to 9, but today was an exception. Today was the day when we left for my hometown, Kerala. My heart was beating with a loud thump. The larger needle hardly moved. It moved taking its own time. A light peeped out of the door, with hushed sounds. With sleep no longer holding my eye, i got up and moved to the light.
My mother was awake, there were a 100 utensils spread over the kota platform, with two utensils steaming on the burner of the gas stove. She hurriedly like a master craftsman cut the vegetables, dropped it into the steaming vessel, took out a handful of salt and dropped it into the other vessel, while my father sat next to the table spreading little cut banana leaves and putting rice on it with pickle. I looked in awe at my mom working with breakneck speed. She was super-mom to me. When she saw me awake, she rushed me to the wash basin, put tooth paste on the brush and left me on a short stool, so that i could reach out easily to the basin and spit at my own will. I loved the taste of the paste and i kept chewing on the brush as the clatter of the steel utensils against each other made an irritable sound. I felt a tug on my shorts. My sister looked at me with sleepy eyes. She was awake too. After i chewed my brush for five minutes, i hoisted her on the stool and put the paste on her small little funny brush and she started chewing on it. My younger brother was fast asleep. He slept like a log. My father used to tell me that even if there was a bomb blast, he would not wake up, such was his deep slumber.
As i walked into the kitchen again, my mother thrust a glass full of milk in my hand.
‘Here, drink this full’ and kept another glass of milk and covered it with a smaller plate ‘and this is for Sita, make sure she does not pour it down the washbasin’ she said ‘And wake up Shaiju, he will take ever to wake up, we might miss the train.’
My father got up and went into the living room where he snored. ‘SHAIJU’ he called out. It was a short shout, a shout that sounded louder than when he talked and a little lesser than when he was angry. It had its desiring effect. He shot up from his sleep, sitting upright, blinking his eyes as if he was never asleep. He woke up and walked briskly to the stool and pulled down Sita and hoisted himself on to it. Sita, in the midst of her brushing started crying, dropping the foamy toothpaste all over the floor. My brother and she were always at loggerheads. There was an invisible love-hate relationship between them. They would fight during the day and even in the middle of the night, i could hear them talking and shouting at each other, though their eyes were closed.
My dad intervened and my brother had to give up his throne to the wash basin while my sister had a smile on her face that pronounced victory over him. Sulking, he stood on the side mumbling in anger. This was not unusual in our household. My sister was the youngest, and the apple of every eye in our family, I was the eldest, elder to Shaiju. My brother was stuck between both of us. He always felt lost most of the time. Being the middle brother, he always felt that he was loved lesser than my sister and I. He would never challenge me and if he had a fight with me, my sister would face the wrath of his anger. Our relationship was a complex one, but in those days, the complexities never mattered to us. Our life was completely immersed in the present, not knowing that these were the years that mattered the most, in developing a growing mind.
Later as we sat in the train and the landscaped moved past in blurred color palettes, we thought of the wonderful days that were awaiting us, the mango trees, ripe jackfruits, the open rice fields, elanneer (fresh coconut water) and our adventures into the near by forest which we had named ‘Rakshasvan’ mainly because of the weird noises which came from the south at the advent of stars in the night.
My mother was awake, there were a 100 utensils spread over the kota platform, with two utensils steaming on the burner of the gas stove. She hurriedly like a master craftsman cut the vegetables, dropped it into the steaming vessel, took out a handful of salt and dropped it into the other vessel, while my father sat next to the table spreading little cut banana leaves and putting rice on it with pickle. I looked in awe at my mom working with breakneck speed. She was super-mom to me. When she saw me awake, she rushed me to the wash basin, put tooth paste on the brush and left me on a short stool, so that i could reach out easily to the basin and spit at my own will. I loved the taste of the paste and i kept chewing on the brush as the clatter of the steel utensils against each other made an irritable sound. I felt a tug on my shorts. My sister looked at me with sleepy eyes. She was awake too. After i chewed my brush for five minutes, i hoisted her on the stool and put the paste on her small little funny brush and she started chewing on it. My younger brother was fast asleep. He slept like a log. My father used to tell me that even if there was a bomb blast, he would not wake up, such was his deep slumber.
As i walked into the kitchen again, my mother thrust a glass full of milk in my hand.
‘Here, drink this full’ and kept another glass of milk and covered it with a smaller plate ‘and this is for Sita, make sure she does not pour it down the washbasin’ she said ‘And wake up Shaiju, he will take ever to wake up, we might miss the train.’
My father got up and went into the living room where he snored. ‘SHAIJU’ he called out. It was a short shout, a shout that sounded louder than when he talked and a little lesser than when he was angry. It had its desiring effect. He shot up from his sleep, sitting upright, blinking his eyes as if he was never asleep. He woke up and walked briskly to the stool and pulled down Sita and hoisted himself on to it. Sita, in the midst of her brushing started crying, dropping the foamy toothpaste all over the floor. My brother and she were always at loggerheads. There was an invisible love-hate relationship between them. They would fight during the day and even in the middle of the night, i could hear them talking and shouting at each other, though their eyes were closed.
My dad intervened and my brother had to give up his throne to the wash basin while my sister had a smile on her face that pronounced victory over him. Sulking, he stood on the side mumbling in anger. This was not unusual in our household. My sister was the youngest, and the apple of every eye in our family, I was the eldest, elder to Shaiju. My brother was stuck between both of us. He always felt lost most of the time. Being the middle brother, he always felt that he was loved lesser than my sister and I. He would never challenge me and if he had a fight with me, my sister would face the wrath of his anger. Our relationship was a complex one, but in those days, the complexities never mattered to us. Our life was completely immersed in the present, not knowing that these were the years that mattered the most, in developing a growing mind.
Later as we sat in the train and the landscaped moved past in blurred color palettes, we thought of the wonderful days that were awaiting us, the mango trees, ripe jackfruits, the open rice fields, elanneer (fresh coconut water) and our adventures into the near by forest which we had named ‘Rakshasvan’ mainly because of the weird noises which came from the south at the advent of stars in the night.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Sunday, September 23, 2007
The Blunder Years - Thank you
Thank you all for your reactions and kind words. I truly appreciate it. I think i can count the amount of readers on this blog on my fingers. I would like to thank each one of you.
@ Cuckoo, thank you so much for your kind words and smileys...
@ mandeepsg, thank you so much, i could see from your comments that you felt for the characters in the story. The appreciation and concern you had for the characters truly touched my heart.
@ annie, thanks to you too. I could see how you felt when Sheena died and left Romeil alone. That was one of the most difficult decisions while writing the story, to kill a character, but sheena going out of the story is a metaphor, the pain which Romeil feel through his life, but the key to this aspect to the story is that, people leave, they dont die. death is only a concept. A person is dead when one stops feeling for the person who has left.
and to
@ sigma: she was in hibernation for long and then like a strong wind comes in and reads the entire story in two days!!! I think thats the best compliment i have ever got!
Thank you so much and really appreciate it.
OK. Now for the good news and the bad news.
The good news:
A publisher friend of mine went through the story. The first thing he wanted me to do is take it off the blog if it has to be considered for publishing.
The bad news: The blunder years story will remain online till the end of this month that is 30th of September 2007.
I truly appreciate all your time dedicated to reading these stories and commenting on them.... Thank you so much...
@ Cuckoo, thank you so much for your kind words and smileys...
@ mandeepsg, thank you so much, i could see from your comments that you felt for the characters in the story. The appreciation and concern you had for the characters truly touched my heart.
@ annie, thanks to you too. I could see how you felt when Sheena died and left Romeil alone. That was one of the most difficult decisions while writing the story, to kill a character, but sheena going out of the story is a metaphor, the pain which Romeil feel through his life, but the key to this aspect to the story is that, people leave, they dont die. death is only a concept. A person is dead when one stops feeling for the person who has left.
and to
@ sigma: she was in hibernation for long and then like a strong wind comes in and reads the entire story in two days!!! I think thats the best compliment i have ever got!
Thank you so much and really appreciate it.
OK. Now for the good news and the bad news.
The good news:
A publisher friend of mine went through the story. The first thing he wanted me to do is take it off the blog if it has to be considered for publishing.
The bad news: The blunder years story will remain online till the end of this month that is 30th of September 2007.
I truly appreciate all your time dedicated to reading these stories and commenting on them.... Thank you so much...
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
An Extinguished Flame
She slammed the door of her Santro car and sped off. I was always scared when she did that. Unassumingly a very good driver for a woman, she drove rashly when she was angry. I was afraid that she might hurt someone for no fault of theirs. The fault would be entirely mine. It was because of me that she was angry. It was because of me that she was so upset. But I had no choice. Marriage after all is not child’s play. She knew it, I knew it, and love has got nothing to do with it. Our story was like straight out of a Bollywood film. Minus the song and dance. She was from a rich family, I was from a middle class family. I was a struggling musician, she was a highly paid professional in an MNC. We met at college and I fell in love. Flat on my face. I never recovered from that fall. A courtship of nine years had passed and we had gone ahead a long way in our lives. I left studies in the last year and joined a rock band. We were quite pathetic. All our fragile egos bought the band to the rocks. Nevertheless I have been trying since then to make a mark in the field. People were making enough money in this field doing dirty to mediocre music. I hated it. Remixes and more remixes were the order of the day. These people would take up some wonderful R D Burman track and rape it. Into shreds. I wondered why there was no death penalty for rape. If there was, half the music industry would be cleansed of this curse called remix. I hated myself to be born in this era. Nothing made any sense. Plagiarism was at its helm. And a reasonably sensible musician like me was struggling for a job. A la Amir Khan in Akele Hum akele Tum, another plagiarized version of Frazer v/s Frazer.
I was left standing alone on the sea face, without a job, without my girl who always stood like a Rock of Gibraltar whenever I was in the dumps. But now she has left me too. The salty air sprayed on to my face as the lashes hit the boulders on the promenade. Wonderful golden lights lit up the street and the buildings far away. The lights glittered like gold sprinkled around the landscape. I walked towards the bus stop to catch a bus back home. I usually went back home quite late when everyone was asleep. If I reached early I would have to hear from my dad how worthless I was. I was 32, still staying with my parents and not contributing anything to my family, while my younger brother was earning a handsome package working at a call center. My life sucked and when things go wrong, you are worse than a sucker. I felt like running towards the sea and drowning myself of shame, but suicide needs courage. And that is something, somehow I lacked.
I got into the almost empty BEST bus. Only an old man sat in one corner. He looked at me and smiled, his smile extending from one ear to another without a single tooth. I took my ticket and looked outside. The empty landscape of the city reminded me of the emptiness in myself. I was good for nothing. I had proved my dad right. Sonia too must have realized it by now. I was alone, all alone. The bus stopped and I saw the old man getting off. The bus was now completely empty, just like my head. As the bus sped away at top speeds on the empty road, the metal handles hanging from the bar above rattled making a lot of noise, just like my head. Soon the bus reached the last stop. The conductor yelled out at me to get off. I turned around and headed for the exit. An old torn wallet lay on the floor. I looked around for the conductor, there was no one around. I wondered whether I should give it to the conductor, but I hesitated. I did not trust them. What if they took the money and threw away the wallet. It would never reach the owner. I put it in my pocket and walked home.
I slid in the keys slowly into the keyhole and turned it, unlatching the door. My youngest brother was already snoring away to glory; my younger brother was talking away to glory at the call center. I lay the bed on the floor and lied down. There was no sleep in my eyes, only tears, and memories of the wonderful times with my Sonia. The streetlight filtered into the room from the window. I went and sat down in the light. Removing the purse from the pocket, I decided to find out, whose wallet it was. Maybe it was the old man who smiled at me in the bus while I was too immersed in my thoughts to respond to him. Maybe it was somebody else who had got off before I got into the bus. I probed into the wallet. There were hardly any money. Twenty two rupees to be exact. I searched the other crevices. There was a piece of paper and some coupons, some cinema tickets that were hardly readable. There was no address of the owner. I opened the piece of paper that was folded neatly. The paper was fragile and could have easily fallen into pieces. Carefully, I opened it and laid it out on the floor.
It read
Dear Ram,
Today is one of the most difficult days of my life. When I look behind, there are only fond memories of you that I keep in my heart. You made my life special. You gave a new meaning to my existence. Till you came into my life, I thought I was living a beautiful life. But it was when you came walking into my house that things changed forever. I am fortunate that I loved you. I am unfortunate that I loved you, for our love will never be complete. This world is too short sighted to see us love and live together. For me there is only one religion, the religion of love, but there are so many other things that in life we do not have control over. I call it fate. People call it destiny. I have belief in our love, but not in myself.
I write this letter because I do not have the strength to face you. Please do not hate me for what I am doing. This is the best for both of us. Why should our love for each other deny us of the love others bring to our lives. Let everyone around us be happy. If everyone around us is happy, we would be happy.
I know you would understand. Unrequited love lives forever.
I will always love you,
Marianne
23rd July 1953
I looked into the sky from the window. The sky was clear and deep. Somehow, the letter looked like a clue for my life from heaven. I read through the letter again and again. It looked like a story straight from the time of Raj Kapoor. A tragic love story. The tragedy looked bigger than mine. I lay sleepless in the bed through the night. In the morning I pretended I was asleep as I heard my father curse me as he left to work. My brother cursed me as he came back from work. Once I knew the coast was clear I got up and brushed my teeth. My mother kept telling me it was not a bad idea to join the call center. After all, I would be earning something. Today any Tom, Dick and Harry could get through to a call center. But I believed that it would make me brain dead. I quickly gulped an egg sandwich, took my mobile off the charger and left for the stop where the old man had got down the previous night. There was no other clue. Just a wallet and a slight memory of the toothless smile. I had a hunch it had to be the old man. My mobile had not rung since morning. It felt like a lonely day. Not a single day had passed in the past nine years without a morning call from Sonia. Not a single SMS.
I got down at the stop. There was a slight commotion at the bus stop. People were bashing up an eve teaser. I walked a little away from the bus stop. The bus stop reminded me of my school days. Our school was a five minute walk from this bus stop. The trees around the compound of the girls school bought in fond memories of the good time we had. An old age home separated the boys school from the girls school. Every time we passed by the old age home, eager old people used to wave out to us. The joy that they achieved while they saw us wave back was fantastic. I had a clue there. Maybe that old man was from the same old age home. But that was only one in a million chance. But nevertheless, I had nothing to lose and nothing to do.
I entered the building.
An old woman sat at the desk with two other older women. As they noticed me enter, they stopped abruptly and stared at me.
“May, I help you young man?” the slightly younger lady stood up and spoke in a stern voice.
“I am looking for someone named Ram. Does he live here?” I asked.
“What is his full name?”
“Well, I don’t know, but I found this yesterday in the bus” I said taking out the lost wallet and handing it over to her “I had spotted an old man getting down in the night yesterday at the bus stop, so I took a chance.”
“Oh Ram? you have got his wallet? He was so concerned he lost it.” The old lady’s voice turning cheerful and more welcoming. “I thought you had come to enquire about another enrollment.”
“Enrollment?” I was not clear what it meant. “Doesn’t matter dear, It is so nice of you to bring his wallet back. He was so tense, he did not sleep last night. He has gone to the Bus depot looking for it” she said.
“Don’t worry, I will give it to him, son” she confirmed.
“Can I wait for him?” I could not help myself from asking. The other two women kept staring at me. The stares made me slightly uncomfortable. So I thought it would be wiser to come back a while later. “Can I come a while later?” I asked the old lady.
“Sure Son!” she replied.
I got off the gates and looked back. The school had just left. The road was filled with kids. I turned to look on to the windows. It was filled with old people waving out to the kids and the kids waving back at them. One thing that never changed. For me, it looked as if it were the same old people I used to wave out as a child.
I reached the stop nearby. A light little music filled the air. The sound of the wind that flowed through a pipe had an immense effect on my heart. I followed the trail. Around the corner there was a municipal garden filled with couples canoodling in the shades avoiding the stark hot sun. Below a tree that was in the middle of the garden was an old man selling flutes, playing the flute. I went close to him and sat down. He continued unperturbed, his eyes closed. The tune was of an old song from a hindi film, which spoke about loss of love. All these things seemed connected. I had just lost out on my girl, my love. I get a wallet that has a love letter that dated back to 1953 and here is a man playing a flute of a song that spoke about loss of love. Did this mean that the world was full of lost love? The pain of the song could be felt in the deepest corners of my heart…
… to be continued
I was left standing alone on the sea face, without a job, without my girl who always stood like a Rock of Gibraltar whenever I was in the dumps. But now she has left me too. The salty air sprayed on to my face as the lashes hit the boulders on the promenade. Wonderful golden lights lit up the street and the buildings far away. The lights glittered like gold sprinkled around the landscape. I walked towards the bus stop to catch a bus back home. I usually went back home quite late when everyone was asleep. If I reached early I would have to hear from my dad how worthless I was. I was 32, still staying with my parents and not contributing anything to my family, while my younger brother was earning a handsome package working at a call center. My life sucked and when things go wrong, you are worse than a sucker. I felt like running towards the sea and drowning myself of shame, but suicide needs courage. And that is something, somehow I lacked.
I got into the almost empty BEST bus. Only an old man sat in one corner. He looked at me and smiled, his smile extending from one ear to another without a single tooth. I took my ticket and looked outside. The empty landscape of the city reminded me of the emptiness in myself. I was good for nothing. I had proved my dad right. Sonia too must have realized it by now. I was alone, all alone. The bus stopped and I saw the old man getting off. The bus was now completely empty, just like my head. As the bus sped away at top speeds on the empty road, the metal handles hanging from the bar above rattled making a lot of noise, just like my head. Soon the bus reached the last stop. The conductor yelled out at me to get off. I turned around and headed for the exit. An old torn wallet lay on the floor. I looked around for the conductor, there was no one around. I wondered whether I should give it to the conductor, but I hesitated. I did not trust them. What if they took the money and threw away the wallet. It would never reach the owner. I put it in my pocket and walked home.
I slid in the keys slowly into the keyhole and turned it, unlatching the door. My youngest brother was already snoring away to glory; my younger brother was talking away to glory at the call center. I lay the bed on the floor and lied down. There was no sleep in my eyes, only tears, and memories of the wonderful times with my Sonia. The streetlight filtered into the room from the window. I went and sat down in the light. Removing the purse from the pocket, I decided to find out, whose wallet it was. Maybe it was the old man who smiled at me in the bus while I was too immersed in my thoughts to respond to him. Maybe it was somebody else who had got off before I got into the bus. I probed into the wallet. There were hardly any money. Twenty two rupees to be exact. I searched the other crevices. There was a piece of paper and some coupons, some cinema tickets that were hardly readable. There was no address of the owner. I opened the piece of paper that was folded neatly. The paper was fragile and could have easily fallen into pieces. Carefully, I opened it and laid it out on the floor.
It read
Dear Ram,
Today is one of the most difficult days of my life. When I look behind, there are only fond memories of you that I keep in my heart. You made my life special. You gave a new meaning to my existence. Till you came into my life, I thought I was living a beautiful life. But it was when you came walking into my house that things changed forever. I am fortunate that I loved you. I am unfortunate that I loved you, for our love will never be complete. This world is too short sighted to see us love and live together. For me there is only one religion, the religion of love, but there are so many other things that in life we do not have control over. I call it fate. People call it destiny. I have belief in our love, but not in myself.
I write this letter because I do not have the strength to face you. Please do not hate me for what I am doing. This is the best for both of us. Why should our love for each other deny us of the love others bring to our lives. Let everyone around us be happy. If everyone around us is happy, we would be happy.
I know you would understand. Unrequited love lives forever.
I will always love you,
Marianne
23rd July 1953
I looked into the sky from the window. The sky was clear and deep. Somehow, the letter looked like a clue for my life from heaven. I read through the letter again and again. It looked like a story straight from the time of Raj Kapoor. A tragic love story. The tragedy looked bigger than mine. I lay sleepless in the bed through the night. In the morning I pretended I was asleep as I heard my father curse me as he left to work. My brother cursed me as he came back from work. Once I knew the coast was clear I got up and brushed my teeth. My mother kept telling me it was not a bad idea to join the call center. After all, I would be earning something. Today any Tom, Dick and Harry could get through to a call center. But I believed that it would make me brain dead. I quickly gulped an egg sandwich, took my mobile off the charger and left for the stop where the old man had got down the previous night. There was no other clue. Just a wallet and a slight memory of the toothless smile. I had a hunch it had to be the old man. My mobile had not rung since morning. It felt like a lonely day. Not a single day had passed in the past nine years without a morning call from Sonia. Not a single SMS.
I got down at the stop. There was a slight commotion at the bus stop. People were bashing up an eve teaser. I walked a little away from the bus stop. The bus stop reminded me of my school days. Our school was a five minute walk from this bus stop. The trees around the compound of the girls school bought in fond memories of the good time we had. An old age home separated the boys school from the girls school. Every time we passed by the old age home, eager old people used to wave out to us. The joy that they achieved while they saw us wave back was fantastic. I had a clue there. Maybe that old man was from the same old age home. But that was only one in a million chance. But nevertheless, I had nothing to lose and nothing to do.
I entered the building.
An old woman sat at the desk with two other older women. As they noticed me enter, they stopped abruptly and stared at me.
“May, I help you young man?” the slightly younger lady stood up and spoke in a stern voice.
“I am looking for someone named Ram. Does he live here?” I asked.
“What is his full name?”
“Well, I don’t know, but I found this yesterday in the bus” I said taking out the lost wallet and handing it over to her “I had spotted an old man getting down in the night yesterday at the bus stop, so I took a chance.”
“Oh Ram? you have got his wallet? He was so concerned he lost it.” The old lady’s voice turning cheerful and more welcoming. “I thought you had come to enquire about another enrollment.”
“Enrollment?” I was not clear what it meant. “Doesn’t matter dear, It is so nice of you to bring his wallet back. He was so tense, he did not sleep last night. He has gone to the Bus depot looking for it” she said.
“Don’t worry, I will give it to him, son” she confirmed.
“Can I wait for him?” I could not help myself from asking. The other two women kept staring at me. The stares made me slightly uncomfortable. So I thought it would be wiser to come back a while later. “Can I come a while later?” I asked the old lady.
“Sure Son!” she replied.
I got off the gates and looked back. The school had just left. The road was filled with kids. I turned to look on to the windows. It was filled with old people waving out to the kids and the kids waving back at them. One thing that never changed. For me, it looked as if it were the same old people I used to wave out as a child.
I reached the stop nearby. A light little music filled the air. The sound of the wind that flowed through a pipe had an immense effect on my heart. I followed the trail. Around the corner there was a municipal garden filled with couples canoodling in the shades avoiding the stark hot sun. Below a tree that was in the middle of the garden was an old man selling flutes, playing the flute. I went close to him and sat down. He continued unperturbed, his eyes closed. The tune was of an old song from a hindi film, which spoke about loss of love. All these things seemed connected. I had just lost out on my girl, my love. I get a wallet that has a love letter that dated back to 1953 and here is a man playing a flute of a song that spoke about loss of love. Did this mean that the world was full of lost love? The pain of the song could be felt in the deepest corners of my heart…
… to be continued
Saturday, January 13, 2007
A new life
I opened my eyes. There was light. As the blur left its way for sharp images, I realized the figure of Sia staring at me.
She had tears in her eyes.
“How are you?” she asked.
“Fantastic, shall we dance?” I said
“Shut up! You don’t know how to dance!”
“Well, I can try!”
“Pranay..”
“Yes…”
“Shut up”
“OK”
“I thought I would loose you”
“I thought I lost you”
“I think we are pretty much lost people anyways!”
“Did I hurt you?”
“Yes you did”
“I am sorry”
“I am not”
“Will you marry me?”
“No”
“Would you mind if I keep asking you this, till the end of our life?”
“You will keep asking this question for the rest of your life?”
“Even when you are 75, and don’t have a single teeth in your mouth, I would still love you and marry you!”
“You are crazy!”
“What will we name our kids?”
“We wont have any kids”
“If it is a boy, we will call him Aryan, but I would prefer to have a girl child”
“We will call her Ananya”
“I will take Aryan for fishing”
“They will be vegetarian”
“O.K. we will leave the fish into the water after catching it”
“Can we keep a dog?”
“You already have a dog!”
“No I don’t!”
“Bow wow”
I held her hand. It was the first time I ever touched her. I felt at peace. In the car, I thought God wanted to take away my life. I was wrong. He wanted to give me life.
She had tears in her eyes.
“How are you?” she asked.
“Fantastic, shall we dance?” I said
“Shut up! You don’t know how to dance!”
“Well, I can try!”
“Pranay..”
“Yes…”
“Shut up”
“OK”
“I thought I would loose you”
“I thought I lost you”
“I think we are pretty much lost people anyways!”
“Did I hurt you?”
“Yes you did”
“I am sorry”
“I am not”
“Will you marry me?”
“No”
“Would you mind if I keep asking you this, till the end of our life?”
“You will keep asking this question for the rest of your life?”
“Even when you are 75, and don’t have a single teeth in your mouth, I would still love you and marry you!”
“You are crazy!”
“What will we name our kids?”
“We wont have any kids”
“If it is a boy, we will call him Aryan, but I would prefer to have a girl child”
“We will call her Ananya”
“I will take Aryan for fishing”
“They will be vegetarian”
“O.K. we will leave the fish into the water after catching it”
“Can we keep a dog?”
“You already have a dog!”
“No I don’t!”
“Bow wow”
I held her hand. It was the first time I ever touched her. I felt at peace. In the car, I thought God wanted to take away my life. I was wrong. He wanted to give me life.
Friday, January 12, 2007
A life for a life
The sound of traffic had filled the entire environment with a sense of urgency. The sound of police vans and ambulance echoed in the distance as I hid myself between the unfinished beams of the flyover. I was sweating as if it was a mid afternoon heat of may. The perspiration trickled down my face to drip at the chin. My forearm that brushed against the sulphur coated steel reinforcement was bleeding. My heart was beating at an abnormal rate. My ears warm with blood filled earlobes cooling down as I waited with abated breath. I had to abandon the place as soon as possible. The revolver I had with me had three bullets less. I do not know if the bullet had found its way into the ribs of the man I intended to shoot, but a little miscalculation had led to an accident and caused a car to overturn into the construction site nearby. Sitting on the concrete boulders, I pushed the little revolver into the little cavity that formed with the multitudes of garbage piled with concrete blocks. It was a safe place to keep the revolver. ‘No one will ever find it’ I thought to myself. I took a pile of slimy garbage from nearby and covered the cavity. The money must have reached the hospital.
‘Surili deserves to live. What else am I living for?’ I told myself. I looked around. I picked up some empty cola bottles. If I was caught, I could tell them I was searching for cola bottles, I would sell them to make some money for dinner. Grabbing the bottles, I left the place.
As I left the place, the fire fighters were dragging out the car. The man was bleeding, someone said in the crowd. He might not survive. The other man was dead. He was dead on the spot. The bullet had pierced where his heart was. I know God will never forgive me for taking lives of the people I hardly knew. But God was not fair with me either. Why Surili, of all people? Why did she get the disease that was born out of my mistakes? I was ready to fight God. He had to be fair, at least to a child of three years who did not know what life was all about!
The train journey to the station was filled with anxiety. With every police man passing by, I would think he already knew that I had committed a murder. So I walked looking down on the feet below. Why did I have to come from the little village? Wasn’t it better living in the village without a dream than leaving everything behind? I was on the brink of loosing everything that I had, my daughter. Had I not come to this city, neither would I have gone and….
My wife died a month ago. We were childhood sweethearts. She was the daughter of the neighbouring farmer. During our childhood, we used to pack food for our father and take it to the fields in the noon. We used to play in the fields till the evening. In the evening I would swim in the nearby river with my other friends. Later, when we grew up she was about to get married to a man from the nearby village. She got married and left. There was little I could do.
Soon she returned. Her in-laws had abandoned her. The dowry was not paid in full. Her father died and I took it on myself to marry her. We got married soon. Her father had taken many debts to pay for the dowry. The fields did not pay much for repaying the loan. I set my foot on the soils of Bombay.
The first few weeks I lived on the footpath, searching for food, begging for work. One day, finally I got a job in a bar. A dance bar, where women danced as rich men threw the money on them. It was a nice job, I could get food for atleast one time a day. They used to offer food for all their employees in the night. That is when I became a friend of a bar dancer. She used to dance amazingly to the tunes of Mehbooba… She reminded me of Helen. She was in love with me, she said. One night, when it was late and I was tired, my reasoning left my mind. In her I saw my wife. But it was an illusion that the alcohol had offered my vision.
I regretted it and never ever went back to her again. I got a job in a different bar. I asked my wife to join me, thinking her presence would keep me away from the evils of an empty mind. Here, in the new home, it was a safe place. I had rented a little room in Dr. Ambedkar Colony. At the least, she would not be hounded by the evil money lenders of the village. Soon we had a little child. Her laughter used to fill the house with a sweet lyrical sound. We named her Surili. She became our world.
One day, my wife got a flu. We went to the doctor. He gave some medicines, but she did not improve. A blood test followed. She might not be able to survive, the doctor said. He asked me to give a test. Why was he asking me to give a test when my wife was not well? Hesitantly I gave the test. The doctor said that I had a grave disease, it might have gone to my daughter too!
How could it happen? The doctor was fooling me. I went to another doctor. He said the same thing. I needed money for her treatment. I went to the bar owner. But destiny had something else for me. Dance bars were closed – forever. A politician wanted to play the moral police of the city. The owner of my dance bar had left for Dubai. I went everywhere for help, but nowhere did I get any. One day when I reached home, Surili was laughing and playing on the bed next to her mother who had stopped breathing.
A couple of weeks later, Surili got a cold. There was no money with me. I went to the same doctor. He asked me to take Surili’s blood test. I did not have the money. The doctor gave me some money and asked me to take the test. After the test, he said that Surili has the disease, he dreaded. ‘We need to shift her to the I.C.U. I will arrange for some money, but it will be 2000 short’. Where will I get Rs.2000, I thought to myself. I broke down in the hospital.
A nice man came to me and took me to a nearby canteen. He said he had heard my story. He could arrange for the 2000 rupees if I did his work. He was a nice man. ‘The job is simple’ he said. He handed me over a packet. It had rs. 1000 and a revolver. ‘It is loaded’ he said. ‘You just have to press the trigger’ he said. I will stop near an Opel car and knock on the door, you will see this man’ he pulled out a photograph of a man in a black suit. “Aim the gun at him and pull the trigger. After that just run. The remaining money for the treatment will reach the hospital, even before you reach here.” he said.
I did not know what to say. ‘I can help you if I want to, but you seem to be a self made person, a person who wont take any favors, that is why. Think about it’
I had lost my wife. Surili was the only person I had in my life. I had to do it for her. If it meant it was to sacrifice somebody else’s life. The man was already heading to the entrance gate of the hospital. I ran behind him.
‘I will do it. I will do anything’ I told him.
What a grave thing to do? Wont that man who died have a daughter or a son? Wont he have a wife at home, waiting for him? But Surili’s life was at stake. What kind of a father would I be, had I not done anything to save my daughters life! I reached the hospital. The place was buzzing with activity. I went to the enquiry. I asked about my daughter. A nurse came next to me. She said they tried, but there was nothing they could do.
She was asking for me in the last minutes of her life, the nurse said.
What have I done?
‘Surili deserves to live. What else am I living for?’ I told myself. I looked around. I picked up some empty cola bottles. If I was caught, I could tell them I was searching for cola bottles, I would sell them to make some money for dinner. Grabbing the bottles, I left the place.
As I left the place, the fire fighters were dragging out the car. The man was bleeding, someone said in the crowd. He might not survive. The other man was dead. He was dead on the spot. The bullet had pierced where his heart was. I know God will never forgive me for taking lives of the people I hardly knew. But God was not fair with me either. Why Surili, of all people? Why did she get the disease that was born out of my mistakes? I was ready to fight God. He had to be fair, at least to a child of three years who did not know what life was all about!
The train journey to the station was filled with anxiety. With every police man passing by, I would think he already knew that I had committed a murder. So I walked looking down on the feet below. Why did I have to come from the little village? Wasn’t it better living in the village without a dream than leaving everything behind? I was on the brink of loosing everything that I had, my daughter. Had I not come to this city, neither would I have gone and….
My wife died a month ago. We were childhood sweethearts. She was the daughter of the neighbouring farmer. During our childhood, we used to pack food for our father and take it to the fields in the noon. We used to play in the fields till the evening. In the evening I would swim in the nearby river with my other friends. Later, when we grew up she was about to get married to a man from the nearby village. She got married and left. There was little I could do.
Soon she returned. Her in-laws had abandoned her. The dowry was not paid in full. Her father died and I took it on myself to marry her. We got married soon. Her father had taken many debts to pay for the dowry. The fields did not pay much for repaying the loan. I set my foot on the soils of Bombay.
The first few weeks I lived on the footpath, searching for food, begging for work. One day, finally I got a job in a bar. A dance bar, where women danced as rich men threw the money on them. It was a nice job, I could get food for atleast one time a day. They used to offer food for all their employees in the night. That is when I became a friend of a bar dancer. She used to dance amazingly to the tunes of Mehbooba… She reminded me of Helen. She was in love with me, she said. One night, when it was late and I was tired, my reasoning left my mind. In her I saw my wife. But it was an illusion that the alcohol had offered my vision.
I regretted it and never ever went back to her again. I got a job in a different bar. I asked my wife to join me, thinking her presence would keep me away from the evils of an empty mind. Here, in the new home, it was a safe place. I had rented a little room in Dr. Ambedkar Colony. At the least, she would not be hounded by the evil money lenders of the village. Soon we had a little child. Her laughter used to fill the house with a sweet lyrical sound. We named her Surili. She became our world.
One day, my wife got a flu. We went to the doctor. He gave some medicines, but she did not improve. A blood test followed. She might not be able to survive, the doctor said. He asked me to give a test. Why was he asking me to give a test when my wife was not well? Hesitantly I gave the test. The doctor said that I had a grave disease, it might have gone to my daughter too!
How could it happen? The doctor was fooling me. I went to another doctor. He said the same thing. I needed money for her treatment. I went to the bar owner. But destiny had something else for me. Dance bars were closed – forever. A politician wanted to play the moral police of the city. The owner of my dance bar had left for Dubai. I went everywhere for help, but nowhere did I get any. One day when I reached home, Surili was laughing and playing on the bed next to her mother who had stopped breathing.
A couple of weeks later, Surili got a cold. There was no money with me. I went to the same doctor. He asked me to take Surili’s blood test. I did not have the money. The doctor gave me some money and asked me to take the test. After the test, he said that Surili has the disease, he dreaded. ‘We need to shift her to the I.C.U. I will arrange for some money, but it will be 2000 short’. Where will I get Rs.2000, I thought to myself. I broke down in the hospital.
A nice man came to me and took me to a nearby canteen. He said he had heard my story. He could arrange for the 2000 rupees if I did his work. He was a nice man. ‘The job is simple’ he said. He handed me over a packet. It had rs. 1000 and a revolver. ‘It is loaded’ he said. ‘You just have to press the trigger’ he said. I will stop near an Opel car and knock on the door, you will see this man’ he pulled out a photograph of a man in a black suit. “Aim the gun at him and pull the trigger. After that just run. The remaining money for the treatment will reach the hospital, even before you reach here.” he said.
I did not know what to say. ‘I can help you if I want to, but you seem to be a self made person, a person who wont take any favors, that is why. Think about it’
I had lost my wife. Surili was the only person I had in my life. I had to do it for her. If it meant it was to sacrifice somebody else’s life. The man was already heading to the entrance gate of the hospital. I ran behind him.
‘I will do it. I will do anything’ I told him.
What a grave thing to do? Wont that man who died have a daughter or a son? Wont he have a wife at home, waiting for him? But Surili’s life was at stake. What kind of a father would I be, had I not done anything to save my daughters life! I reached the hospital. The place was buzzing with activity. I went to the enquiry. I asked about my daughter. A nurse came next to me. She said they tried, but there was nothing they could do.
She was asking for me in the last minutes of her life, the nurse said.
What have I done?
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
My first date
It is my first date. I am pretty nervous. I have never been mesmerized by a beauty so pure ever before. Her small eyes, pure and deep black eyes keep haunting every moment ever since I met her. Love was about loving the most irritating things about her. I hated looking into her eyes. I would keep searching for myself, but always in vain. But there was something about her. I loved her eyes. They are so deep and so mysterious, as if there is a huge universe to be explored. I had to tell her about my feelings today. I wanted to waste no time in spending each possible moment with her. So I got a bouquet and some chocolates. Women love chocolates, my friends told me. So I grabbed a Roche and headed for “The Gossip Mongers” café. We were to meet there at 8. It was 7.30 and I was ready for my date. I sat in my car and kept mumbling trying to tell her how much I was in love with her. As the watch ticked close to eight my heart started beating faster. There she was, walking towards the café. She went in and then walked out. Seeing this beautiful lady in front of me, I was almost sure, I would have a seizure. But the phone rang with a sweet tune that was meant to be her call. I saw her through the wind screen. I picked up the phone.
Hello?
Where are you?
Just parking my car. Where are you?
I am at the café. Come right in.
O.K.
Cya.
Beep. Beep.
I took my breath in and headed to the café with the bouquet and the pack of chocolates. She was sitting looking towards her mobile, as if irritated. I took the flowers and offered it to her as she stared at the mobile phone. A smile crossed her face.
Thanks. They are beautiful.
Not as much as you.
That is so sweet.
No. This is sweet.
I handed the box of chocolates to her.
Oh God! You did not have to get all these things, frankly.
I thought you would like it.
I like it Harsh, but it is just so formal.
Sorry for being so formal. I am like this, you know. With all these corporate bull shit in life, I tend to be such in every aspect of my personal life. I should learn to shed these habits.
No, its ok. I mean you don’t have to be so formal with me. We are good friends, and friends don’t need to give flowers and chocolates every time they meet!
O. K. point taken. So how was your day?
O.K. how was yours?
O.K.
An eerie silence followed.
“So…” both of us spoke simultaneously, as if we both had the same things in the mind.
“Sorry, you tell” I offered.
“No you tell”
What would you like to have? Tea or coffee? Something to eat?
Actually, yes I am hungry. Lets order something?
You would like to have chicken or mutton.
I am vegetarian.
Even the chicken and the lamb are vegetarian, you know.
She stared at me silently.
Bad Joke. I accepted.
Oh O. K. Veg then!
One veg burger, one chicken noodles, and two cappuccino.
Anything else sir?
Anything else madam?
No that will be all.
O. K. Sir, your order will take 10 min.
Fine. Thank you.
So tell me. How is life?
Her mobile phone rang. She disconnected. With a frown on her face.
Is something bothering you?
No, it is just o.k. Sometimes the past gets behind you and you have nowhere to go.
Well pasts can be painful sometimes.
She smiled.
Why do you have to agree with everything I say?
Do I?
Yes you do.
O.K. So I disagree with you. Past has many memories that you don’t want to forget. Some of the most beautiful things have happened in the past, and even more beautiful things are just about to happen to you.
It was a little overwhelming, but for an amateur, I was quite on a roll.
Not for me, she said.
You want to share it with me? That is, if you don’t mind.
No Harsh, you are a close friend. I can tell you everything.
Close friend! I would like to be more than that. I thought to myself.
Trust me, I am a good listener.
That you are. You know, there is this friend of mine I have, or rather had. We were pretty pally with each other. It was like we had met once very briefly at a railway station when we were in college because he was a friend of a friend. Then we lost touch and one day he landed up in my office for some work. We instantly recognized each other and our friendship started growing. We became very close to each other.
The sky thundered and a small little drizzle started outside. Couples waiting outside rushed in while some teenagers started dancing in the rain. I wondered if the roof was leakng as there was a drop rolling down her cheeks. She wiped her eyes. She has a relationship that is over or almost on the verge of being over, I thought. Am I a crying shoulder?
We used to spend very less time with each other but we would be in touch once a week or sometimes once a month. It was a beautiful relationship until he proposed to me.
The lightning cracked in the distant sea on a lonely boat. I barely heard what she said after that. After a while as she stopped moving her lips, I gathered enough courage to ask her.
Do you love him?
He is a wonderful person.
Do you love him?
I cant. You know, I am not made that way. I tried to tell him to move on, but he doesn’t.
Do you love him?
He says it is o.k, if I don’t marry him as long as I don’t marry anybody else. He is crazy. Why does he want to waste his entire life for me?
So you don’t love him.
Her mobile phone rang. She cut the phone.
See, he keeps on calling me up like this. I need my space. This is what it all gets to. Initially you say you will give the space and later you start getting on to each other nerves and sooner than you realize the love is all gone and it’s a pretty boring congested life with questions being asked all the time!
Your order sir. The waiter intervened.
Some mustard please. She said to the waiter.
Sure madam.
So now I feel it is time to shut off. Probably he would stop calling me.
Did you tell him what you felt?
No. about what?
About how you feel about him.
How do I feel about him? I don’t know.
So you don’t love him?
I could hardly eat my chicken noodles. It was as if the dead chicken was stuck up in my throat trying to chuckle.
He is a wonderful person.
And you don’t love him?
Beep Beep. She got an SMS.
See this is what the problem is. He sends me SMS like this when he knows I don’t like such SMS.
She showed me the sms. …I lve u…
Why don’t you call him and tell him how you feel. I am sure he would understand.
You think I should.
Yes. Pretty much. If he has fallen in love with you, it is pretty much your fault.
What do you mean?
You are so beautiful.
She smiled. She looked beautiful.
So u are saying I should speak to him.
Yes.
And tell him what?
Whether you love him or don’t love him. Things will be pretty clear then for him, wont it? The problem is you are not telling him whether you love him or you don’t. That is the only thing he wants to know. He is not asking you to marry him, is he?
No.
So whatever you have in your heart, tell him. If you don’t love him, then tell him you don’t. If you love him, tell him you do. Whatever comes later face it then.
I felt my heart pain as if I had dug a dagger into my own heart.
I think it makes sense. You are really cool, you know that.
Yes I do, I am like that from my childhood.
She punched me in my arm and we laughed.
So call him.
Now?
Yes now. Or I know you will never call.
I will.
No you wont
O.K.
She dialed the number.
“Hello, Pranay?”….. Oh…. can I speak to him?.... What?... How?.... When?.... Oh my God!... How is he now…. Where is he?
Tears started rolling from her eyes.
“Oh my God! What have I done?” she started weeping. People around looked at us with an uncomfortable gaze.
Is everything o.k. sia? I asked her trying to pacify her sobs.
He had an accident… He was trying to call me… I cut the phone twice and he smsd me that he loved me. She sniffed into her kerchief trying to recompose herself. Now he is with the paramedics. He is critical, he has lost a lot of blood. They are taking him to City Cross hospital.
Lets go there, I said.
She sniffed into her kerchief trying to recompose herself.
I knew my date was over, but a new friendship was born.
Hello?
Where are you?
Just parking my car. Where are you?
I am at the café. Come right in.
O.K.
Cya.
Beep. Beep.
I took my breath in and headed to the café with the bouquet and the pack of chocolates. She was sitting looking towards her mobile, as if irritated. I took the flowers and offered it to her as she stared at the mobile phone. A smile crossed her face.
Thanks. They are beautiful.
Not as much as you.
That is so sweet.
No. This is sweet.
I handed the box of chocolates to her.
Oh God! You did not have to get all these things, frankly.
I thought you would like it.
I like it Harsh, but it is just so formal.
Sorry for being so formal. I am like this, you know. With all these corporate bull shit in life, I tend to be such in every aspect of my personal life. I should learn to shed these habits.
No, its ok. I mean you don’t have to be so formal with me. We are good friends, and friends don’t need to give flowers and chocolates every time they meet!
O. K. point taken. So how was your day?
O.K. how was yours?
O.K.
An eerie silence followed.
“So…” both of us spoke simultaneously, as if we both had the same things in the mind.
“Sorry, you tell” I offered.
“No you tell”
What would you like to have? Tea or coffee? Something to eat?
Actually, yes I am hungry. Lets order something?
You would like to have chicken or mutton.
I am vegetarian.
Even the chicken and the lamb are vegetarian, you know.
She stared at me silently.
Bad Joke. I accepted.
Oh O. K. Veg then!
One veg burger, one chicken noodles, and two cappuccino.
Anything else sir?
Anything else madam?
No that will be all.
O. K. Sir, your order will take 10 min.
Fine. Thank you.
So tell me. How is life?
Her mobile phone rang. She disconnected. With a frown on her face.
Is something bothering you?
No, it is just o.k. Sometimes the past gets behind you and you have nowhere to go.
Well pasts can be painful sometimes.
She smiled.
Why do you have to agree with everything I say?
Do I?
Yes you do.
O.K. So I disagree with you. Past has many memories that you don’t want to forget. Some of the most beautiful things have happened in the past, and even more beautiful things are just about to happen to you.
It was a little overwhelming, but for an amateur, I was quite on a roll.
Not for me, she said.
You want to share it with me? That is, if you don’t mind.
No Harsh, you are a close friend. I can tell you everything.
Close friend! I would like to be more than that. I thought to myself.
Trust me, I am a good listener.
That you are. You know, there is this friend of mine I have, or rather had. We were pretty pally with each other. It was like we had met once very briefly at a railway station when we were in college because he was a friend of a friend. Then we lost touch and one day he landed up in my office for some work. We instantly recognized each other and our friendship started growing. We became very close to each other.
The sky thundered and a small little drizzle started outside. Couples waiting outside rushed in while some teenagers started dancing in the rain. I wondered if the roof was leakng as there was a drop rolling down her cheeks. She wiped her eyes. She has a relationship that is over or almost on the verge of being over, I thought. Am I a crying shoulder?
We used to spend very less time with each other but we would be in touch once a week or sometimes once a month. It was a beautiful relationship until he proposed to me.
The lightning cracked in the distant sea on a lonely boat. I barely heard what she said after that. After a while as she stopped moving her lips, I gathered enough courage to ask her.
Do you love him?
He is a wonderful person.
Do you love him?
I cant. You know, I am not made that way. I tried to tell him to move on, but he doesn’t.
Do you love him?
He says it is o.k, if I don’t marry him as long as I don’t marry anybody else. He is crazy. Why does he want to waste his entire life for me?
So you don’t love him.
Her mobile phone rang. She cut the phone.
See, he keeps on calling me up like this. I need my space. This is what it all gets to. Initially you say you will give the space and later you start getting on to each other nerves and sooner than you realize the love is all gone and it’s a pretty boring congested life with questions being asked all the time!
Your order sir. The waiter intervened.
Some mustard please. She said to the waiter.
Sure madam.
So now I feel it is time to shut off. Probably he would stop calling me.
Did you tell him what you felt?
No. about what?
About how you feel about him.
How do I feel about him? I don’t know.
So you don’t love him?
I could hardly eat my chicken noodles. It was as if the dead chicken was stuck up in my throat trying to chuckle.
He is a wonderful person.
And you don’t love him?
Beep Beep. She got an SMS.
See this is what the problem is. He sends me SMS like this when he knows I don’t like such SMS.
She showed me the sms. …I lve u…
Why don’t you call him and tell him how you feel. I am sure he would understand.
You think I should.
Yes. Pretty much. If he has fallen in love with you, it is pretty much your fault.
What do you mean?
You are so beautiful.
She smiled. She looked beautiful.
So u are saying I should speak to him.
Yes.
And tell him what?
Whether you love him or don’t love him. Things will be pretty clear then for him, wont it? The problem is you are not telling him whether you love him or you don’t. That is the only thing he wants to know. He is not asking you to marry him, is he?
No.
So whatever you have in your heart, tell him. If you don’t love him, then tell him you don’t. If you love him, tell him you do. Whatever comes later face it then.
I felt my heart pain as if I had dug a dagger into my own heart.
I think it makes sense. You are really cool, you know that.
Yes I do, I am like that from my childhood.
She punched me in my arm and we laughed.
So call him.
Now?
Yes now. Or I know you will never call.
I will.
No you wont
O.K.
She dialed the number.
“Hello, Pranay?”….. Oh…. can I speak to him?.... What?... How?.... When?.... Oh my God!... How is he now…. Where is he?
Tears started rolling from her eyes.
“Oh my God! What have I done?” she started weeping. People around looked at us with an uncomfortable gaze.
Is everything o.k. sia? I asked her trying to pacify her sobs.
He had an accident… He was trying to call me… I cut the phone twice and he smsd me that he loved me. She sniffed into her kerchief trying to recompose herself. Now he is with the paramedics. He is critical, he has lost a lot of blood. They are taking him to City Cross hospital.
Lets go there, I said.
She sniffed into her kerchief trying to recompose herself.
I knew my date was over, but a new friendship was born.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
The Last Message
The rain drops hit hard on the wiper swept cracked windscreen of the car creating an intricate pattern of amoebic forms. I could not see outside, my vision blurred by the momentary impact I had on my head. As the wiper moved fast, I could see the entire life in front of me flashing like a slide show presentation in my office. It seems you see these images of your past when you are on your death bed. My ribs felt no pain, my hands completely soaked with blood. The seatbelt had crushed my ribs. Different colours of flashing blue and red was being reflected by unkknown objects around. I did not remember how it happened. Probably I had missed the curb and fallen into a cliff aside the road. I knew I was upside down. I looked downwards to the ceiling of the car. My mobile phone was lying there. The battery blinking a low sign. The only person in the whole world, I wanted to speak to, was Sia. Would she pick up my call? I was not sure.
Are you alright? A voice came from the window. I guess he was a road traffic police.
No. I said.
Don’t worry, the ambulance will be here soon. We will take you out of here.
I nodded.
The mobile blinked another low battery sign. I kept looking at the phone as it blinked incessantly. I felt my hand reach out to the mobile phone. This was the first time I felt pain. Pain of the heart or the wound, I couldnot recognize, but the pain was there, embedded deep into the depths of my heart. My fingers pressed 2 and speed dialed. The phone rang.
She disconnected.
I dialed again.
The phone rang
She disconnected.
My fingers started feeling weak. I pressed slowly, my fingers loosing the pressure with each second… I lve u…
I scrolled for the send message option and pressed the green button. Message sent! The display showed. I felt at peace. I closed my eyes.
Are you alright? A voice came from the window. I guess he was a road traffic police.
No. I said.
Don’t worry, the ambulance will be here soon. We will take you out of here.
I nodded.
The mobile blinked another low battery sign. I kept looking at the phone as it blinked incessantly. I felt my hand reach out to the mobile phone. This was the first time I felt pain. Pain of the heart or the wound, I couldnot recognize, but the pain was there, embedded deep into the depths of my heart. My fingers pressed 2 and speed dialed. The phone rang.
She disconnected.
I dialed again.
The phone rang
She disconnected.
My fingers started feeling weak. I pressed slowly, my fingers loosing the pressure with each second… I lve u…
I scrolled for the send message option and pressed the green button. Message sent! The display showed. I felt at peace. I closed my eyes.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Am I a loser?
Does losing make me a loser?
I am lost...
lost in the wonders of the world..
lost in the blunders of life..
lost in my thoughts...
lost in time...
lost in the past...
lost in dreams...
lost in love..
lost in translation...(was that a movie??)
lost in words
lost in music
lost in stories..
lost in books...
lost in a big bad world...
lost in a huge canvas of life...
i have lost my heart,
i have lost my mind..
i have lost..
Does that make me a loser?
I wonder...
Is it what I have lost that is sad?
Is it who I lost that is so painful?
Is it why I lost that is saddening?
Is it me or is it the world...
I lost... but did i loose the lesson...
Am i a loser?
I am lost...
lost in the wonders of the world..
lost in the blunders of life..
lost in my thoughts...
lost in time...
lost in the past...
lost in dreams...
lost in love..
lost in translation...(was that a movie??)
lost in words
lost in music
lost in stories..
lost in books...
lost in a big bad world...
lost in a huge canvas of life...
i have lost my heart,
i have lost my mind..
i have lost..
Does that make me a loser?
I wonder...
Is it what I have lost that is sad?
Is it who I lost that is so painful?
Is it why I lost that is saddening?
Is it me or is it the world...
I lost... but did i loose the lesson...
Am i a loser?
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Untitled - II
In the month of September as the winds of change blew across the city of Mumbai, I chanced upon a little child as I walked into the narrow streets of a slum colony. The child sat there eating vada-pav. The mashed potatoes smeared around her face as she plunged herself into the vada-pav to satisfy her hunger. A sparkle in her eye was that caught my attention to her. The quirky way in which she held her food in her hands and the dance of her jaw as she munched the eatables in her grasp. I was hungry too, but for something else. My hunger had a different meaning that took me beyond the realms of the usual path to my office.
As a journalist, my job was to hunt for stories. Stories that would sell, stories that would be headlines, stories that would make a buyer want for more. In a way I was a story teller. If I chanced upon a small subject, I would dramatize it in a way, twist some facts, add some spice and make the news a headline for the tabloid. I never knew this was what journalists did before I entered this profession. In my quest for success in my profession, I had forgotten my soul which had wandered far away from my goal, my destiny, my search for the eternal truth that my soul seeks so badly.
Yesterday night a couple of my friends drove down to my office to pick me up. The idea was to party hard and enjoy the nightlife of Mumbai. Being tired on a Friday night, completing my 500 words for the article on the life of a high flying industrialist in a high society section of the tabloid, going to sleep was my usual dose of my routine that was set. My family had forgotten me, my wife had divorced me. I was in a world of my own. My usual physical hunger was taken care of by Susie, the receptionist who was in a desperate need of being wanted, but it was only limited to the nights. During the day she was an independent self made woman. My life was always the same mundane routine. I had lost every interest in life. There was nothing that could make me sad, neither was there anything that could make me happy. I had forgotten the meaning of ‘feel’. Rohan was aware of the fact that I had become a vegetable. It was his idea to make a night out to enjoy ‘life’. Since it did not make a difference to me, I obliged.
He came along with Shawn. Shawn was a shippie. He had come back to India to get married. So he wanted to have fun before he got hitched and tied down. First we headed to Café Mondegar. A couple of beer down the throat, and everyone was talking. I looked around at the caricatures on the walls. The place had an aura of its own. Couples chatted away endlessly. There were couples looking into each others eyes as if they were speaking a different language. At a distant corner, I spotted to young men looking into each others eyes. My wife always used to talk about her gay friends. She used to find them very cute. I thought it was because of the fact that they were harmless. And I was glad her friends were gay. And I was even more thankful that I did not have gay friends. Shawn was bubbling with enthusiasm. He was talking on his cell phone to his fiancée. Rohan was glued to the television that played in the corner of the room. There was only one thing that could attract Rohan’s attention, balls and football. Given a life and death choice between the two, he would choose football. For me nothing mattered. Ever since I had lost my wife in divorce, nothing mattered. I just wanted to go home, play a Kitaro CD and gently doze to sleep, that is if I was lucky enough to catch a wink. The whole cafe was silent as these loud thoughts bounced in my head. Soon we were out of the place and we were seated in the car. Rohan was blabbering about how France could have easily beaten Brazil and how the English fans were the most difficult to handle. Many a times, Rohan was very difficult to handle when he started yapping about football.
Shawn stopped the car in the middle of the road. The road was empty. This part of the city was always empty during this time of the night. Shady characters walked past the arched footpath touting for business. This part of the city was something that I was aware of but had never investigated. After all being with the high society glitterati most of the time, finding news about the gossip was much more rewarding monetarily than the dealings in the dark arched footpath. Shawn made his intentions very clear. He did not want to spend his night alone. It was his last week of freedom before he got married. Rohan was a true friend. He would do anything that would make a friend happy and he would not let Shawn down.
Shawn got down the car and walked towards the footpath. He disappeared into the darkness. A couple of minutes passed by. The sound of the stereo in the car was the only voice that broke the silence in the surrounding neighborhood. Shawn appeared with a huge broad grin on his face. Closing his door, he said he got the number of a guy who supplied girls for the night. For this we had to drive down to the suburbs. Ecstatic with his latest discovery, he drove into the night playing the songs of Puff Daddy at a volume that could have broken the windshield with the sheer intensity of vibrations. Time had hardly passed as we reached the suburb. Shawn pulled the vehicle to the edge of the road. Dialing a number he started asking for directions. A vibration went berserk in my pocket. Susie was calling from a discotheque. Her charms had won the affection of a charming rich lad and they were on their way to his penthouse. Good for her I thought in my mind. Meanwhile the car moved on and stopped near an ATM. Shawn waved out to a guy who came running towards the car. He identified himself as Blaze. He sat next to Shawn and we moved on, navigated by the new found friend of Shawn. He told us we were late by a couple of hours. The best in the business were already taken. We would have limited choice. We stopped close to a place which looked like an entry into a slum.
A guard took the keys of the car. I wondered the way things had progressed in this city. Valet parking at whore houses! The door was made of asbestos. As Blaze opened the door, there was a dimly lit passage that led to another door. This door was of polished Mahogany. As the door opened, little did we know that there was a different world waiting for us. Walls with plaster of Paris, false ceiling with cornices donned the passage which were flanked on both sides with rooms. I peeked into a room that was open and empty. It had mirrors fixed all around and on the ceiling. It was a place where desperate men could have a kaleidoscope of their fantasies evolve into a rare multidimensional spectacle. Further was a room with a couch. This place is no lesser than a C- Grade five star hotel in its looks, I told myself.
A guy was seated in one corner attending phone calls. Around four telephones were present on the table. After a brief discussion on the phone, he hung up. He looked at us and smiled. He got up and shook hands with each of us. He spoke in very affluent English.
“How can we help you, Sir” he said.
“We are looking for girls, good girls” Shawn initiated the talks. He did not believe in wasting time.
“You don’t get good girls here, Sir. You get girls who are good at their job here” he smiled.
“That is what I meant” Shawn replied with a wide grin.
“Bring them in” the guy ordered to another man standing on the door. Three girls entered. As they stood in line, three lights were switched on. It reminded me of a gift shop which displayed their exquisite items to their esteemed elite customers. The girls looked down, as if they were shy of being introduced. They were all introduced by name and a price followed each name. It was amazing to see them shy. After all they must be going through the same grind every day. What was it they were thinking? I had absolutely no clue. I sat there like a vegetable without any expression. I was being enveloped in my own thoughts, I wished I was not divorced, I could have skipped this flesh parade. Soon we had been through many girls and Shawn had enough. He had not liked any of them. As we got up to leave, the guy asked “What are you looking for, Sir. After all you are not going to take them home, Are you?”
Touché. We left.
Blaze was disappointed. He was seeing a prospective client not happy. He had another idea. “Sir would you like to have college girls for the night?” he said. Shawn’s eyes opened wide. “You must be joking” he said. “No Sir. It is a little late, but we can try” Blaze was optimistic. He then took Shawn’s mobile and made a couple of calls. We then hopped into the car and drove. We slowed down near a corporate building. A van slowed in. Blaze asked us to get into the van as soon as it stops. “Take a round. Make your selection on the move” he said.
The van stopped and the door opened. We got into the van. There was a strong scent of perfume that filled the air. The door closed. The lights were switched on. There were three girls in the van. The girls introduced themselves. Their names sounded quite typical. Mansi, Julie and Sweety. Unlike the whore house, here they told their own rates. Shawn had an amazed expression.
“I want to sleep with you, not your entire family!” He said teasing.
“Are you saying I am not good enough” Julie was visibly hurt.
“No, I am saying we are not so rich that we can afford you” his bargaining continued. After a while they settled down on a price.
I waved out a negative. I was in no mood to share my night. I had never ever seen such a sight before. I was supposed to be a journalist. But the entire ordeal never appeared in front of my eyes anytime. I had met women whose husbands traveled the world hitching guys to take care of their shortcomings. Wife swapping was high on the agenda of the socialites, but college girls! They were supposed to be studying in college. Besides, these girls were about eighteen years younger to me. If I and my wife had a child, she would be their age. I was in no mood.
Shawn and Rohan picked up a girl each. I apologized to the other girl for turning her down.
“Nothing personal” I tried to explain. She smiled. I was not sure what the smile meant. Was it that she was relieved that she did not have to sleep with some one, or was it a diplomatic way of hiding her emotion of lost prospective business. We got back to the spot where we had left our car. We got in and sped away. Blaze was still with us. He had to put up as at a motel before he got his commission for helping us out. As we drove guided by the directions he gave, Blaze popped out a question “Sir, Two by three?”
I did not understand the question. Neither did Rohan nor did Shawn. Julie smiled.
She explained it to Shawn as she slid her hand between Shawn’s thighs.
“He means whether you would share both of us between you three?”
“No, no” Rohan explained. “Nothing like that. Two by two. He is not interested” Rohan said pointing to me.
“Why you don’t like girls?” Julie asked.
I smiled not intending to reply.
Soon we reached a Motel. Blaze went in and booked a room for both of them. I decided to lie in the car and catch up on some sleep, if I could manage to. Both Rohan and Shawn accompanied their priced catch into the rooms. The manager came out. He requested me to get into the room. “We would have a tough time if the cops caught anyone inside the car near the motel”, he said. He arranged for an empty room for me. I sat down with Blaze and started chatting with him.
“So, where are you from?” I asked him.
“Goa” he replied.
“You didn’t select a girl?” he asked
I smiled back. “Since when are you doing this?” I asked him.
“I ride autos in the day. This is like a part time.” He said.
“Which college are they from?” I asked
“Mithibai college” he said.
“So do you also sleep with these girls?”
“These girls, NO! They are like my sisters” he said.
“SISTERS?” I was quite shaken now. There was something which definitely did not get into my psyche.
“Yes, they do it out of compulsion. Do you think anyone actually enjoys doing such stuff?”
I was not sure.
“Yes there are some who do it because they enjoy, but most of them are the girls of rich families. Not these girls. They just do it because they have to take care of responsibilities” he explained.
I leaned myself on the bed and looked at the ceiling. The fan slowly moved. The thin layer of paint was peeling off. The room smelt of wetness. There was something very negative about the whole place. A kind of negative energy.
Rohan came out and pulled me out of the room.
“You have to try this female. She is too good!” he said.
“I am in no mood, Rohan” I replied.
“That is why. She will put you back in good moods.” He said as he pulled me towards the room and pushed me in.
The girl sat there. She was fully clothed. A television set was on. She had switched to a cartoon channel. She saw me and started undressing. I stopped her. She looked at me. I told her I was not interested. She batted her eyelids.
“Am I that bad” she showed a sorry face.
“No, you are very special” I said “But I am seeking something that you can’t give”
She looked at me not understanding a single word. I looked at her not understanding a single word that I had said.
She sat next to me “Can I keep my head on your shoulders” she asked. I was not sure. She kept her head on my shoulders.
“I have a brother who stays in the village. I want him to go abroad and study. He is the brightest in the whole family. I have to collect so much money before this March. Otherwise he might not be able to go. Being born as a girl is such a curse” My shirt got a little wet at the shoulders. I looked at her. Tears were rolling on her cheek. She did not bother to wipe it off. “And if life couldn’t be worse, my father ran away with another woman when I was just six. I thought of coming here and work here as a model. I was told by my friends uncle who stayed in Mumbai then that I could make it big in this city. He bought me here and introduced me to…” There was a knock on the door. I opened it. Rohan was smiling.
“Done?” he asked.
I nodded. She walked out. I called her out. She did not wait. She walked out and sat in the Rickshaw that was standing outside the gate.
Blaze had just finished bargaining with Shawn about his share. I asked Blaze where Mansi stayed. He smiled.
“Your heart went for her?” he said smiling.
“No, I.. ” I stopped not bothering to explain. I put my hand in my wallet and fished out a five hundred rupee note. Blaze smiled.
“Room no. 19, Shanti Nagar, Andheri” he said smiling. He sat in the rickshaw along with the two girls and sped away.
Both Rohan and Shawn sat in the car, satisfied with their escapades. We drove back. Rohan and Shawn kept talking and in between their conversation asked me some questions which I did not hear and respond to. They dropped me at my gate. I dumped myself on the only couch in the whole house. Turned on the Kitaro CD and sunk in. I slept. I felt the wetness in the shirt. The tears that had rolled from her eyes. I wanted to meet her. I wanted to know her. I wrote her address down on a paper on the table, lest I forget.
The morning was very early. I had hardly slept. The Saturday morning paper was stuck between the grill and the door as I went to collect the milk that was kept outside in the bag. The newspaper had the headlines of the story of two business tycoon brothers split over a woman. I hated the story. It was my handicraft. I made tea. The thought of the girl previous night kept flashing back in images like a slideshow. I had got my path, my road to solace. I knew where I had gone wrong. It was time to get back to journalism. Get the true story out there. Hurriedly, I took a hot water bath and then got ready to go in search of Mansi.
The lanes of Shanti Nagar colony were quite shabby. There were gutters that lined the footpath across which lay houses made of weak mud walls. Kids were playing cricket with plastic ball and a bat as people walked through the lanes. A little girl had buried herself into a vada-pav as she tried to satisfy her hunger. An old lady beat her clothes with vigor under a flowing tap. I asked for Room No. 19.
She turned at me “Who are you?” she asked in Marathi.
I explained her, I was a friend of Mansi.
“Who Mansi?” She asked.
“Mansi, who studies in Mithibai college” I tried to explain.
“You have got the wrong address” she said.
I then went to Mithibai college. I went to the office and I told I was a relative of Mansi who studied in the college. I told them I was not aware of the batch and the stream she had undertaken. I paid the peon a hundred bucks. He fished out all the registers. There were two Mansi’s. I went to meet them, but they were different people. I walked out of the college dejected.
My hunger unsatisfied. My story incomplete.
As a journalist, my job was to hunt for stories. Stories that would sell, stories that would be headlines, stories that would make a buyer want for more. In a way I was a story teller. If I chanced upon a small subject, I would dramatize it in a way, twist some facts, add some spice and make the news a headline for the tabloid. I never knew this was what journalists did before I entered this profession. In my quest for success in my profession, I had forgotten my soul which had wandered far away from my goal, my destiny, my search for the eternal truth that my soul seeks so badly.
Yesterday night a couple of my friends drove down to my office to pick me up. The idea was to party hard and enjoy the nightlife of Mumbai. Being tired on a Friday night, completing my 500 words for the article on the life of a high flying industrialist in a high society section of the tabloid, going to sleep was my usual dose of my routine that was set. My family had forgotten me, my wife had divorced me. I was in a world of my own. My usual physical hunger was taken care of by Susie, the receptionist who was in a desperate need of being wanted, but it was only limited to the nights. During the day she was an independent self made woman. My life was always the same mundane routine. I had lost every interest in life. There was nothing that could make me sad, neither was there anything that could make me happy. I had forgotten the meaning of ‘feel’. Rohan was aware of the fact that I had become a vegetable. It was his idea to make a night out to enjoy ‘life’. Since it did not make a difference to me, I obliged.
He came along with Shawn. Shawn was a shippie. He had come back to India to get married. So he wanted to have fun before he got hitched and tied down. First we headed to Café Mondegar. A couple of beer down the throat, and everyone was talking. I looked around at the caricatures on the walls. The place had an aura of its own. Couples chatted away endlessly. There were couples looking into each others eyes as if they were speaking a different language. At a distant corner, I spotted to young men looking into each others eyes. My wife always used to talk about her gay friends. She used to find them very cute. I thought it was because of the fact that they were harmless. And I was glad her friends were gay. And I was even more thankful that I did not have gay friends. Shawn was bubbling with enthusiasm. He was talking on his cell phone to his fiancée. Rohan was glued to the television that played in the corner of the room. There was only one thing that could attract Rohan’s attention, balls and football. Given a life and death choice between the two, he would choose football. For me nothing mattered. Ever since I had lost my wife in divorce, nothing mattered. I just wanted to go home, play a Kitaro CD and gently doze to sleep, that is if I was lucky enough to catch a wink. The whole cafe was silent as these loud thoughts bounced in my head. Soon we were out of the place and we were seated in the car. Rohan was blabbering about how France could have easily beaten Brazil and how the English fans were the most difficult to handle. Many a times, Rohan was very difficult to handle when he started yapping about football.
Shawn stopped the car in the middle of the road. The road was empty. This part of the city was always empty during this time of the night. Shady characters walked past the arched footpath touting for business. This part of the city was something that I was aware of but had never investigated. After all being with the high society glitterati most of the time, finding news about the gossip was much more rewarding monetarily than the dealings in the dark arched footpath. Shawn made his intentions very clear. He did not want to spend his night alone. It was his last week of freedom before he got married. Rohan was a true friend. He would do anything that would make a friend happy and he would not let Shawn down.
Shawn got down the car and walked towards the footpath. He disappeared into the darkness. A couple of minutes passed by. The sound of the stereo in the car was the only voice that broke the silence in the surrounding neighborhood. Shawn appeared with a huge broad grin on his face. Closing his door, he said he got the number of a guy who supplied girls for the night. For this we had to drive down to the suburbs. Ecstatic with his latest discovery, he drove into the night playing the songs of Puff Daddy at a volume that could have broken the windshield with the sheer intensity of vibrations. Time had hardly passed as we reached the suburb. Shawn pulled the vehicle to the edge of the road. Dialing a number he started asking for directions. A vibration went berserk in my pocket. Susie was calling from a discotheque. Her charms had won the affection of a charming rich lad and they were on their way to his penthouse. Good for her I thought in my mind. Meanwhile the car moved on and stopped near an ATM. Shawn waved out to a guy who came running towards the car. He identified himself as Blaze. He sat next to Shawn and we moved on, navigated by the new found friend of Shawn. He told us we were late by a couple of hours. The best in the business were already taken. We would have limited choice. We stopped close to a place which looked like an entry into a slum.
A guard took the keys of the car. I wondered the way things had progressed in this city. Valet parking at whore houses! The door was made of asbestos. As Blaze opened the door, there was a dimly lit passage that led to another door. This door was of polished Mahogany. As the door opened, little did we know that there was a different world waiting for us. Walls with plaster of Paris, false ceiling with cornices donned the passage which were flanked on both sides with rooms. I peeked into a room that was open and empty. It had mirrors fixed all around and on the ceiling. It was a place where desperate men could have a kaleidoscope of their fantasies evolve into a rare multidimensional spectacle. Further was a room with a couch. This place is no lesser than a C- Grade five star hotel in its looks, I told myself.
A guy was seated in one corner attending phone calls. Around four telephones were present on the table. After a brief discussion on the phone, he hung up. He looked at us and smiled. He got up and shook hands with each of us. He spoke in very affluent English.
“How can we help you, Sir” he said.
“We are looking for girls, good girls” Shawn initiated the talks. He did not believe in wasting time.
“You don’t get good girls here, Sir. You get girls who are good at their job here” he smiled.
“That is what I meant” Shawn replied with a wide grin.
“Bring them in” the guy ordered to another man standing on the door. Three girls entered. As they stood in line, three lights were switched on. It reminded me of a gift shop which displayed their exquisite items to their esteemed elite customers. The girls looked down, as if they were shy of being introduced. They were all introduced by name and a price followed each name. It was amazing to see them shy. After all they must be going through the same grind every day. What was it they were thinking? I had absolutely no clue. I sat there like a vegetable without any expression. I was being enveloped in my own thoughts, I wished I was not divorced, I could have skipped this flesh parade. Soon we had been through many girls and Shawn had enough. He had not liked any of them. As we got up to leave, the guy asked “What are you looking for, Sir. After all you are not going to take them home, Are you?”
Touché. We left.
Blaze was disappointed. He was seeing a prospective client not happy. He had another idea. “Sir would you like to have college girls for the night?” he said. Shawn’s eyes opened wide. “You must be joking” he said. “No Sir. It is a little late, but we can try” Blaze was optimistic. He then took Shawn’s mobile and made a couple of calls. We then hopped into the car and drove. We slowed down near a corporate building. A van slowed in. Blaze asked us to get into the van as soon as it stops. “Take a round. Make your selection on the move” he said.
The van stopped and the door opened. We got into the van. There was a strong scent of perfume that filled the air. The door closed. The lights were switched on. There were three girls in the van. The girls introduced themselves. Their names sounded quite typical. Mansi, Julie and Sweety. Unlike the whore house, here they told their own rates. Shawn had an amazed expression.
“I want to sleep with you, not your entire family!” He said teasing.
“Are you saying I am not good enough” Julie was visibly hurt.
“No, I am saying we are not so rich that we can afford you” his bargaining continued. After a while they settled down on a price.
I waved out a negative. I was in no mood to share my night. I had never ever seen such a sight before. I was supposed to be a journalist. But the entire ordeal never appeared in front of my eyes anytime. I had met women whose husbands traveled the world hitching guys to take care of their shortcomings. Wife swapping was high on the agenda of the socialites, but college girls! They were supposed to be studying in college. Besides, these girls were about eighteen years younger to me. If I and my wife had a child, she would be their age. I was in no mood.
Shawn and Rohan picked up a girl each. I apologized to the other girl for turning her down.
“Nothing personal” I tried to explain. She smiled. I was not sure what the smile meant. Was it that she was relieved that she did not have to sleep with some one, or was it a diplomatic way of hiding her emotion of lost prospective business. We got back to the spot where we had left our car. We got in and sped away. Blaze was still with us. He had to put up as at a motel before he got his commission for helping us out. As we drove guided by the directions he gave, Blaze popped out a question “Sir, Two by three?”
I did not understand the question. Neither did Rohan nor did Shawn. Julie smiled.
She explained it to Shawn as she slid her hand between Shawn’s thighs.
“He means whether you would share both of us between you three?”
“No, no” Rohan explained. “Nothing like that. Two by two. He is not interested” Rohan said pointing to me.
“Why you don’t like girls?” Julie asked.
I smiled not intending to reply.
Soon we reached a Motel. Blaze went in and booked a room for both of them. I decided to lie in the car and catch up on some sleep, if I could manage to. Both Rohan and Shawn accompanied their priced catch into the rooms. The manager came out. He requested me to get into the room. “We would have a tough time if the cops caught anyone inside the car near the motel”, he said. He arranged for an empty room for me. I sat down with Blaze and started chatting with him.
“So, where are you from?” I asked him.
“Goa” he replied.
“You didn’t select a girl?” he asked
I smiled back. “Since when are you doing this?” I asked him.
“I ride autos in the day. This is like a part time.” He said.
“Which college are they from?” I asked
“Mithibai college” he said.
“So do you also sleep with these girls?”
“These girls, NO! They are like my sisters” he said.
“SISTERS?” I was quite shaken now. There was something which definitely did not get into my psyche.
“Yes, they do it out of compulsion. Do you think anyone actually enjoys doing such stuff?”
I was not sure.
“Yes there are some who do it because they enjoy, but most of them are the girls of rich families. Not these girls. They just do it because they have to take care of responsibilities” he explained.
I leaned myself on the bed and looked at the ceiling. The fan slowly moved. The thin layer of paint was peeling off. The room smelt of wetness. There was something very negative about the whole place. A kind of negative energy.
Rohan came out and pulled me out of the room.
“You have to try this female. She is too good!” he said.
“I am in no mood, Rohan” I replied.
“That is why. She will put you back in good moods.” He said as he pulled me towards the room and pushed me in.
The girl sat there. She was fully clothed. A television set was on. She had switched to a cartoon channel. She saw me and started undressing. I stopped her. She looked at me. I told her I was not interested. She batted her eyelids.
“Am I that bad” she showed a sorry face.
“No, you are very special” I said “But I am seeking something that you can’t give”
She looked at me not understanding a single word. I looked at her not understanding a single word that I had said.
She sat next to me “Can I keep my head on your shoulders” she asked. I was not sure. She kept her head on my shoulders.
“I have a brother who stays in the village. I want him to go abroad and study. He is the brightest in the whole family. I have to collect so much money before this March. Otherwise he might not be able to go. Being born as a girl is such a curse” My shirt got a little wet at the shoulders. I looked at her. Tears were rolling on her cheek. She did not bother to wipe it off. “And if life couldn’t be worse, my father ran away with another woman when I was just six. I thought of coming here and work here as a model. I was told by my friends uncle who stayed in Mumbai then that I could make it big in this city. He bought me here and introduced me to…” There was a knock on the door. I opened it. Rohan was smiling.
“Done?” he asked.
I nodded. She walked out. I called her out. She did not wait. She walked out and sat in the Rickshaw that was standing outside the gate.
Blaze had just finished bargaining with Shawn about his share. I asked Blaze where Mansi stayed. He smiled.
“Your heart went for her?” he said smiling.
“No, I.. ” I stopped not bothering to explain. I put my hand in my wallet and fished out a five hundred rupee note. Blaze smiled.
“Room no. 19, Shanti Nagar, Andheri” he said smiling. He sat in the rickshaw along with the two girls and sped away.
Both Rohan and Shawn sat in the car, satisfied with their escapades. We drove back. Rohan and Shawn kept talking and in between their conversation asked me some questions which I did not hear and respond to. They dropped me at my gate. I dumped myself on the only couch in the whole house. Turned on the Kitaro CD and sunk in. I slept. I felt the wetness in the shirt. The tears that had rolled from her eyes. I wanted to meet her. I wanted to know her. I wrote her address down on a paper on the table, lest I forget.
The morning was very early. I had hardly slept. The Saturday morning paper was stuck between the grill and the door as I went to collect the milk that was kept outside in the bag. The newspaper had the headlines of the story of two business tycoon brothers split over a woman. I hated the story. It was my handicraft. I made tea. The thought of the girl previous night kept flashing back in images like a slideshow. I had got my path, my road to solace. I knew where I had gone wrong. It was time to get back to journalism. Get the true story out there. Hurriedly, I took a hot water bath and then got ready to go in search of Mansi.
The lanes of Shanti Nagar colony were quite shabby. There were gutters that lined the footpath across which lay houses made of weak mud walls. Kids were playing cricket with plastic ball and a bat as people walked through the lanes. A little girl had buried herself into a vada-pav as she tried to satisfy her hunger. An old lady beat her clothes with vigor under a flowing tap. I asked for Room No. 19.
She turned at me “Who are you?” she asked in Marathi.
I explained her, I was a friend of Mansi.
“Who Mansi?” She asked.
“Mansi, who studies in Mithibai college” I tried to explain.
“You have got the wrong address” she said.
I then went to Mithibai college. I went to the office and I told I was a relative of Mansi who studied in the college. I told them I was not aware of the batch and the stream she had undertaken. I paid the peon a hundred bucks. He fished out all the registers. There were two Mansi’s. I went to meet them, but they were different people. I walked out of the college dejected.
My hunger unsatisfied. My story incomplete.
Friday, November 10, 2006
Untitled
The plane was circling around the airport. I could see a million lights scattered across the city. It looked as if the city was a chest filled with jewels. The flight was a long one and I was already very tired. The show at Sydney went off very well. After a brief hiatus at Bombay, I was supposed to leave again for London where the next show was to be held. Being in a software company had its own thrills and chills. The Captain of the plane announced the landing and requested to put the seat belts on. I wondered if Rachael would be at home. Rachael was a crazy woman always in a completely messed up state of mind. She was desperate to be an independent woman and live life at her own terms. She did not want to be left out from the definition of the ‘high flying liberated society’.
After collecting my bags, I headed to the Taxi service counter at the exit of the airport. The city airport was as messy as it could be. More than the place, it was the people at the Customs. They would rip apart every little baggage and check if they could get anything valuable for which they could get paid for unofficially. Switching on my mobile, I hoped, it was charged enough. I did not have the key to the apartment and if Rachael was not home, I would end up waiting for her on the stairs and I was too tired for any such thing to happen. The screen showed a single stick indicating the lowness of battery charge. I speed dialed Rachael’s number. The bell rang. She did not pick up. I gave the receipt to a cabbie, who called out the number of the taxie. A Sikh guy ran up. He picked up the bags and walked me to the taxie I was allotted.
I dialed again. No answer. I dialed my ex-husband. It was around a year that we had separated. We loved each other, but there were some thing’s that our love could not handle. We were growing apart. Things were much better earlier before we got married. We had vowed that we would never impose ourselves on each other and keep our independence intact. But somewhere after our marriage, we forgot the little promise and everything got messed up. We were friends, still in love but apart. He picked up the phone.
“Hi sweetheart” he picked the phone within a single ring. It was usually that way. And my heart used to miss a beat when I dialed his number.
“Hi how are you?” both of us said together. It was our little routine. Every time we called we would end up asking the same question to each other at the same time.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I am ok. How about you?”
“I am ok” he replied.
“When did you come from Sydney?”
“Just a while ago” I never used to call him immediately after I was back. “Just landed in fact.”
“Can I come over to your place? I can’t trace Rachel, and I have no battery left inside me and the cell phone to try contacting her” I asked.
“No problem” he said.
I instructed the cabbie to divert the route. He asked for an extra hundred rupees. I was in no mood to argue and I obliged.
Rajiv’s home was neatly decorated. There were only two bean bags and a little foam laid on the floor in the whole house. A music system was on in one corner and a laptop on another. It was that neat. He had this thing about space. He felt that we would have more time in our lives if he had less things cluttered around us. It is a psychological thing, he tried to explain. I never tried to argue on it. We had already many issues to argue on. I dragged in my suitcase and dumped myself on to the beanbag. He went into his minimalist kitchen and came out with two mugs full of coffee.
“The coffee, just like you want. Hot and really bitter” he said. He had already made the coffee after I called him telling him I would be home.
“You remember!” I thought. I graciously accepted. “So what are you working on right now?”
“Just the usual crap. Writing lies” he smiled.
He walked down the room and put in a CD. I could guess even before he had pressed the play button. It was a Kitaro CD.
“When are you off to your next show?” he asked me.
“Next week” I never bothered to tell him where, and he never asked me too. During our ‘happily married’ status, there were a million questions asked.
“How is Fayyaz?”
“He is good, almost survived a bomb blast.”
“Poor thing, it must be so difficult to live in such a place torn by conflict!”
“Well, you don’t have to patronize him. It is his choice. He better live with his own choice.”
“I am not patronizing him.”
“Well, your sympathizing for him and you know I don’t like anyone sympathizing for anybody!”
“It is easy for you to say that. You live in a war torn land and you will know what pain is. Where so many people die everyday”
“I know what pain is! I know what it is, to die everyday”
He pressed the play button on the CD player. He went to the corner of the room, pulling out the bean bag and started typing away on the laptop. Slowly, the serene music enveloped my thoughts and I dozed off.
When I opened my eyes, I was on the bed nicely wrapped up in the blanket. My shoes were nicely kept in a corner. Rajiv had fallen asleep on the bean bag. I got up and headed towards the bathroom. I washed my face and went to the kitchen to make coffee. I could only make black coffee. That is the only thing I had learnt. Rajiv was a nice cook. A nice cook but not a good cook. He used to experiment with cooking, but always ended up ordering for food from the nearby Sri Krishna restaurant. As the water boiled, I looked at him sleeping. He was in such a mess. His mouth open. His hands and legs spread across in all four directions. He always gave me a reason to smile. I took my mobile charger and plugged it into the socket and switched it on.
I went across to wake him up. His laptop was still on. A word document lay open. It read…
In the month of September as the winds of change blow across the city of Mumbai, I chanced upon a little child as I walked into the narrow streets of a slum colony. The child sat there eating vada-pav. The mashed potatoes smeared around her face as she plunged herself into the vada-pav to satisfy her hunger. A sparkle in her eye was that caught my attention to her. The quirky way in which she held her food in her hands and the dance of her jaw as she munched the eatables in her grasp….
He just turned around. Opening his eyes, he looked at me and gave me a smile.
“Do you know that you still snore like a pig?”
“No I don’t!” I replied.
“Yes you do!”
“No I don’t!” I tried to skip the conversation. “What are you writing now?”
“Well I was planning to write something worthwhile. This thing had happened a week back, when Rohan and Shawn picked me up for a night out fun. It unraveled a lot of dark secrets about life. Why don’t you read it and let me know what you think” he said.
Sipping the coffee I read on.
“Who is Susie?” I interrupted.
“A fictional receptionist in the office. Wanted to put some spice in the story, but later it did not work out. So left it the way it is.” He replied. He indeed lied quite well, but he could not lie to me. I used to catch him red handed. He would not look into my eye when he lied. This time he looked into my eye. Even though I was divorced from him, I could barely imagine him sleeping with someone else. And neither could I give myself to someone else. The story including the name of Susie having a physical relationship with Rajiv troubled my soul. Thankfully it was only fiction!
“It is nice” I said as I finished the story. “But is this the end of the story or is there more?”
“Let me see, I have asked Shawn to give me Blaze’s telephone number. Let’s see where he leads the story!” he replied.
“I am sure it will turn out good.” I told him.
I wanted to hug him and kiss him, but something within me was holding me back. I finished the coffee and went to the bath. He was already spic and span, ready to go to office.
“Leave the keys at the neighbor’s house. O.K. and call me before you leave. We’ll catch up on a movie or something” he said as he closed the door behind him.
“Whatever!” I replied, not knowing what to do and what to say.
I sat in the shower and cried. My tears getting lost in the constant stream of water that hit me and drenched me. I was absolutely blank. I did not know why I cried. After a long time in the shower, I came out. I headed for the mobile that lay ringing.
It was from a number I did not recognize. I picked up the phone.
“When did you reach?” Rachael asked.
“Yesterday night” I replied, my throat was parched.
“I am so sorry, I couldn’t pick up your call. I was in the car with Shawn. He was getting dirty and he did not allow me to pick the phone at all. I am sorry.” She tried to explain.
Both me and Rajiv knew both of them and were absolutely sure they deserved each other. Rachael also had a fling of boyfriends who she still sees when Shawn is not in town. And Shawn was a two timer since the day he had joined the ship. I wondered why he kept friends like Shawn, but then he would ask me the same about Rachael. Call her the ‘independent, liberated’ woman of today!
“Anyways I will reach home by two. See you then” she said. A long disconnected tone followed. I dressed myself up. There was a photograph of our wedding on the table. I looked at it. Tears filled my eyes. I kissed Rajiv.
“It will work out” I told myself “You just got to have faith in yourself”
I packed my bags and left. I left a little folder with my passport behind. At least there was a reason to meet Rajiv again.
After collecting my bags, I headed to the Taxi service counter at the exit of the airport. The city airport was as messy as it could be. More than the place, it was the people at the Customs. They would rip apart every little baggage and check if they could get anything valuable for which they could get paid for unofficially. Switching on my mobile, I hoped, it was charged enough. I did not have the key to the apartment and if Rachael was not home, I would end up waiting for her on the stairs and I was too tired for any such thing to happen. The screen showed a single stick indicating the lowness of battery charge. I speed dialed Rachael’s number. The bell rang. She did not pick up. I gave the receipt to a cabbie, who called out the number of the taxie. A Sikh guy ran up. He picked up the bags and walked me to the taxie I was allotted.
I dialed again. No answer. I dialed my ex-husband. It was around a year that we had separated. We loved each other, but there were some thing’s that our love could not handle. We were growing apart. Things were much better earlier before we got married. We had vowed that we would never impose ourselves on each other and keep our independence intact. But somewhere after our marriage, we forgot the little promise and everything got messed up. We were friends, still in love but apart. He picked up the phone.
“Hi sweetheart” he picked the phone within a single ring. It was usually that way. And my heart used to miss a beat when I dialed his number.
“Hi how are you?” both of us said together. It was our little routine. Every time we called we would end up asking the same question to each other at the same time.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I am ok. How about you?”
“I am ok” he replied.
“When did you come from Sydney?”
“Just a while ago” I never used to call him immediately after I was back. “Just landed in fact.”
“Can I come over to your place? I can’t trace Rachel, and I have no battery left inside me and the cell phone to try contacting her” I asked.
“No problem” he said.
I instructed the cabbie to divert the route. He asked for an extra hundred rupees. I was in no mood to argue and I obliged.
Rajiv’s home was neatly decorated. There were only two bean bags and a little foam laid on the floor in the whole house. A music system was on in one corner and a laptop on another. It was that neat. He had this thing about space. He felt that we would have more time in our lives if he had less things cluttered around us. It is a psychological thing, he tried to explain. I never tried to argue on it. We had already many issues to argue on. I dragged in my suitcase and dumped myself on to the beanbag. He went into his minimalist kitchen and came out with two mugs full of coffee.
“The coffee, just like you want. Hot and really bitter” he said. He had already made the coffee after I called him telling him I would be home.
“You remember!” I thought. I graciously accepted. “So what are you working on right now?”
“Just the usual crap. Writing lies” he smiled.
He walked down the room and put in a CD. I could guess even before he had pressed the play button. It was a Kitaro CD.
“When are you off to your next show?” he asked me.
“Next week” I never bothered to tell him where, and he never asked me too. During our ‘happily married’ status, there were a million questions asked.
“How is Fayyaz?”
“He is good, almost survived a bomb blast.”
“Poor thing, it must be so difficult to live in such a place torn by conflict!”
“Well, you don’t have to patronize him. It is his choice. He better live with his own choice.”
“I am not patronizing him.”
“Well, your sympathizing for him and you know I don’t like anyone sympathizing for anybody!”
“It is easy for you to say that. You live in a war torn land and you will know what pain is. Where so many people die everyday”
“I know what pain is! I know what it is, to die everyday”
He pressed the play button on the CD player. He went to the corner of the room, pulling out the bean bag and started typing away on the laptop. Slowly, the serene music enveloped my thoughts and I dozed off.
When I opened my eyes, I was on the bed nicely wrapped up in the blanket. My shoes were nicely kept in a corner. Rajiv had fallen asleep on the bean bag. I got up and headed towards the bathroom. I washed my face and went to the kitchen to make coffee. I could only make black coffee. That is the only thing I had learnt. Rajiv was a nice cook. A nice cook but not a good cook. He used to experiment with cooking, but always ended up ordering for food from the nearby Sri Krishna restaurant. As the water boiled, I looked at him sleeping. He was in such a mess. His mouth open. His hands and legs spread across in all four directions. He always gave me a reason to smile. I took my mobile charger and plugged it into the socket and switched it on.
I went across to wake him up. His laptop was still on. A word document lay open. It read…
In the month of September as the winds of change blow across the city of Mumbai, I chanced upon a little child as I walked into the narrow streets of a slum colony. The child sat there eating vada-pav. The mashed potatoes smeared around her face as she plunged herself into the vada-pav to satisfy her hunger. A sparkle in her eye was that caught my attention to her. The quirky way in which she held her food in her hands and the dance of her jaw as she munched the eatables in her grasp….
He just turned around. Opening his eyes, he looked at me and gave me a smile.
“Do you know that you still snore like a pig?”
“No I don’t!” I replied.
“Yes you do!”
“No I don’t!” I tried to skip the conversation. “What are you writing now?”
“Well I was planning to write something worthwhile. This thing had happened a week back, when Rohan and Shawn picked me up for a night out fun. It unraveled a lot of dark secrets about life. Why don’t you read it and let me know what you think” he said.
Sipping the coffee I read on.
“Who is Susie?” I interrupted.
“A fictional receptionist in the office. Wanted to put some spice in the story, but later it did not work out. So left it the way it is.” He replied. He indeed lied quite well, but he could not lie to me. I used to catch him red handed. He would not look into my eye when he lied. This time he looked into my eye. Even though I was divorced from him, I could barely imagine him sleeping with someone else. And neither could I give myself to someone else. The story including the name of Susie having a physical relationship with Rajiv troubled my soul. Thankfully it was only fiction!
“It is nice” I said as I finished the story. “But is this the end of the story or is there more?”
“Let me see, I have asked Shawn to give me Blaze’s telephone number. Let’s see where he leads the story!” he replied.
“I am sure it will turn out good.” I told him.
I wanted to hug him and kiss him, but something within me was holding me back. I finished the coffee and went to the bath. He was already spic and span, ready to go to office.
“Leave the keys at the neighbor’s house. O.K. and call me before you leave. We’ll catch up on a movie or something” he said as he closed the door behind him.
“Whatever!” I replied, not knowing what to do and what to say.
I sat in the shower and cried. My tears getting lost in the constant stream of water that hit me and drenched me. I was absolutely blank. I did not know why I cried. After a long time in the shower, I came out. I headed for the mobile that lay ringing.
It was from a number I did not recognize. I picked up the phone.
“When did you reach?” Rachael asked.
“Yesterday night” I replied, my throat was parched.
“I am so sorry, I couldn’t pick up your call. I was in the car with Shawn. He was getting dirty and he did not allow me to pick the phone at all. I am sorry.” She tried to explain.
Both me and Rajiv knew both of them and were absolutely sure they deserved each other. Rachael also had a fling of boyfriends who she still sees when Shawn is not in town. And Shawn was a two timer since the day he had joined the ship. I wondered why he kept friends like Shawn, but then he would ask me the same about Rachael. Call her the ‘independent, liberated’ woman of today!
“Anyways I will reach home by two. See you then” she said. A long disconnected tone followed. I dressed myself up. There was a photograph of our wedding on the table. I looked at it. Tears filled my eyes. I kissed Rajiv.
“It will work out” I told myself “You just got to have faith in yourself”
I packed my bags and left. I left a little folder with my passport behind. At least there was a reason to meet Rajiv again.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
The EarthQuake
The earth rumbled, the sky shook… hell broke loose. Within a couple of seconds, the whole earth was shattered. There was chaos all around. Huge cracks had spread into the wall of my rented ground floor apartment. In a place which was once called Heaven on Earth, now it was one of the most terror stricken parts of the world. Nature had struck again. I was frustrated with my life. Not a single day had passed when I had not come face to face with blood, death and agony. My feelings had got numb to death and terror. It was a part of my daily life. It was my life.
I had to call up my family. Check whether they were safe. I punched in the phone number on my cell. The call dropped. Networks must have been jammed. I ran to the telephone in the adjacent room. Maybe landlines were working. I picked up the receiver - no tone. The phone was dead. I had to get to my family. I had started living alone since a few years. Being a reporter, my life was in constant danger. I could not put my family in jeopardy. So I picked up my camera and cell phone . I had to go back home.
The earth shook again. Now, it was even more violent than ever. Something hit my head…
I opened my eyes. There was an intense light that came from the usually dull streetlight. It was night. I did not remember how long I was lying there. I was surprised no one bothered to wake me. I saw a broken concrete piece lying next to me. I turned and looked into the street. My memory gathered momentum. I remembered the earthquake in the morning. I was to head home. I hope my family was safe. I ran to the main road. I put out my hand to a passing by taxi. The taxi whizzed past. Another one whizzed past. Not a single taxi stopped. I started running on the road. The road was deserted than ever. I frantically waved out to all the passing vehicles. None of them stopped. It was strange. It all felt like a dream. Or was it a nightmare. I did not feel cold as I should have. Nights are usually cold. Very cold.
I remembered my sisters. The eldest of them was to be married next month. She was the most intelligent. She had taken up the responsibility of the mother in the family after she passed away last year, falling prey to a stray bullet at a terrorist crossfire in the market place. Farida was like a mother to both the younger sisters and my father who was paralyzed on the right side. My youngest sister was in school. Her smile was the sweetest in the world. She had lost all her teeth to chocolate. Her hair bounced like a mop as she ran towards me anticipating a box of choclolates. Diary milk with fruits and nuts was her favorite. My middle sister, was of the intellectual types. She was studying medicine and madly in love with a Hindu guy. No one was aware of this fact except me. It was news that could have a dire consequence in our community. I wanted them to get married and stay abroad. Maybe in London, Australia or Canada. It would be safer for both of them to stay there. I was the only person aware of this secret. Father was bedridden. Rajiv, my friend who lived in Mumbai always cursed me for staying away from my family. He said I was selfish. He said that by living away from my family, their life was in constant danger. Maybe he was. If I were with them today, I would not be here running around deserted streets without a clue about my family. I should live with my family. Their need for me was bigger than the danger I anticipated.
I reached home. There was a crowd outside. The sound of howling echoed into the lane outside the house. The people around were animatedly talking if something very grave had happened. No one reacted to my presence. I ran inside. I saw my father on the wheelchair sobbing. I turned around. I saw my two younger sisters crying. My eldest sister was missing. I was shocked, words failed to come out. I was speechless. The sound of an ambulance filled the air. I rushed towards the ambulance. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Farida… where was she? The back of the ambulance opened. Farida stepped out. I heaved a sigh of relief. Two men alighted after her with a stretcher. I went forward to hug her, to tell her that I was so relieved. That’s when my eyes went to the stretcher. I lay on the stretcher. Cold. Dead
I had to call up my family. Check whether they were safe. I punched in the phone number on my cell. The call dropped. Networks must have been jammed. I ran to the telephone in the adjacent room. Maybe landlines were working. I picked up the receiver - no tone. The phone was dead. I had to get to my family. I had started living alone since a few years. Being a reporter, my life was in constant danger. I could not put my family in jeopardy. So I picked up my camera and cell phone . I had to go back home.
The earth shook again. Now, it was even more violent than ever. Something hit my head…
I opened my eyes. There was an intense light that came from the usually dull streetlight. It was night. I did not remember how long I was lying there. I was surprised no one bothered to wake me. I saw a broken concrete piece lying next to me. I turned and looked into the street. My memory gathered momentum. I remembered the earthquake in the morning. I was to head home. I hope my family was safe. I ran to the main road. I put out my hand to a passing by taxi. The taxi whizzed past. Another one whizzed past. Not a single taxi stopped. I started running on the road. The road was deserted than ever. I frantically waved out to all the passing vehicles. None of them stopped. It was strange. It all felt like a dream. Or was it a nightmare. I did not feel cold as I should have. Nights are usually cold. Very cold.
I remembered my sisters. The eldest of them was to be married next month. She was the most intelligent. She had taken up the responsibility of the mother in the family after she passed away last year, falling prey to a stray bullet at a terrorist crossfire in the market place. Farida was like a mother to both the younger sisters and my father who was paralyzed on the right side. My youngest sister was in school. Her smile was the sweetest in the world. She had lost all her teeth to chocolate. Her hair bounced like a mop as she ran towards me anticipating a box of choclolates. Diary milk with fruits and nuts was her favorite. My middle sister, was of the intellectual types. She was studying medicine and madly in love with a Hindu guy. No one was aware of this fact except me. It was news that could have a dire consequence in our community. I wanted them to get married and stay abroad. Maybe in London, Australia or Canada. It would be safer for both of them to stay there. I was the only person aware of this secret. Father was bedridden. Rajiv, my friend who lived in Mumbai always cursed me for staying away from my family. He said I was selfish. He said that by living away from my family, their life was in constant danger. Maybe he was. If I were with them today, I would not be here running around deserted streets without a clue about my family. I should live with my family. Their need for me was bigger than the danger I anticipated.
I reached home. There was a crowd outside. The sound of howling echoed into the lane outside the house. The people around were animatedly talking if something very grave had happened. No one reacted to my presence. I ran inside. I saw my father on the wheelchair sobbing. I turned around. I saw my two younger sisters crying. My eldest sister was missing. I was shocked, words failed to come out. I was speechless. The sound of an ambulance filled the air. I rushed towards the ambulance. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Farida… where was she? The back of the ambulance opened. Farida stepped out. I heaved a sigh of relief. Two men alighted after her with a stretcher. I went forward to hug her, to tell her that I was so relieved. That’s when my eyes went to the stretcher. I lay on the stretcher. Cold. Dead
Introduction to GOD
I feel very cozy in my own space. Cuddled inside a little bag floating in a space of my own, I feel completely in sync with my surroundings. I wonder if this is life? Feeling one with my own self. The world around me keeps changing all the day. But all I can do is feel. As time passes by, I hear voices. Are these voices from my inner soul or is it from God? Mostly, it is a continuous chatter. I can here laughter, I can hear people talking. I try hard to talk back, but always fail. In frustration I try to move my hands and legs. I feel tied down. All I can do is move my legs a little. As I kick, the voices increase. I try looking around. Cannot see much, there is darkness all around. It has always been that way. Ever since I was born.
When I was little, there was more space around, but it was of no use. I had limitation of movement within my own self. But as I grew, the space around me grew smaller and smaller. Now I had more ability of movement but hardly any space to move. I feel cramped in here. I try hard, but moving out of my space hardly seems to be in my hands. I try my best, and when I get tired, I give up. The voices grow louder as I try to move. It irritates me. I pray to get my own space, a space where I could be on my own, without any limitations, without any bindings. And then I hear the voice again. It is a sweet lullaby. A sweet lullaby that puts me to sleep. I doze of into eternity. Darkness envelopes my mind and heart.
Many days pass by. Nothing changes much. Things only get worse. The darkness is haunting. I cannot just lie here doing nothing. In fact I don’t have any reason to be upset. I am never hungry. I am well taken care off, but it gives me a shiver down the spine. I am choking to death. I try wriggling my shoulders. I hear the voice. It’s a loud shriek. The voice goes piercing into my ears. I feel nauseated. I feel a chill. I feel I am going to die, but the life I am living is itself killing me. This life is not worth at all if I cannot do the things I want to do. So I wriggle harder. The voice gets louder. I feel myself being squeezed to death. I feel huge pain. And the screaming voice does not help either. I feel choked. I try to gasp, but I cannot. I feel death is close to me. I can feel its presence. The sound just keeps getting louder. I feel I am stuck. Stuck somewhere in between life and death. And suddenly I feel a huge force. I feel myself dying, being hurled into another world. And suddenly there is light. Just like God created the universe by saying “Let there be light”. I know I am dead. This would be heaven. The light pierces my eyes with fierce intensity. Slowly the light settles down and I see a face. Is this what God looks like? The face is smiling. I realize the voice is the same as I heard in my dreams, my inner voice. “Isnt she beautiful?” she says. Another face comes in. “She has got eyes just like you, Rachel” he says.
“We will name her Sharon” God says.
When I was little, there was more space around, but it was of no use. I had limitation of movement within my own self. But as I grew, the space around me grew smaller and smaller. Now I had more ability of movement but hardly any space to move. I feel cramped in here. I try hard, but moving out of my space hardly seems to be in my hands. I try my best, and when I get tired, I give up. The voices grow louder as I try to move. It irritates me. I pray to get my own space, a space where I could be on my own, without any limitations, without any bindings. And then I hear the voice again. It is a sweet lullaby. A sweet lullaby that puts me to sleep. I doze of into eternity. Darkness envelopes my mind and heart.
Many days pass by. Nothing changes much. Things only get worse. The darkness is haunting. I cannot just lie here doing nothing. In fact I don’t have any reason to be upset. I am never hungry. I am well taken care off, but it gives me a shiver down the spine. I am choking to death. I try wriggling my shoulders. I hear the voice. It’s a loud shriek. The voice goes piercing into my ears. I feel nauseated. I feel a chill. I feel I am going to die, but the life I am living is itself killing me. This life is not worth at all if I cannot do the things I want to do. So I wriggle harder. The voice gets louder. I feel myself being squeezed to death. I feel huge pain. And the screaming voice does not help either. I feel choked. I try to gasp, but I cannot. I feel death is close to me. I can feel its presence. The sound just keeps getting louder. I feel I am stuck. Stuck somewhere in between life and death. And suddenly I feel a huge force. I feel myself dying, being hurled into another world. And suddenly there is light. Just like God created the universe by saying “Let there be light”. I know I am dead. This would be heaven. The light pierces my eyes with fierce intensity. Slowly the light settles down and I see a face. Is this what God looks like? The face is smiling. I realize the voice is the same as I heard in my dreams, my inner voice. “Isnt she beautiful?” she says. Another face comes in. “She has got eyes just like you, Rachel” he says.
“We will name her Sharon” God says.
The tale of two shoes
Michael, as always when in a dilemma would go trekking. He would climb up a little mountain to see the spectacular view of the forests that lay in the heart of the city. A place where nature whispered in the wind and soothed the heart with a soft caress of solitude. Lonely that he was, he trekked up the mountain, heaving with heavy breaths, his shoes squeaking at every step.
It had been a long time since his shoes had been loyal to him. Around two years to be exact. When he picked it up from the shop, they were gleaming from the window, waiting for a person who would make them their own. They were called the He-shoe and the she-shoe.
Location: SHOE STORE
He – Shoe: Hey, look at that guy, I wish he picks us.
She – Shoe: Why, just because he has worn a Diesel t-shirt? Look at his shoes. He has hardly ever washed it. Imagine how he would keep us if he picked us up.
He-Shoe: Yes, you are right…
Days pass by
He- Shoe: Till when will we be tucked in this shop, looking out of the window, smiling at people trying to be picked up?
She-shoe: Patience He… It is better waiting to be picked by someone who will be nice to us.
He-Shoe: The purpose of our existence is to walk and keep walking. Not to be a window dressing…
One day Michael was passing by a shop. Christmas was just around the corner. Sales galore in all the shops around the streets and spectacular lighting donned the windows of the shopping mall. He went into the shop and searched for a pair of shoes. There was a sale going on. He saw a nice pair of shoes tucked on to the window dressing. He picked it up and tried it on…
He-Shoe: Hey who is this guy who has picked me up. I cant see him, She, can you see him?
She-Shoe: Don’t worry, he looks like a nice guy. His feet are clean. I think he will take care of us. Just pray we fit right on to his legs..
Michael: (to his friend) Hey this fits perfectly. I think I like this.
He-Shoe: Yes we have done it! We have been owned.
She-Shoe: Finally we have got a home, isn’t it sweetheart?
He-Shoe: Yes indeed.
As they were packed into the shoebox, they snuggled with each other. They felt content, full of Hope not knowing what their future would hold.
The shoes were very comfortable. They used to hug and caress his feet as he strode down the alleys in the few early mornings that he used to jog. Later the jogging stopped and once in a while, he used to climb the mountain nearby that bordered on a forest nearby. That day, when the monsoon had just ended, on top of the mountain, the grass was green laid out like a carpet and the soothing wind that made him feel like he was in paradise. He removed the shoes to feel the grass below.
He-Shoe: Isn’t this a beautiful place?
She-Shoe. Yes indeed.
He-Shoe: I used to have nightmares while I was in the shop. What would it be in the world outside? Inside the shop, it was so cold, neatly placed, with hardly any dust. But now even though I am allergic to dust, it is so wonderful to be to different places.
She-Shoe: Yes.. Remember, the other day when Michael was watching the film.. Forrest Gump. I heard somebody say, ‘The shoes tell a lot about you. Places that you have been and thinks like that.’
He-Shoe: Isn’t it nice to be a shoe? We make so much difference to people’s lives.
She-Shoe: Yes it is. And today is the most beautiful day in my life.
He-shoe: I am so happy, I have these moments to share with you.
That day the sunset was the most beautiful. Everything was so perfect. Michael felt at peace with himself. Later as it became night, he started climbing down the hill. From that place above, he could see the entire city lit up like jewels scattered around. The light of the city reflected on the rocks that paved the way down. In the partial darkness, he twisted his ankle and his shoe brushed with a sharp rock. He reached down limping and caught a rickshaw back home.
Many days passed by. Living in a city, the usual paths became the ones he took from his work to home and the reverse. Life started getting monotonous. And one day, for a change, he decided to meet a friend. It was a long time that they had met. In fact he had nurtured secret feelings for this girl, but he was very scared to tell her.
He-shoe: Hey finally has wiped us clean. Looks like there is something special about today.
She-shoe: I was wishing so much that he cleaned us. I have been praying to God everyday. Finally my prayers have been answered.
He-Shoe: Today is something special, I don’t know what it is, but I am sure about it.
She-Shoe: I wish every day was special like today.
That day was indeed special. They went for a drive and spoke till it was late in the night. That night as he dropped her home, he told her what he felt about her. She smiled and left. As she entered her home, she turned and waved goodbye. Later sitting alone in the car, Michael cried silently. There was no one around in the stillness of the night. He could not imagine a life without her. She was the only girl with whom Michael felt so complete. The only time he was truly himself was when he was with her alone.
He-Shoe: So Michael has found love, isn’t it?
She-Shoe: She is a nice girl. I think it will work out
He-Shoe: I don’t know… if she loved him why didn’t she say anything?
She-shoe: It is a girl thing you know. A good girl will never say yes on the first proposal.
He-shoe: Why?
She-shoe: It is like that, that is why. Probably, because you guys don’t have the value of things which you get so easily.
He-Shoe: You women are impossible! You women love to complicate things, don’t you?
She-Shoe: It is not complication, it is sophistication.
He-Shoe: Sophistication my foot!
She-Shoe: You ARE the foot!
Time flew by. Seasons changed. Michael’s life was in doldrums. The girl was marrying someone else. On that day, he decided to trek to the top of the mountain. He wore his old shoes. It was torn in more than one place. It was time to change them. It was the law of nature, the old gives way to the new. With heaviness in his heart, he trekked up the mountain. His shoes squeaked. He started gasping for breath. It was indeed a long time since he had climbed this mountain. Step by step he forced himself to the top. As he almost reached the top, he heard a tearing sound. The sole had separated from the shoe. He removed them and kept it aside as he went ahead to the stone that donned the peak of the mountain. He outstretched his arms as the wind caressed him. The wind spit below his arms as if it was holding him. He closed his eyes. He saw her eyes.
He-Shoe: Are you alright?
She-Shoe: I am torn completely. I am of no use!
He-Shoe: Don’t say that. Accidents happen.
She-shoe: No, I am of no use. Look at me… I am a disaster. He is going to throw me.
He-Shoe: You know something? There is one thing that is the best for shoes like us.
She-shoe (sobbing): What is that?
He-Shoe: Look at him. He is standing there dejected. He has nobody with him. God made everybody in pairs, but for humans, He makes humans search for true love. Look at Michael, he is all alone. We are not. We are together. We were made in pairs. If you are torn and thrown away, I am of no use. I will be thrown away too. We are of use only when we are together and we are of no use when we are separate.
She-shoe: (sobbing) I guess you are right!
He-Shoe: So no matter what, we will be together, till death do us apart.
She-Shoe: I am so glad we are made this way. Look at the sunset. I wish we were here till the end of our lives.
He-shoe: Isn’t this the most beautiful place on earth?
She-shoe: I think this is a beautiful place, but what makes it even more beautiful is that you are there along with me…
It was a nice evening. In the loneliness, Michael spoke loudly to himself. It was time to accept change. It was time to change, for the better. It was time to rethink about his life. It was time to leave old things behind. He left his shoes on the mountain. The path down the hill was rocky. He cut himself against the sharp rocks. But the pain was lesser than the pain he had in his heart. With hope in his heart, he trudged on…
He-Shoe: I think your prayers have been answered again.
She-Shoe: Yes, isn’t it so nice? The rest of our retired life in this beautiful place…
It had been a long time since his shoes had been loyal to him. Around two years to be exact. When he picked it up from the shop, they were gleaming from the window, waiting for a person who would make them their own. They were called the He-shoe and the she-shoe.
Location: SHOE STORE
He – Shoe: Hey, look at that guy, I wish he picks us.
She – Shoe: Why, just because he has worn a Diesel t-shirt? Look at his shoes. He has hardly ever washed it. Imagine how he would keep us if he picked us up.
He-Shoe: Yes, you are right…
Days pass by
He- Shoe: Till when will we be tucked in this shop, looking out of the window, smiling at people trying to be picked up?
She-shoe: Patience He… It is better waiting to be picked by someone who will be nice to us.
He-Shoe: The purpose of our existence is to walk and keep walking. Not to be a window dressing…
One day Michael was passing by a shop. Christmas was just around the corner. Sales galore in all the shops around the streets and spectacular lighting donned the windows of the shopping mall. He went into the shop and searched for a pair of shoes. There was a sale going on. He saw a nice pair of shoes tucked on to the window dressing. He picked it up and tried it on…
He-Shoe: Hey who is this guy who has picked me up. I cant see him, She, can you see him?
She-Shoe: Don’t worry, he looks like a nice guy. His feet are clean. I think he will take care of us. Just pray we fit right on to his legs..
Michael: (to his friend) Hey this fits perfectly. I think I like this.
He-Shoe: Yes we have done it! We have been owned.
She-Shoe: Finally we have got a home, isn’t it sweetheart?
He-Shoe: Yes indeed.
As they were packed into the shoebox, they snuggled with each other. They felt content, full of Hope not knowing what their future would hold.
The shoes were very comfortable. They used to hug and caress his feet as he strode down the alleys in the few early mornings that he used to jog. Later the jogging stopped and once in a while, he used to climb the mountain nearby that bordered on a forest nearby. That day, when the monsoon had just ended, on top of the mountain, the grass was green laid out like a carpet and the soothing wind that made him feel like he was in paradise. He removed the shoes to feel the grass below.
He-Shoe: Isn’t this a beautiful place?
She-Shoe. Yes indeed.
He-Shoe: I used to have nightmares while I was in the shop. What would it be in the world outside? Inside the shop, it was so cold, neatly placed, with hardly any dust. But now even though I am allergic to dust, it is so wonderful to be to different places.
She-Shoe: Yes.. Remember, the other day when Michael was watching the film.. Forrest Gump. I heard somebody say, ‘The shoes tell a lot about you. Places that you have been and thinks like that.’
He-Shoe: Isn’t it nice to be a shoe? We make so much difference to people’s lives.
She-Shoe: Yes it is. And today is the most beautiful day in my life.
He-shoe: I am so happy, I have these moments to share with you.
That day the sunset was the most beautiful. Everything was so perfect. Michael felt at peace with himself. Later as it became night, he started climbing down the hill. From that place above, he could see the entire city lit up like jewels scattered around. The light of the city reflected on the rocks that paved the way down. In the partial darkness, he twisted his ankle and his shoe brushed with a sharp rock. He reached down limping and caught a rickshaw back home.
Many days passed by. Living in a city, the usual paths became the ones he took from his work to home and the reverse. Life started getting monotonous. And one day, for a change, he decided to meet a friend. It was a long time that they had met. In fact he had nurtured secret feelings for this girl, but he was very scared to tell her.
He-shoe: Hey finally has wiped us clean. Looks like there is something special about today.
She-shoe: I was wishing so much that he cleaned us. I have been praying to God everyday. Finally my prayers have been answered.
He-Shoe: Today is something special, I don’t know what it is, but I am sure about it.
She-Shoe: I wish every day was special like today.
That day was indeed special. They went for a drive and spoke till it was late in the night. That night as he dropped her home, he told her what he felt about her. She smiled and left. As she entered her home, she turned and waved goodbye. Later sitting alone in the car, Michael cried silently. There was no one around in the stillness of the night. He could not imagine a life without her. She was the only girl with whom Michael felt so complete. The only time he was truly himself was when he was with her alone.
He-Shoe: So Michael has found love, isn’t it?
She-Shoe: She is a nice girl. I think it will work out
He-Shoe: I don’t know… if she loved him why didn’t she say anything?
She-shoe: It is a girl thing you know. A good girl will never say yes on the first proposal.
He-shoe: Why?
She-shoe: It is like that, that is why. Probably, because you guys don’t have the value of things which you get so easily.
He-Shoe: You women are impossible! You women love to complicate things, don’t you?
She-Shoe: It is not complication, it is sophistication.
He-Shoe: Sophistication my foot!
She-Shoe: You ARE the foot!
Time flew by. Seasons changed. Michael’s life was in doldrums. The girl was marrying someone else. On that day, he decided to trek to the top of the mountain. He wore his old shoes. It was torn in more than one place. It was time to change them. It was the law of nature, the old gives way to the new. With heaviness in his heart, he trekked up the mountain. His shoes squeaked. He started gasping for breath. It was indeed a long time since he had climbed this mountain. Step by step he forced himself to the top. As he almost reached the top, he heard a tearing sound. The sole had separated from the shoe. He removed them and kept it aside as he went ahead to the stone that donned the peak of the mountain. He outstretched his arms as the wind caressed him. The wind spit below his arms as if it was holding him. He closed his eyes. He saw her eyes.
He-Shoe: Are you alright?
She-Shoe: I am torn completely. I am of no use!
He-Shoe: Don’t say that. Accidents happen.
She-shoe: No, I am of no use. Look at me… I am a disaster. He is going to throw me.
He-Shoe: You know something? There is one thing that is the best for shoes like us.
She-shoe (sobbing): What is that?
He-Shoe: Look at him. He is standing there dejected. He has nobody with him. God made everybody in pairs, but for humans, He makes humans search for true love. Look at Michael, he is all alone. We are not. We are together. We were made in pairs. If you are torn and thrown away, I am of no use. I will be thrown away too. We are of use only when we are together and we are of no use when we are separate.
She-shoe: (sobbing) I guess you are right!
He-Shoe: So no matter what, we will be together, till death do us apart.
She-Shoe: I am so glad we are made this way. Look at the sunset. I wish we were here till the end of our lives.
He-shoe: Isn’t this the most beautiful place on earth?
She-shoe: I think this is a beautiful place, but what makes it even more beautiful is that you are there along with me…
It was a nice evening. In the loneliness, Michael spoke loudly to himself. It was time to accept change. It was time to change, for the better. It was time to rethink about his life. It was time to leave old things behind. He left his shoes on the mountain. The path down the hill was rocky. He cut himself against the sharp rocks. But the pain was lesser than the pain he had in his heart. With hope in his heart, he trudged on…
He-Shoe: I think your prayers have been answered again.
She-Shoe: Yes, isn’t it so nice? The rest of our retired life in this beautiful place…
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