The year was 2071 and so many of the social problems humans had faced over the last hundred years were still a pretty big problem. Most people were still poor, corporations still ran the government, and politicians were constantly caught with invalids of both sexes, living and dead.
When politicians weren't blowing each other's personal lives completely out of proportion for political gain, they were starting wars with other countries. Sometimes, they would even start wars with people inside their own country, but those were usually ideological.
Perhaps the biggest and worst change was that the polar ice caps had melted and much of the Mojave Desert was now prime beachfront property, and the air across the globe tasted like you were sucking on a tailpipe.
As pressing and horrible as those issues were, they really didn't enter into the minds of Narayan and Venkat Pai. They were working class and average in most ways.
Narayan worked a standard 60 hour work week and, to help make ends meet, Venkat picked up 39 hours a week, part time, working at the deli counter at the local, national chain grocery emporium.
Even with all those hours, supporting their modest household and single child, Narayan, Jr., was a difficult exercise. After the mortgage, the bills, the poor tax, and their basic needs, there wasn't a lot left over for leisure, though they had saved up their pennies for quite a while to afford the sizeable Ramtech brand HD television that provided the centerpiece for their living space.
Each night after work, Narayan Pai would settle into his favorite tattered easy chair that he was still making payments on, he would crack open an ice cold beer, and watch his immense television. Despite his disinterest, he seemed to watch the local, nationally-syndicated-for-the-region news. Little Narayan, Jr., just before bedtime, would sit cross-legged in the space of carpet between his father and the television, transfixed by every image shown on the high definition display.
"Tonight, we have a special live program for you from science reporter Suresh Bharve."
"Venkat! Can you grab another beer for me, love?"
"This is Suresh Bharve, and I'm here at the Abdul Kalam Space Center in Bay of Bengal, reporting live for a momentous occasion, both for science and for mankind."
"Yes, dear! I'll grab another can from the ice box."
"With me, I have Doctor Alok Aspen, chief architect of Project: Humanity, brought to you by Exion, which is launching in a rocket in T-Minus 8 minutes."
Venkat arrived a moment later in the living room with Narayan's beer, putting it in his hand and leaning down, pulling the foot rest on his recliner up for him. He sipped the head of the beer that had flowed over the lip of the can, paying far less attention to the launch than his boy was.
"What we're doing is really quite simple. The top minds in the world have created a 60 year plan to fix the problems of the world, hunger, disease, war, and monetize those solutions for their sponsors...."
Narayan, Jr., blinked. At seven years old these concepts were still just a little too abstract for his innocent little mind. He'd been hungry before, but he couldn't understand how it could be a problem since food seemed so readily available. And he didn't think disease would have been a big deal because whenever he got too sick, he would be taken to the emergency room.
And war was something cool that his dad had showed him in movies. But he was appropriately naïve for his age, like all boys his age should be.
"And what we're doing is quite revolutionary in order to solve the mortality problem and allow these brilliant minds and captains of industry to oversee their plan to the end and beyond."
Narayan slurped his beer, worn to the bone. Venkat listened to the broadcast from the kitchen where the smells of a cooking dinner were all consuming.
"...and could you explain to our audience at home how you plan to conquer 'the mortality problem'?"
"Time travel," the good doctor said as he flashed a sparkling grin at the camera.
At the sound of the phrase, little Junior's eyes widened and his ears perked up. This was the sort of television that fired the imaginations of little boys the world over into overdrive.
"Time travel? And how is that possible?"
"By going very far, very fast. We're going to blast them into space and they're going to approach the speed of light on their way out of our solar system and galaxy. Then they'll sling shot back. The closer to the speed of light they travel, the faster time on Earth goes by.
It's the time dilation effect. Their voyage will take about 10 years for them, but we estimate about 60 years will have elapsed on Earth by the time they come back."
Junior's eyes were as wide as saucers and the hairs on his neck were raised on end. "Dad, dad..." the boy turned to his father, excited. "They're flying to the future!"
"Eh?" the older Narayan looked up, noticing the flashing images on the screen as Dr. Aspen introduced the audience at home to the rocket ship's crew, the Earth's first recorded Time Travelers. The Captain, the crew, the science team, the business leaders, the support crew, all the families, there were a hundred and four in all.
"And each of them are heroes of the highest order, embarking on this ten year odyssey in the name of science, of profit, and in the name of humanity."
Dr. Aspen cut in, taking the microphone from the reporter, "Make no doubts about it, we are sending Earth's most brilliant mind's as a gift to the future."
"And here we are, with one minute left. You can see on your television the enormity of the rocket--"
"--it has to be that big, in order to facilitate the nuclear blasts required to achieve near-speed-of-light travel."
Both Narayan and his son were completely entranced by the screen with a burning sensation of pride in their chest. This was what humanity could achieve if we worked together.
"All our problems will be solved then, won't they son?"
Narayan, Jr., could only nod; his eyes could not leave the screen.
"While they're gone, they'll have a crew of ten working in the greenhouse on board, making sure the ship is well supplied with oxygen and fresh food for all hands on deck."
"Do they have any livestock on board, Doctor?"
"Of course, they had access to some of the last remaining livestock resources on our planet. There will be very little reprocessing for them, the ship was designed to be completely sustainable on their voyage."
Narayan, Sr., took long, deep gulps of his beer, but paying an unusual amount of attention to the television.
"And why is it they decided to bring their families along, Doctor?"
"I think that's rather obvious, Suresh. They'll be gone for 60 of our Earth years. When they come back, they'll be able to carry on their family lives as though they haven't missed a beat. They won't return to be younger than their grandchildren."
"Are we sure this will work, Doctor? I mean, time travel sounds a bit far fetched..."
"The science is sound. The consensus of the scientific community is that this will work. And I've seen the data and everything suggests complete success."
Without realizing it, Narayan, Jr., had been inching closer and closer to the television. In fact, he'd gotten so close that the letterboxed screen encompassed the entirety of his field of vision. He was at a rapt state of complete attention.
"And why aren't you going along, Dr. Aspen?"
"Well, we decided to hold one mind here in reserve on Earth, to shepherd the project along while they are gone on their momentous voyage. There is a lot to do in the next 60 years if we're going to fix the world, and their work needs to carry on. They've given me the blueprint and I hope to get things off the ground before my time is up. I'll pass the torch to others beyond me, and they'll pass that torch along until these brilliant minds return."
"Fascinating, Doctor. You really are onto something important here, sir."
"I sure hope so. We're really putting our eggs into one basket, so to speak."
As the countdown to the launch began, neither Narayan, Sr., nor his son realized that they were holding their breath.
"Now, with 30 seconds left, we're about to witness the launch of the fastest, most immense ship ever fired into the outer-reaches of space."
"With 25 seconds left, I'm reminding myself that this is a moment we will all remember in the collective memory of society for years to come, like the first time we walked on the moon, or the September 11 attacks, or the annexation of Mexico."
"Indeed, and it's important to remind the audience that this is the first time humans will have left our galaxy. But now we're about to go to the countdown at mission control."
"This is mission control. We have launch in T-minus 10.
"9.
"8.
"7.
"6.
"5.
"4.
"3.
"2.
"1. We have lift off."
In a brilliant flash of light and accompanied by the sound of rolling thunder, The Hope of Humanity was launched into space, hurtling toward the heavens.
"And there it is. The Hope of Humanity has launched. It's a beautiful sight. The rocket and all of its crew are just a few seconds from leaving the Earth's atmosphere, not to return for another 60 years."
And that's when something went wrong.
With the eyes of the world watching, the rocket exploded into a fiery ball of shorn, metal debris, quite obviously killing anyone and anything inside.
The television feed cut back to the reporters, horrified looks nestled firmly on their faces. "Uhh... Ladies and gentlemen, it seems as though... this is a terrible, terrible tragedy... The rocket has exploded, everyone inside is most likely dead. The Hope of the Future exploded just before it left the Earth's atmosphere."
While Suresh and his colleagues struggled to swallow their tears and find words to describe the catastrophe that occurred on live television, little Narayan, Jr., burst into deep, troubled sobs, trying hard to comprehend what he just saw. A shivering thrill of excitement had run up his back, only to turn to tears and terror almost instantly. He stood up and ran to the loving arms of his mother who walked into the room, wondering what the commotion was about.
"What happened?" she asked as she put her arms around her son while he cried into her apron.
For all the gruffness of his exterior, Narayan was having a hard time holding back tears. "The space ship... It exploded..."
"Oh, dear," she said. The blood ran from her face as she realized that more than a hundred of the world's brightest minds were lost in that single moment.
Narayan couldn't bear going to work the next day and neither could Venkat. Narayan, Jr. stayed home from school. The entire world was in a state of shock and no one was faulted for closing their businesses for the day and curling up in the fetal position in front of their televisions, hoping to find some sense in such a senseless event.
For days and weeks and months and years after, pundits, scientists, and anyone in between would debate the cause of the explosion on TV, the news, and the internet, but the answer was pretty simple: That's just what happens when you live in a world without meaningful regulations and is run by force of profit motive: the lowest bidder always wins the contracts.
Sunday, 24 October 2010
Friday, 13 August 2010
Love with a difference…
A cell-phone rings at 9 o’clock in the morning in an apartment in Pune.
The husband picks up, pauses for a moment as if hearing something, and says, “Don’t worry, I’ll be there on time,” and then he switches off the mobile phone and keeps it in his pocket.
He then shouts to his wife, who is in the kitchen: “I’m going out for some work. I’ll be back around one thirty or two for lunch.”
“Where are you going...? You’ve taken leave today. Let’s go shopping...and then we'll go for lunch and a movie.”
“Please. Not today. I’ve taken leave just for this important thing.”
“Important thing…? What important thing…? Where are you going…?” the wife persists.
The husband does not want to tell her but he knows now that he has no choice but to tell her. He knows his wife’s nature so well – she is not going to rest till she finds out. She will nag him to death until he tells her.
So he decides to tell her the bare minimum.
“I am going to the Family Court,” he says.
“Family Court…? Why…?” his wife shrieks in amazement.
“A divorce case,” the husband says nonchalantly.
“Divorce case…? You are filing a divorce case…? You are trying to divorce me behind my back…?” the wife yells hysterically.
“Will you please be quiet and listen…? It’s not us. Suhana has asked me to come for the hearing.”
“Suhana…? Who is this Suhana…?”
“You’ve met her. She’s my colleague at work.”
“Oh...so it is That Suhana…! I knew you always had a soft corner for her.”
“It’s her final divorce hearing today and she’s called me.”
“Divorce case…? Suhana…? She called you…? How are you involved…? I hope the divorce is not because of you…? I knew you’d do something stupid. You are so gullible you know – you must have got trapped by her, fell victim to her charms and now you are in trouble being summoned by courts. Respectable persons never see the insides of a court in their entire lives...!”
“Will you please keep quiet…? You just go on and on…! Suhana has called me just to give her emotional support...”
“Emotional support…? From you…? So this Suhana needs emotional support from you…? Why you…? Tell me…why you…? I knew there was some hanky-panky going on. I’m coming with you. Can’t you see what she’s up to…?”
“Please…please calm down and don’t jump to conclusions. Suhana is just a colleague going through a rough patch. As a friend, I have to help her out, show her a bit of compassion and kindness…that’s all…”
“Compassion…? Compassion, my foot…! This compassion may soon turn into passion…!” the wife says sarcastically, “I tell you…Drying a divorcee’s tears is one of the most dangerous pastimes for a man, especially a married man…!”
“Pastime…? I’m not going there for amusement. I'm going just to help out a colleague…”
“Oh, yes. An attractive colleague in distress, isn’t it...? And our Knight in shining armor is rushing to her rescue…!”
“Okay. Why don’t you come along and see for yourself...” the husband says exasperated.
The moment he utters those words he instantly regrets it, but it is too late.
His wife has already picked up her purse and is heading towards the door.
“Why are they divorcing…?” the wife asks, as they are driving in their car from their house in Shivpeth towards the Family Court in city.
“It’s divorce by mutual consent.”
“Mutual consent…? What nonsense…! There must be some other reason.”
“No. They have just agreed to separate.”
“Agreed to separate…? If they can agree to separate, why can’t they agree to stay together…?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Suhana that…!” the husband says irritated.
“Of course I will. And I’ll give a piece of my mind to her husband too and tell him to stop harassing his wife.”
“Please…I beg you…for heaven’s sake don’t say anything stupid and embarrassing to them over there. He is not harassing her. They are parting amicably, as friends. I told you, it is an amicable divorce by mutual consent...”
“What nonsense…? Amicable divorce by mutual consent…! There is no such thing as amicable divorce…!”
“What do you mean…? So many people have amicable divorces now-a-days and part as friends.”
“Nonsense…! It’s all nonsense, a cover up… Amicable Divorce is a big lie – an oxymoron.”
“Oxymoron…?”
“Yes. Tell me, how can divorce be amicable…? If a marriage is really so amicable, why divorce in the first place…? If they can divorce and remain friends, I am sure they can remain married and be friends, isn’t it…?”
“I don’t know. Please let's talk something else.”
“I am sure there is something fishy...”
“Will you please keep quiet and let me drive the car in peace…?”
“What’s her husband’s name…?”
“Nilesh.”
“See… Suhana and Nilesh… even their names are compatible,” the wife says, I am certain that there must be some adultery involved. This Nilesh must be having an affair. Or it must be Suhana. Yes it's her. I’m sure she is having an affair…!”
“Don’t be stupid. She’s not like that.”
“How do you know…?”
“I know her for so many years now. She’s quite close to me. She’s told me everything…”
“Close to you…? She is close to you…? Oh, My God…! I hope it’s not you…?”
“Me…? Will you please shut up…? I told you it is mutual incompatibility…!”
“Mutual Incompatibility my foot…! Let me tell you there is no one in this world who is more mutually incompatible than you and me…! But are we divorcing…?”
“Why don’t we…? At least I’ll have some peace and respite from your constant nagging…”
“Ah…you want to divorce me so you can marry her, is it…? You’ve got a hope in heaven…! I’ll cling on to you till my dying day… And then I will follow you as a ghost and even to heaven after that…”
They drive in silence for a while and then the wife asks, "Has she got any children…?”
“Yes. Two. A boy and a girl. In school…”
“Poor kids. What will happen to them…?”
“They’ll go off to a boarding school for a while till Suhana settles down...”
“It’s funny. They’ve got children and are divorcing. We don’t have any children, but we are carrying on together…!”
"Yes,” the husband says, “I really wonder…! We constantly fight but we stay together... and they have such a cordial relationship but they want to separate…”
“Marriage is not supposed to be cordial and cold,” the wife says lovingly, snuggling up affectionately to her long-married husband.
“I’ve realized one thing,” says the husband dotingly hugging his much-married wife.
“What…?”
“The opposite of love is not hate – the opposite of love is indifference.”
The husband picks up, pauses for a moment as if hearing something, and says, “Don’t worry, I’ll be there on time,” and then he switches off the mobile phone and keeps it in his pocket.
He then shouts to his wife, who is in the kitchen: “I’m going out for some work. I’ll be back around one thirty or two for lunch.”
“Where are you going...? You’ve taken leave today. Let’s go shopping...and then we'll go for lunch and a movie.”
“Please. Not today. I’ve taken leave just for this important thing.”
“Important thing…? What important thing…? Where are you going…?” the wife persists.
The husband does not want to tell her but he knows now that he has no choice but to tell her. He knows his wife’s nature so well – she is not going to rest till she finds out. She will nag him to death until he tells her.
So he decides to tell her the bare minimum.
“I am going to the Family Court,” he says.
“Family Court…? Why…?” his wife shrieks in amazement.
“A divorce case,” the husband says nonchalantly.
“Divorce case…? You are filing a divorce case…? You are trying to divorce me behind my back…?” the wife yells hysterically.
“Will you please be quiet and listen…? It’s not us. Suhana has asked me to come for the hearing.”
“Suhana…? Who is this Suhana…?”
“You’ve met her. She’s my colleague at work.”
“Oh...so it is That Suhana…! I knew you always had a soft corner for her.”
“It’s her final divorce hearing today and she’s called me.”
“Divorce case…? Suhana…? She called you…? How are you involved…? I hope the divorce is not because of you…? I knew you’d do something stupid. You are so gullible you know – you must have got trapped by her, fell victim to her charms and now you are in trouble being summoned by courts. Respectable persons never see the insides of a court in their entire lives...!”
“Will you please keep quiet…? You just go on and on…! Suhana has called me just to give her emotional support...”
“Emotional support…? From you…? So this Suhana needs emotional support from you…? Why you…? Tell me…why you…? I knew there was some hanky-panky going on. I’m coming with you. Can’t you see what she’s up to…?”
“Please…please calm down and don’t jump to conclusions. Suhana is just a colleague going through a rough patch. As a friend, I have to help her out, show her a bit of compassion and kindness…that’s all…”
“Compassion…? Compassion, my foot…! This compassion may soon turn into passion…!” the wife says sarcastically, “I tell you…Drying a divorcee’s tears is one of the most dangerous pastimes for a man, especially a married man…!”
“Pastime…? I’m not going there for amusement. I'm going just to help out a colleague…”
“Oh, yes. An attractive colleague in distress, isn’t it...? And our Knight in shining armor is rushing to her rescue…!”
“Okay. Why don’t you come along and see for yourself...” the husband says exasperated.
The moment he utters those words he instantly regrets it, but it is too late.
His wife has already picked up her purse and is heading towards the door.
“Why are they divorcing…?” the wife asks, as they are driving in their car from their house in Shivpeth towards the Family Court in city.
“It’s divorce by mutual consent.”
“Mutual consent…? What nonsense…! There must be some other reason.”
“No. They have just agreed to separate.”
“Agreed to separate…? If they can agree to separate, why can’t they agree to stay together…?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Suhana that…!” the husband says irritated.
“Of course I will. And I’ll give a piece of my mind to her husband too and tell him to stop harassing his wife.”
“Please…I beg you…for heaven’s sake don’t say anything stupid and embarrassing to them over there. He is not harassing her. They are parting amicably, as friends. I told you, it is an amicable divorce by mutual consent...”
“What nonsense…? Amicable divorce by mutual consent…! There is no such thing as amicable divorce…!”
“What do you mean…? So many people have amicable divorces now-a-days and part as friends.”
“Nonsense…! It’s all nonsense, a cover up… Amicable Divorce is a big lie – an oxymoron.”
“Oxymoron…?”
“Yes. Tell me, how can divorce be amicable…? If a marriage is really so amicable, why divorce in the first place…? If they can divorce and remain friends, I am sure they can remain married and be friends, isn’t it…?”
“I don’t know. Please let's talk something else.”
“I am sure there is something fishy...”
“Will you please keep quiet and let me drive the car in peace…?”
“What’s her husband’s name…?”
“Nilesh.”
“See… Suhana and Nilesh… even their names are compatible,” the wife says, I am certain that there must be some adultery involved. This Nilesh must be having an affair. Or it must be Suhana. Yes it's her. I’m sure she is having an affair…!”
“Don’t be stupid. She’s not like that.”
“How do you know…?”
“I know her for so many years now. She’s quite close to me. She’s told me everything…”
“Close to you…? She is close to you…? Oh, My God…! I hope it’s not you…?”
“Me…? Will you please shut up…? I told you it is mutual incompatibility…!”
“Mutual Incompatibility my foot…! Let me tell you there is no one in this world who is more mutually incompatible than you and me…! But are we divorcing…?”
“Why don’t we…? At least I’ll have some peace and respite from your constant nagging…”
“Ah…you want to divorce me so you can marry her, is it…? You’ve got a hope in heaven…! I’ll cling on to you till my dying day… And then I will follow you as a ghost and even to heaven after that…”
They drive in silence for a while and then the wife asks, "Has she got any children…?”
“Yes. Two. A boy and a girl. In school…”
“Poor kids. What will happen to them…?”
“They’ll go off to a boarding school for a while till Suhana settles down...”
“It’s funny. They’ve got children and are divorcing. We don’t have any children, but we are carrying on together…!”
"Yes,” the husband says, “I really wonder…! We constantly fight but we stay together... and they have such a cordial relationship but they want to separate…”
“Marriage is not supposed to be cordial and cold,” the wife says lovingly, snuggling up affectionately to her long-married husband.
“I’ve realized one thing,” says the husband dotingly hugging his much-married wife.
“What…?”
“The opposite of love is not hate – the opposite of love is indifference.”
Sunday, 1 August 2010
Old Mr. Bali
“Hello?” he answered into the phone.
“Is Uday there?” came the gravelly, unsure voice of the aged man on the other end.
“Uday? No one here by that name.”
“Is this little Shekhar Lambe?”
“Yes. May I ask who’s calling?”
“This is Shitesh Bali.” A ghost from the distant past.
“Mr. Bali?”
“Yes, son.”
“Wow. It’s had to have been fifteen years, at least.”
“Seventeen.”
“Golly.”
“I’ve been gone for a long time.”
“You can say that again.”
“Well, I’ve been back now a week and I can’t seem to find anyone I know. They’re either dead or gone. I happened to see your ad in the newspaper for your shop and thought you might be able to point me to your father.”
“I wish I could, Mr. Bali. But, truth be told, my father and I haven’t spoken in quite a while. I’ve heard he moved out of the state, but I certainly wouldn’t know how to get a hold of him.”
“You haven’t spoken to him?”
“No, sir. We had a bit of a falling out and sort of went our separate ways.”
“How long has it been since you talked to him?”
“Oh… Nine, maybe ten years. We stopped speaking shortly after he and my mother separated.”
“Your parents separated?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why? I mean, if you don’t mind my asking.”
“Lots of reasons, I suppose. Chiefly though, I think it was money. I think he loved money more than anyone. She was the sort to spend it freely, regardless of how hard-earned it was on those she loved, not realizing that the money was the greater love for him.”
“Did she tell you that? Your mother?”
“To tell the truth, sir, I never really talked to her about it. Frankly, I never really speak to her about much of anything. Over the years I simply surmised as much. But where have you been all these years, Mr. Bali?”
“Abroad. Here and there. I don’t expect you to understand, but I had to leave the world for a while. Now I’m back and trying to pick up where I left off and it’s been so terribly difficult…”
“Everyone wondered where you’d left to. It all seemed so sudden.”
“Hmmm…”
“Most people thought you must have died. You didn’t write or call.”
“It was for the best. But it does bother me that things changed so much in my absence.”
“That seems quite selfish to run away for the better part of twenty years and expect everything to be the same when you get back. People change, Mr. Bali. But I imagine you knew that.”
“Sometimes you know a thing and still hope it’s not true. And it seems as though you’ve changed into a respectable young man. You have your own business, you seem respectable and well-off. Your father would be proud of you.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. My success doesn’t profit him.”
“Perhaps you’re being a bit cynical. Or maybe, perhaps, you’re right.”
“Perhaps.”
“Since I’m in town, would you care to join me for coffee sometime? We can catch up properly.”
“Well, I am quite busy with work…”
“I understand, no time for old friends of your parents.”
“It’s not—“
“—It’s alright.”
“We could do it next week…?”
“No. I’ll be long away from this place this time next week. Truly, you’ve made me realize there really is nothing left for me here.”
“I might be able to break away this afternoon, if—“
“No. I insist. Your work is important, I understand that. Thank you for speaking to me as long as you have. If you do happen to speak to your father again, you’ll tell him that I was looking for him, yes?”
“Mr. Bali, I can’t see that happening. But, if by the grace of God we happen to run into each other and he’s gotten over himself and I’ve, by some miracle, been able to get over myself, then I’ll be sure to mention it.”
“Thank you. That is all I ask.”
“It’s all right. I suppose it was good talking to you, Mr. Bali.”
“It was good speaking with you as well, Shekhar. You’re a good lad.”
Shekhar hung up the phone and was struck by the absurd and unlikely nature of the call he’d just received.
“Is Uday there?” came the gravelly, unsure voice of the aged man on the other end.
“Uday? No one here by that name.”
“Is this little Shekhar Lambe?”
“Yes. May I ask who’s calling?”
“This is Shitesh Bali.” A ghost from the distant past.
“Mr. Bali?”
“Yes, son.”
“Wow. It’s had to have been fifteen years, at least.”
“Seventeen.”
“Golly.”
“I’ve been gone for a long time.”
“You can say that again.”
“Well, I’ve been back now a week and I can’t seem to find anyone I know. They’re either dead or gone. I happened to see your ad in the newspaper for your shop and thought you might be able to point me to your father.”
“I wish I could, Mr. Bali. But, truth be told, my father and I haven’t spoken in quite a while. I’ve heard he moved out of the state, but I certainly wouldn’t know how to get a hold of him.”
“You haven’t spoken to him?”
“No, sir. We had a bit of a falling out and sort of went our separate ways.”
“How long has it been since you talked to him?”
“Oh… Nine, maybe ten years. We stopped speaking shortly after he and my mother separated.”
“Your parents separated?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why? I mean, if you don’t mind my asking.”
“Lots of reasons, I suppose. Chiefly though, I think it was money. I think he loved money more than anyone. She was the sort to spend it freely, regardless of how hard-earned it was on those she loved, not realizing that the money was the greater love for him.”
“Did she tell you that? Your mother?”
“To tell the truth, sir, I never really talked to her about it. Frankly, I never really speak to her about much of anything. Over the years I simply surmised as much. But where have you been all these years, Mr. Bali?”
“Abroad. Here and there. I don’t expect you to understand, but I had to leave the world for a while. Now I’m back and trying to pick up where I left off and it’s been so terribly difficult…”
“Everyone wondered where you’d left to. It all seemed so sudden.”
“Hmmm…”
“Most people thought you must have died. You didn’t write or call.”
“It was for the best. But it does bother me that things changed so much in my absence.”
“That seems quite selfish to run away for the better part of twenty years and expect everything to be the same when you get back. People change, Mr. Bali. But I imagine you knew that.”
“Sometimes you know a thing and still hope it’s not true. And it seems as though you’ve changed into a respectable young man. You have your own business, you seem respectable and well-off. Your father would be proud of you.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. My success doesn’t profit him.”
“Perhaps you’re being a bit cynical. Or maybe, perhaps, you’re right.”
“Perhaps.”
“Since I’m in town, would you care to join me for coffee sometime? We can catch up properly.”
“Well, I am quite busy with work…”
“I understand, no time for old friends of your parents.”
“It’s not—“
“—It’s alright.”
“We could do it next week…?”
“No. I’ll be long away from this place this time next week. Truly, you’ve made me realize there really is nothing left for me here.”
“I might be able to break away this afternoon, if—“
“No. I insist. Your work is important, I understand that. Thank you for speaking to me as long as you have. If you do happen to speak to your father again, you’ll tell him that I was looking for him, yes?”
“Mr. Bali, I can’t see that happening. But, if by the grace of God we happen to run into each other and he’s gotten over himself and I’ve, by some miracle, been able to get over myself, then I’ll be sure to mention it.”
“Thank you. That is all I ask.”
“It’s all right. I suppose it was good talking to you, Mr. Bali.”
“It was good speaking with you as well, Shekhar. You’re a good lad.”
Shekhar hung up the phone and was struck by the absurd and unlikely nature of the call he’d just received.
Sunday, 25 July 2010
Hungry.....
I really liked the idea of an older brother coming home from war and explaining to a little brother what he did there.
“Ranjit?”
“Go to sleep, Venkat.”
“I just wanted to ask you a question.”
Venkat’s voice sailed gracefully down from the top-bunk above me. It quivered with his eight-year old curiosity but had a way of hanging in the air, demanding response.
“Go to sleep, Venkat.”
I don’t want to talk.
“Ever since you got back, I’ve been wondering…”
He wouldn’t let me sleep until I gave in. I think I was like that when I was his age, too. “Wondering what, Venkat?”
That was a long time ago, though.
I could hear him take a breath, summoning all of his courage, before asking me this: “Did you ever kill anybody… You know… Out there?”
I rolled to my side, pulling my blanket over my shoulder. Maybe I won’t have to answer him. “Why do you want to know a thing like that, Venkat?”
“Well, when you came back, no one seemed to want to ask you…”
“So?”
“Well, I talked to Prito Suhani, down the street and when his brother…”
“…Lachu Suhani?”
“Yeah, when his brother Lachu Suhani came back from Kashmir, like you, he told everybody he himself killed three enemy soldiers and shot down a Blitz Bomber with a rifle.”
“So?”
“Well, when you didn’t say, everyone assumed you hadn’t killed anybody. Prito Suhani told me it’s cause you were probably a coward or something…”
“I’m not a coward, Venkat.”
“So you killed some enemy soldiers?”
“Just one.”
“Oh.” I don’t think he liked the idea of his older brother having ended someone’s life as much he wanted to.
A cricket outside the window filled the room with it’s rhythmic harmony, as though it was counting the beats until Venkat had the courage to ask his next question: “How’d it happen, Ranjit?”
“Go to sleep, Venkat.”
“But, Ranjit…”
“No, Venkat.”
The cricket began again, this time louder, harsher, like a miniature buzz-saw. How could I tell Venkat? The night was getting cooler so I pulled the blanket tighter against my body. I adjusted the pillow beneath my head, so I could sit up a little.
The cricket grew quiet. The sound of Venkat’s breathing slowed as well.
“Venkat?”
“What… Ranjit?” He was half asleep, his voice slow as though in a trance.
“I was a cook. You know that, right? That I was a cook for the Army?”
“Uh-huh…”
“Well, we were in Kargil. I don’t remember the name of the village. I never got the hang of pronouncing it anyway. Well, we found an old restaurant in this little village that seemed to have avoided being bombed rather well. The officers got a couple of us to see if we could get some hot food together for the units we had there and they turned the rest of the restaurant into a makeshift command center.
“In the store room of the restaurant, I found some vegetables in plastic bins that would be good for some stews, I got a sack of potatoes from a tank driver named Swamy from Tamil Nadu, I got some meat from the supply chief, and someone even got us some beer… We were going to have a great meal. It’s the third best thing you can ask for after soldiering for so long.”
From a daze, still half-asleep, Venkat asked innocently, “What’re the first two?”
“A warm bed and a beautiful woman.”
“Oh.”
“So, I got the potatoes peeled and Babu, one of the guys I was with, got the steaks going and we were boiling this and that and it was like old music, but instead of hearing it, you could smell it. I imagined you could smell it for miles. I remember joking to Babu, ‘Our enemy gonna smell this all the way in the mountains surrounding us and think to himself, ‘If those Indian’s are eating that well on the front, we’re done for.’’
“In the back of this little restaurant was a big spout hand pump. I was going to wash the potatoes back there. I hauled the basket of peeled potatoes out there when Babu called me back into the kitchen. He wanted to know what kinds of herbs we should be cooking the meat in. Of course I told him we should cook it in all the basil and garlic we could find. So, the potatoes went on the back burner while we tried to rustle up as many fixins for the meat as we could want.
“It was like a treasure hunt".
“So, we get that done and I go back out to wash the potatoes…”
I didn’t even notice that I had stopped talking. Venkat reminded me with, “Then what happened, Ranjit?”
“I went back out to wash the potatoes and there was a man standing there…”
“A man?”
He was a battered soldier… A enemy soldier. His uniform was in tatters; he must’ve been living in the wooded forest for the last week since our forces had moved through the village. I knew he was hungry, he had a raw potato in his mouth and he was devouring it… It took him a moment to notice me. I’d pulled my pistol from my hip, slowly… He didn’t notice until I had it leveled on him.
“If I spoke Urdu I would have asked him if he wanted to stay and eat with us, but the only common language we spoke were the rules of engagement".
“He went for his gun…
“I fired twice and caught him in the chest and guts.”
I swallowed hard.
“Babu came out to see what the gunshots were about. After him, a couple of officers came, too. I think I was in a shock. I couldn’t understand why they were patting me on the back.
“I ended a man’s life. A poor, hungry man who risked death simply to feed himself and I’d killed him in cold-blood. And I was getting a pat on the back. It didn’t—doesn’t—make sense.”
It still hurts.
I close my eyes.
“Please, don’t tell Mom or Dad.”
“Ranjit?”
“Go to sleep, Venkat.”
“I just wanted to ask you a question.”
Venkat’s voice sailed gracefully down from the top-bunk above me. It quivered with his eight-year old curiosity but had a way of hanging in the air, demanding response.
“Go to sleep, Venkat.”
I don’t want to talk.
“Ever since you got back, I’ve been wondering…”
He wouldn’t let me sleep until I gave in. I think I was like that when I was his age, too. “Wondering what, Venkat?”
That was a long time ago, though.
I could hear him take a breath, summoning all of his courage, before asking me this: “Did you ever kill anybody… You know… Out there?”
I rolled to my side, pulling my blanket over my shoulder. Maybe I won’t have to answer him. “Why do you want to know a thing like that, Venkat?”
“Well, when you came back, no one seemed to want to ask you…”
“So?”
“Well, I talked to Prito Suhani, down the street and when his brother…”
“…Lachu Suhani?”
“Yeah, when his brother Lachu Suhani came back from Kashmir, like you, he told everybody he himself killed three enemy soldiers and shot down a Blitz Bomber with a rifle.”
“So?”
“Well, when you didn’t say, everyone assumed you hadn’t killed anybody. Prito Suhani told me it’s cause you were probably a coward or something…”
“I’m not a coward, Venkat.”
“So you killed some enemy soldiers?”
“Just one.”
“Oh.” I don’t think he liked the idea of his older brother having ended someone’s life as much he wanted to.
A cricket outside the window filled the room with it’s rhythmic harmony, as though it was counting the beats until Venkat had the courage to ask his next question: “How’d it happen, Ranjit?”
“Go to sleep, Venkat.”
“But, Ranjit…”
“No, Venkat.”
The cricket began again, this time louder, harsher, like a miniature buzz-saw. How could I tell Venkat? The night was getting cooler so I pulled the blanket tighter against my body. I adjusted the pillow beneath my head, so I could sit up a little.
The cricket grew quiet. The sound of Venkat’s breathing slowed as well.
“Venkat?”
“What… Ranjit?” He was half asleep, his voice slow as though in a trance.
“I was a cook. You know that, right? That I was a cook for the Army?”
“Uh-huh…”
“Well, we were in Kargil. I don’t remember the name of the village. I never got the hang of pronouncing it anyway. Well, we found an old restaurant in this little village that seemed to have avoided being bombed rather well. The officers got a couple of us to see if we could get some hot food together for the units we had there and they turned the rest of the restaurant into a makeshift command center.
“In the store room of the restaurant, I found some vegetables in plastic bins that would be good for some stews, I got a sack of potatoes from a tank driver named Swamy from Tamil Nadu, I got some meat from the supply chief, and someone even got us some beer… We were going to have a great meal. It’s the third best thing you can ask for after soldiering for so long.”
From a daze, still half-asleep, Venkat asked innocently, “What’re the first two?”
“A warm bed and a beautiful woman.”
“Oh.”
“So, I got the potatoes peeled and Babu, one of the guys I was with, got the steaks going and we were boiling this and that and it was like old music, but instead of hearing it, you could smell it. I imagined you could smell it for miles. I remember joking to Babu, ‘Our enemy gonna smell this all the way in the mountains surrounding us and think to himself, ‘If those Indian’s are eating that well on the front, we’re done for.’’
“In the back of this little restaurant was a big spout hand pump. I was going to wash the potatoes back there. I hauled the basket of peeled potatoes out there when Babu called me back into the kitchen. He wanted to know what kinds of herbs we should be cooking the meat in. Of course I told him we should cook it in all the basil and garlic we could find. So, the potatoes went on the back burner while we tried to rustle up as many fixins for the meat as we could want.
“It was like a treasure hunt".
“So, we get that done and I go back out to wash the potatoes…”
I didn’t even notice that I had stopped talking. Venkat reminded me with, “Then what happened, Ranjit?”
“I went back out to wash the potatoes and there was a man standing there…”
“A man?”
He was a battered soldier… A enemy soldier. His uniform was in tatters; he must’ve been living in the wooded forest for the last week since our forces had moved through the village. I knew he was hungry, he had a raw potato in his mouth and he was devouring it… It took him a moment to notice me. I’d pulled my pistol from my hip, slowly… He didn’t notice until I had it leveled on him.
“If I spoke Urdu I would have asked him if he wanted to stay and eat with us, but the only common language we spoke were the rules of engagement".
“He went for his gun…
“I fired twice and caught him in the chest and guts.”
I swallowed hard.
“Babu came out to see what the gunshots were about. After him, a couple of officers came, too. I think I was in a shock. I couldn’t understand why they were patting me on the back.
“I ended a man’s life. A poor, hungry man who risked death simply to feed himself and I’d killed him in cold-blood. And I was getting a pat on the back. It didn’t—doesn’t—make sense.”
It still hurts.
I close my eyes.
“Please, don’t tell Mom or Dad.”
Sunday, 11 July 2010
together in good times and bad.....
“I guess this is the end,” said Sushil, holding onto his beloved’s hand, “I’m glad we could be with each other during our last moments of life.”
December 21, 2012. Approximately two and half years from now, the world is predicted to come to an end. Havoc dwells the streets, exterminating the entire human population, sweeping off towns, mountains, and all sorts of structures. Life, as it is known today, would come to a dead-end. People are staggering for survival; they would go down to any extent to stay alive in this hell-on-earth.
The wealthy and the infamous leaders of various countries have built a gigantic ship to stay afloat when Mother Earth unleashes its rage. Only the rich could afford the prices for survival, while the middle class and the poor were left to face nature’s wrath.
The seas have swollen to unimaginable heights, and earthquakes shake the basic foundation of the crust. Lava rips through the mountains, fusing anything that comes in its way. Ice is melting rapidly, causing tsunamis that wipe off towns, even the inner most places on the Earth’s surface. Land is shifting, making New York strike against the Sahara; the Himalayas collide with Sydney; Arab deserts merge with the North Pole; London knocks on the Great Wall of China; South Pole erupting into a ball of fire; Mexican civilians running about the street of Rome, and so on.
Such was the disastrous revenge of nature.
In India, in an apartment on the outskirts of Kolkata, sat Sushil and Sushmita. Sushil was the eldest son of a billionaire, while Sushmita was the only daughter of her middle class parents.
Having met in Standard Six, they immediately felt that they had been made for each other. They were incomplete without each other; their hearts were bound in an everlasting bond. Sushmita admired Sushil because of his innocence and his self-sacrificing character. He was unlike the spoilt brats of rich parents. Sushil liked Sushmita for her personality. She was indeed beautiful, but her helpful and polite nature attracted him the most.
During the five years they had known each other, they could only recollect love revolving around them. Sushil was prepared to give up his luxurious, lavish life only to keep his Sushmita happy. During the last moments of life on Earth, his rich father purchased the golden tickets, required for existence, for his family. But knowing that Sushmita would be left behind, he decided to stay behind, and die with Sushmita.
They sat glued to the television, watching helplessly as their fellow humans were being erased from this realm by nature’s calamities. They grasped each other’s hand more firmly, as they feared it might be the end for them. In the last one week since the news was made public, their love had only deepened. All these years of affection would prove futile if they could not support each other during their end. The events that took place during the last week of their lives were the most important ones for their relationship.
December 14, 2012. A week left for Doomsday. Everything was quite normal then, sparing some frequent disasters. An Earthquake had shaken Indonesia, and Tsunamis had wiped out the coastal areas of America and Europe. The casualties were high, sufficient enough to proclaim international emergency.
The various Governments of the world had known the fact that the world was coming to an end for about five years now, but they restrained from informing the public fearing mass uprisings and unnecessary panic.
The Secretary of the United Nations called for an immediate press conference. “People of the world, there is a fact that is need to be told immediately, and after hearing this, please don’t panic. The Mayans had predicted that the world will end on 21st December 2012, and their predictions are taking shape. The world will come to an end, and the recent calamities are supporting this.
This news should have been told much earlier, but nonetheless, it doesn’t matter much now. At least you are being made aware of the events that are taking place, and even if we expect the worst, all of us will know the actual reason for our elimination. But people, please don’t panic. Stay calm. The world has to end one day, and the day is approaching fast. It was a real pleasure serving you. Thank you.”
After hearing such news, the entire world was petrified. Some tried to revolt, while some accepted it knowing that they would complete their life cycle soon. They felt helpless, wailing for the thought of losing their dear ones. But they could not do anything; ‘21st’ December was destined for them.
December 17, 2012. The American Government and the European Community had undertaken a multitrillion dollar project to build a ship that would withstand nature’s impacts. It was almost completed, and so the American President felt it was time to reveal the top-secret project.
“It takes me great pride to announce that not all of us are going to die. Some famous personalities will survive, and for this reason, we have built a ship. Those who want to board the ship may do so buying each ticket for one billion dollar.”
Hearing the news, Sushil’s father, the owner of a multibillion dollar private company, sprang immediately to catch a berth on this ‘ship of life’. He had sold his company’s stakes and had gathered sufficient money to purchase tickets for the five in their family.
“Son, we are going to survive. Don’t worry. Here’re the tickets I’ve purchased for the special ship.”
“But there are only five here Dad, don’t you have a ticket for Sushmita?!”
“No son. I sold my company for six billion dollars and five ticket cost me five. I saved one because we need something to start our lives after we survive through this hell.”
“Dad… But why? You still had one billion left. You could have easily bought one more ticket for her.”
“But that’s not done, my son.”
“Dad, I hate you!”
Sushil ran out of his house. One could see tears rolling down his red cheeks. All he cared about was Sushmita, and hearing that Sushmita would not be with him after the disaster, he could only hate his father. He went immediately to Sushmita’s house.
He knocked on the door.
“Sushmita, it’s me. Please come out.”
It was midnight, and Sushmita was probably asleep. Sushil smote on the door.
“Sushmita, please come out. I really want to see you.”
The door opened, and Sushmita’s mother came to greet him. Yawning in the cold winter night, she was barely able to speak.
“What is it, son? Sushmita’s asleep.”
“Oh, mother!” Sushil threw himself on Sushmita’s mother. Sushil had lost his mother when he was five, and he treated Sushmita’s mother as his own. Sushmita’s mother also accepted Sushil as her son, as she knew that in the near future, he would be her son-in-law.
“That’s it. It’s okay. Now now, what happened?” asked Sushmita’s mother.
“Mom! I can’t live without Sushmita. I am incomplete without her,” he could only sob and utter the words.
Hearing such commotion, Sushmita woke up. She strode to the entrance of their two-room apartment. Glimmering in the silver moonlight, she resembled an angel. She took her mother’s side, and on seeing her, Sushil hugged her. Not anticipating it she fell down. Sushil held onto her with his life. He pulled her closer to him, as he had the fear of losing her. He kept weeping on her shoulders. Sushmita had known Sushil for many years but she had never seen him cry like this before. She immediately realized something was terribly wrong.
She took him inside, and after lighting the bulb in their miniature drawing room, she looked into his eyes. His eyes displayed grief, agony, hatred, disbelief and fear.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Sushmita I-I—” He began with tears in his eyes.
Sushmita tried to console him, but Sushil was not willing to block his tears. His father’s rude and arrogant behavior towards Sushmita’s fate was too much of a shock for him. Whenever he imagined Sushmita’s death, he could only cry. Sushil’s love for Sushmita was pure, and the thought of Sushmita’s demise was despair for him. Having understood Sushil would not stop crying, Sushmita laid her hand on his mouth. Sushil had to stop crying.
“Now tell me what happened,” said Sushmita.
“Well, you know about that ship which the American President announced?” replied Sushil.
“Well, yeah.”
“My Dad bought us the tickets, but—“
“But what?
You should be happy. You are surviving through this devastating end.”
“That’s not the point. You see, he did not buy a ticket for you or your family, so—“
“Oh, it’s okay.”
“No it’s not okay. As I was saying, he did not buy a ticket for you, so I’m not going to board the ship. I can’t live without you! Never! I’ve thought of giving the ticket to you.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Stop me.”
“Well, I’m not going to take it. I can’t live, knowing that you’re not around.”
“Sushmita, don’t“
“Sushil, you please don’t.”
Sushmita’s words had a dominating influence over Sushil’s pleas. After arguing for half an hour, she could finally persuade Sushil into not giving up the golden ticket.
“Sushil, your Dad bought that ticket with great hope. He wants you to live, and so you should not turn down his hope. You live, and when you pass over to the other world, maybe we can meet again.”
“But Sushmita“
“But nothing, Sushil. You will not give that ticket to me, and that’s final. Now please leave. It’s really late.”
Sushil left with reluctance. He could not believe his ears, or his fate. He was destined to be with Sushmita; he could not survive without her presence. As he walked towards his house, he looked down with disbelief and his vision was blurred with tears.
Inside Sushmita’s room, Sushmita gazed blindly at the stars. She had tears in her eyes. She was not afraid of dying, but she was afraid of losing Sushil. She imagined the after life, and she thought, “Will it be meaningful? Life without Sushil? Will Heaven provide sufficient pleasures to take my mind off Sushil?” As these thoughts entered her mind, she looked at a photo of Sushil, she was in tears.
December 20, 2012. Only a day remaining for the world to end. The process of the Earth’s destruction had intensified, and people scurried for protection. Vast stretches of the world had been destroyed. Kolkata was experiencing a major storm, and consequently, a flood.
Those who could afford the ticket prepared to board the ship, while others searched for alternative means to stay alive.
Sushil, his father, two sisters, and a younger brother readied their luggage. Sushil did not want to leave without Sushmita and opposed the packing of his luggage. He prevented any of his family members, or any of his innumerous servants, to touch his belongings.
“Dad, I won’t go without Sushmita. You guys leave without me. I’m not going to budge,” said Sushil.
“What rubbish?! You do as I tell you to. You will be going with us!” replied his father, now frustrated.
Sushil was an arrogant person, and was not willing to surrender to his father’s decision. He walked out of his room, and strode towards the garden. He was not allowed to leave the premises of his father’s huge land, because of the devastating flood, and especially because of his abrupt leave three days earlier. He admired the beauty of the tulips, which Sushmita dearly liked, and was instantly reminded of her.
“Sushmita, I’m sorry.” Sushil felt guilty of having to leave without Sushmita. “Wasn’t there some way I could get her onboard?”
The time arrived for them to leave. Sushil’s father threw their luggage in their custom-made Bentley.
“Sir, your father’s calling. It’s time to leave,” Sushil was addressed by a servant.
Sushil limped slowly towards the car. He sat comfortably on the rear seat. His father started the engine.
“That’s good, son. Now we will leave,” his father said.
After staggering through the flood, they finally reached the airport. It was night. The airport was deserted, sparing few employees who were loyal to their duties.
“Mr. Mittal, glad you made it. Your jet’s ready sir,” greeted one of the employees.
“Good, prepare to leave immediately,” replied Mr. Mittal.
The luggage was boarded on the private jet, and the Mittals were preparing to leave. They stood beside the make-shift ladder, waiting for the pilot’s signal to board the jet. Sushil looked back at the deserted airport, lost in his thoughts. He imagined Sushmita standing there, waving goodbye. He imagined tears in Sushmita’s eyes, as she was wholeheartedly telling him to take care, withholding her mind’s desires.
“Son, it’s time. Get onboard,” said Mr. Mittal.
Sushil did not seem to hear his father’s orders.
“Son“
Before he could finish his words, Sushil dashed away from the jet.
“Dad, take care. Same to you my sisters and my brother, I can’t leave. No, not without Sushmita,” Sushil said with his back facing his family.
“Dad, you people move, I won’t come. Forget me, and just carry on with life. I’m staying behind. Go!” There was a sudden change in his tone. He sounded soft and in pain, as if he was in despair.
Mr. Mittal was stunned by his son’s words. He was boiling with anger and fear. But then he realized that Sushil was as arrogant as him. It had to be; it was his blood.
He turned towards the pilot, “Pilot, please start the engine. We’re leaving without him. Please start.”
Till then, Sushil had not disappeared from sight. Mr. Mittal cried out, “Sushil, it’s okay. You stay with your Sushmita. You don’t have to come. But I’ll miss you, son. Take care, and if the world does end, then I expect to see you in the after life, after I pass away. Now run to your Sushmita.”
Sushil felt the words echoing in his ears. He did not believe that his father would allow him to stay with Sushmita. Although afraid of losing his life, he felt the happiest person in the panic-stricken world.
“Thanks, Dad. Take care. Bye,” Sushil’s faint words reached Mr. Mittal’s ears. He was vanquished of losing his eldest son, but was relieved with the knowledge that Sushil would live peacefully during these last few moments.
Sushil made his way through the flooded streets. Rain was pouring down on him heavily, but that did not prevent him from reaching Sushmita’s house. The land under him shook, as tremors made its way through the Earth’s crust. The world was nearing its end rapidly.
December 21… 2012. Midnight.
As earthquakes repetitively shook the basic foundations of Kolkata was shaken up.
Sushmita sat up, gazing towards the disturbed sky. She saw an airplane making its way through the heavy downpour. “That must be Sushil leaving,” she thought.
She was lost in her thoughts, which was, though, disrupted by loud bangs on the door. “Who would arrive so late?” she thought.
She opened the door to find Sushil. He was drenched wet with water and was panting desperately.
“Sushil! Why are you here? I thought you left,” said Sushmita.
“How could I leave without you? I’m staying back with you till the end.”
“But Sushil, your father..”
“Dad’s left. I told him before coming here.”
Sushil wrapped his arms around Sushmita.
“Now I’m here with you. We’ll face the end together,” he said.
They entered into Sushmita’s apartment. Her parents were looking at the television with desperation, with hope of some miracle which would save the world from perishing. He looked at the walls of the apartment. Nothing was in its correct position; everything was shaken by the series of tremors underground.
“Sushil! I’m surprised to find you here! You were supposed to go?” said Sushmita’s father.
“Come on uncle. You know me for the last five years. I will never abandon Sushmita.”
Sushil made himself comfortable on the worn out sofa. They were watching the news, observing the devastating condition of the world at present. Sushmita sat beside him. Sushil felt happy with his decision. He wanted to be as close as possible during these last few hours of their lives. They held each other’s hand, gripping it firmly to form an eternal bond.
Tears rolled down their cheeks when they saw hell unfolding in front of their bare eyes. They had never imagined such torture. There were several reports of the death of innumerous people due to the disasters. One of these reports displayed a gaping trench on the Earth’s crust, which was eventually widening, as if to divide the world into two halves.
Another report showed the reporter being melted by the hot lava gushing out from Antarctica. One report showed a live cameraman shooting an approaching tsunami, and within moments, his camera lost communication with the server. Sushil and Sushmita were completely devastated by these sights.
Within moments, another series of tremors rocked the ground beneath their feet. At a distance, they saw a twelve storied tower collapse into the streets below. They knew it was their turn next. Looking down into the streets below, they saw magma emerge from the sewers. It melted anything that came in its way. Another tremor shook the Earth.
December 21, 2012. 4:00 a.m. Kolkata was petrified by the series of disasters taking place. Sushil and Sushmita still sat while holding hands. Another powerful earthquake shook their feet. They watched helplessly as the apartment beside them broke down to rumbles.
Sushmita’s mother looked out of the window.
“I think you may want to see this,” said she.
All the occupants of the room went towards the window. They were stunned to see what lay in front of them. A tsunami was approaching fast, which rose miles high. They knew that this would be the wave that would relieve them from their worries; this was the wave which would cause the extermination of the Kolkatans.
“I guess this is the end,” said Sushil, holding onto Sushmita’s hand, “I’m glad we could be with each other during our last moments of life.”
Sushil held Sushmita’s hand, gripping it ferociously, never to let go, as if by holding her hand, they would be teleported together to heaven.
“Yes, I guess this is it. I’m happy to die in your arms,” said Sushmita.
“Glad I met you, and I’m lucky to have fallen for you.”
“I’m lucky to have got you too,” said he.
Sushil bent down his head, in order to lay one final kiss on her forehead and then on her lips. They were successful in having one final private moment of pleasure as their lips met.
Within moments, the tsunami struck their building as Sushil and Sushmita’s existence was erased from this sphere.
December 21, 2012. Approximately two and half years from now, the world is predicted to come to an end. Havoc dwells the streets, exterminating the entire human population, sweeping off towns, mountains, and all sorts of structures. Life, as it is known today, would come to a dead-end. People are staggering for survival; they would go down to any extent to stay alive in this hell-on-earth.
The wealthy and the infamous leaders of various countries have built a gigantic ship to stay afloat when Mother Earth unleashes its rage. Only the rich could afford the prices for survival, while the middle class and the poor were left to face nature’s wrath.
The seas have swollen to unimaginable heights, and earthquakes shake the basic foundation of the crust. Lava rips through the mountains, fusing anything that comes in its way. Ice is melting rapidly, causing tsunamis that wipe off towns, even the inner most places on the Earth’s surface. Land is shifting, making New York strike against the Sahara; the Himalayas collide with Sydney; Arab deserts merge with the North Pole; London knocks on the Great Wall of China; South Pole erupting into a ball of fire; Mexican civilians running about the street of Rome, and so on.
Such was the disastrous revenge of nature.
In India, in an apartment on the outskirts of Kolkata, sat Sushil and Sushmita. Sushil was the eldest son of a billionaire, while Sushmita was the only daughter of her middle class parents.
Having met in Standard Six, they immediately felt that they had been made for each other. They were incomplete without each other; their hearts were bound in an everlasting bond. Sushmita admired Sushil because of his innocence and his self-sacrificing character. He was unlike the spoilt brats of rich parents. Sushil liked Sushmita for her personality. She was indeed beautiful, but her helpful and polite nature attracted him the most.
During the five years they had known each other, they could only recollect love revolving around them. Sushil was prepared to give up his luxurious, lavish life only to keep his Sushmita happy. During the last moments of life on Earth, his rich father purchased the golden tickets, required for existence, for his family. But knowing that Sushmita would be left behind, he decided to stay behind, and die with Sushmita.
They sat glued to the television, watching helplessly as their fellow humans were being erased from this realm by nature’s calamities. They grasped each other’s hand more firmly, as they feared it might be the end for them. In the last one week since the news was made public, their love had only deepened. All these years of affection would prove futile if they could not support each other during their end. The events that took place during the last week of their lives were the most important ones for their relationship.
December 14, 2012. A week left for Doomsday. Everything was quite normal then, sparing some frequent disasters. An Earthquake had shaken Indonesia, and Tsunamis had wiped out the coastal areas of America and Europe. The casualties were high, sufficient enough to proclaim international emergency.
The various Governments of the world had known the fact that the world was coming to an end for about five years now, but they restrained from informing the public fearing mass uprisings and unnecessary panic.
The Secretary of the United Nations called for an immediate press conference. “People of the world, there is a fact that is need to be told immediately, and after hearing this, please don’t panic. The Mayans had predicted that the world will end on 21st December 2012, and their predictions are taking shape. The world will come to an end, and the recent calamities are supporting this.
This news should have been told much earlier, but nonetheless, it doesn’t matter much now. At least you are being made aware of the events that are taking place, and even if we expect the worst, all of us will know the actual reason for our elimination. But people, please don’t panic. Stay calm. The world has to end one day, and the day is approaching fast. It was a real pleasure serving you. Thank you.”
After hearing such news, the entire world was petrified. Some tried to revolt, while some accepted it knowing that they would complete their life cycle soon. They felt helpless, wailing for the thought of losing their dear ones. But they could not do anything; ‘21st’ December was destined for them.
December 17, 2012. The American Government and the European Community had undertaken a multitrillion dollar project to build a ship that would withstand nature’s impacts. It was almost completed, and so the American President felt it was time to reveal the top-secret project.
“It takes me great pride to announce that not all of us are going to die. Some famous personalities will survive, and for this reason, we have built a ship. Those who want to board the ship may do so buying each ticket for one billion dollar.”
Hearing the news, Sushil’s father, the owner of a multibillion dollar private company, sprang immediately to catch a berth on this ‘ship of life’. He had sold his company’s stakes and had gathered sufficient money to purchase tickets for the five in their family.
“Son, we are going to survive. Don’t worry. Here’re the tickets I’ve purchased for the special ship.”
“But there are only five here Dad, don’t you have a ticket for Sushmita?!”
“No son. I sold my company for six billion dollars and five ticket cost me five. I saved one because we need something to start our lives after we survive through this hell.”
“Dad… But why? You still had one billion left. You could have easily bought one more ticket for her.”
“But that’s not done, my son.”
“Dad, I hate you!”
Sushil ran out of his house. One could see tears rolling down his red cheeks. All he cared about was Sushmita, and hearing that Sushmita would not be with him after the disaster, he could only hate his father. He went immediately to Sushmita’s house.
He knocked on the door.
“Sushmita, it’s me. Please come out.”
It was midnight, and Sushmita was probably asleep. Sushil smote on the door.
“Sushmita, please come out. I really want to see you.”
The door opened, and Sushmita’s mother came to greet him. Yawning in the cold winter night, she was barely able to speak.
“What is it, son? Sushmita’s asleep.”
“Oh, mother!” Sushil threw himself on Sushmita’s mother. Sushil had lost his mother when he was five, and he treated Sushmita’s mother as his own. Sushmita’s mother also accepted Sushil as her son, as she knew that in the near future, he would be her son-in-law.
“That’s it. It’s okay. Now now, what happened?” asked Sushmita’s mother.
“Mom! I can’t live without Sushmita. I am incomplete without her,” he could only sob and utter the words.
Hearing such commotion, Sushmita woke up. She strode to the entrance of their two-room apartment. Glimmering in the silver moonlight, she resembled an angel. She took her mother’s side, and on seeing her, Sushil hugged her. Not anticipating it she fell down. Sushil held onto her with his life. He pulled her closer to him, as he had the fear of losing her. He kept weeping on her shoulders. Sushmita had known Sushil for many years but she had never seen him cry like this before. She immediately realized something was terribly wrong.
She took him inside, and after lighting the bulb in their miniature drawing room, she looked into his eyes. His eyes displayed grief, agony, hatred, disbelief and fear.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Sushmita I-I—” He began with tears in his eyes.
Sushmita tried to console him, but Sushil was not willing to block his tears. His father’s rude and arrogant behavior towards Sushmita’s fate was too much of a shock for him. Whenever he imagined Sushmita’s death, he could only cry. Sushil’s love for Sushmita was pure, and the thought of Sushmita’s demise was despair for him. Having understood Sushil would not stop crying, Sushmita laid her hand on his mouth. Sushil had to stop crying.
“Now tell me what happened,” said Sushmita.
“Well, you know about that ship which the American President announced?” replied Sushil.
“Well, yeah.”
“My Dad bought us the tickets, but—“
“But what?
You should be happy. You are surviving through this devastating end.”
“That’s not the point. You see, he did not buy a ticket for you or your family, so—“
“Oh, it’s okay.”
“No it’s not okay. As I was saying, he did not buy a ticket for you, so I’m not going to board the ship. I can’t live without you! Never! I’ve thought of giving the ticket to you.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Stop me.”
“Well, I’m not going to take it. I can’t live, knowing that you’re not around.”
“Sushmita, don’t“
“Sushil, you please don’t.”
Sushmita’s words had a dominating influence over Sushil’s pleas. After arguing for half an hour, she could finally persuade Sushil into not giving up the golden ticket.
“Sushil, your Dad bought that ticket with great hope. He wants you to live, and so you should not turn down his hope. You live, and when you pass over to the other world, maybe we can meet again.”
“But Sushmita“
“But nothing, Sushil. You will not give that ticket to me, and that’s final. Now please leave. It’s really late.”
Sushil left with reluctance. He could not believe his ears, or his fate. He was destined to be with Sushmita; he could not survive without her presence. As he walked towards his house, he looked down with disbelief and his vision was blurred with tears.
Inside Sushmita’s room, Sushmita gazed blindly at the stars. She had tears in her eyes. She was not afraid of dying, but she was afraid of losing Sushil. She imagined the after life, and she thought, “Will it be meaningful? Life without Sushil? Will Heaven provide sufficient pleasures to take my mind off Sushil?” As these thoughts entered her mind, she looked at a photo of Sushil, she was in tears.
December 20, 2012. Only a day remaining for the world to end. The process of the Earth’s destruction had intensified, and people scurried for protection. Vast stretches of the world had been destroyed. Kolkata was experiencing a major storm, and consequently, a flood.
Those who could afford the ticket prepared to board the ship, while others searched for alternative means to stay alive.
Sushil, his father, two sisters, and a younger brother readied their luggage. Sushil did not want to leave without Sushmita and opposed the packing of his luggage. He prevented any of his family members, or any of his innumerous servants, to touch his belongings.
“Dad, I won’t go without Sushmita. You guys leave without me. I’m not going to budge,” said Sushil.
“What rubbish?! You do as I tell you to. You will be going with us!” replied his father, now frustrated.
Sushil was an arrogant person, and was not willing to surrender to his father’s decision. He walked out of his room, and strode towards the garden. He was not allowed to leave the premises of his father’s huge land, because of the devastating flood, and especially because of his abrupt leave three days earlier. He admired the beauty of the tulips, which Sushmita dearly liked, and was instantly reminded of her.
“Sushmita, I’m sorry.” Sushil felt guilty of having to leave without Sushmita. “Wasn’t there some way I could get her onboard?”
The time arrived for them to leave. Sushil’s father threw their luggage in their custom-made Bentley.
“Sir, your father’s calling. It’s time to leave,” Sushil was addressed by a servant.
Sushil limped slowly towards the car. He sat comfortably on the rear seat. His father started the engine.
“That’s good, son. Now we will leave,” his father said.
After staggering through the flood, they finally reached the airport. It was night. The airport was deserted, sparing few employees who were loyal to their duties.
“Mr. Mittal, glad you made it. Your jet’s ready sir,” greeted one of the employees.
“Good, prepare to leave immediately,” replied Mr. Mittal.
The luggage was boarded on the private jet, and the Mittals were preparing to leave. They stood beside the make-shift ladder, waiting for the pilot’s signal to board the jet. Sushil looked back at the deserted airport, lost in his thoughts. He imagined Sushmita standing there, waving goodbye. He imagined tears in Sushmita’s eyes, as she was wholeheartedly telling him to take care, withholding her mind’s desires.
“Son, it’s time. Get onboard,” said Mr. Mittal.
Sushil did not seem to hear his father’s orders.
“Son“
Before he could finish his words, Sushil dashed away from the jet.
“Dad, take care. Same to you my sisters and my brother, I can’t leave. No, not without Sushmita,” Sushil said with his back facing his family.
“Dad, you people move, I won’t come. Forget me, and just carry on with life. I’m staying behind. Go!” There was a sudden change in his tone. He sounded soft and in pain, as if he was in despair.
Mr. Mittal was stunned by his son’s words. He was boiling with anger and fear. But then he realized that Sushil was as arrogant as him. It had to be; it was his blood.
He turned towards the pilot, “Pilot, please start the engine. We’re leaving without him. Please start.”
Till then, Sushil had not disappeared from sight. Mr. Mittal cried out, “Sushil, it’s okay. You stay with your Sushmita. You don’t have to come. But I’ll miss you, son. Take care, and if the world does end, then I expect to see you in the after life, after I pass away. Now run to your Sushmita.”
Sushil felt the words echoing in his ears. He did not believe that his father would allow him to stay with Sushmita. Although afraid of losing his life, he felt the happiest person in the panic-stricken world.
“Thanks, Dad. Take care. Bye,” Sushil’s faint words reached Mr. Mittal’s ears. He was vanquished of losing his eldest son, but was relieved with the knowledge that Sushil would live peacefully during these last few moments.
Sushil made his way through the flooded streets. Rain was pouring down on him heavily, but that did not prevent him from reaching Sushmita’s house. The land under him shook, as tremors made its way through the Earth’s crust. The world was nearing its end rapidly.
December 21… 2012. Midnight.
As earthquakes repetitively shook the basic foundations of Kolkata was shaken up.
Sushmita sat up, gazing towards the disturbed sky. She saw an airplane making its way through the heavy downpour. “That must be Sushil leaving,” she thought.
She was lost in her thoughts, which was, though, disrupted by loud bangs on the door. “Who would arrive so late?” she thought.
She opened the door to find Sushil. He was drenched wet with water and was panting desperately.
“Sushil! Why are you here? I thought you left,” said Sushmita.
“How could I leave without you? I’m staying back with you till the end.”
“But Sushil, your father..”
“Dad’s left. I told him before coming here.”
Sushil wrapped his arms around Sushmita.
“Now I’m here with you. We’ll face the end together,” he said.
They entered into Sushmita’s apartment. Her parents were looking at the television with desperation, with hope of some miracle which would save the world from perishing. He looked at the walls of the apartment. Nothing was in its correct position; everything was shaken by the series of tremors underground.
“Sushil! I’m surprised to find you here! You were supposed to go?” said Sushmita’s father.
“Come on uncle. You know me for the last five years. I will never abandon Sushmita.”
Sushil made himself comfortable on the worn out sofa. They were watching the news, observing the devastating condition of the world at present. Sushmita sat beside him. Sushil felt happy with his decision. He wanted to be as close as possible during these last few hours of their lives. They held each other’s hand, gripping it firmly to form an eternal bond.
Tears rolled down their cheeks when they saw hell unfolding in front of their bare eyes. They had never imagined such torture. There were several reports of the death of innumerous people due to the disasters. One of these reports displayed a gaping trench on the Earth’s crust, which was eventually widening, as if to divide the world into two halves.
Another report showed the reporter being melted by the hot lava gushing out from Antarctica. One report showed a live cameraman shooting an approaching tsunami, and within moments, his camera lost communication with the server. Sushil and Sushmita were completely devastated by these sights.
Within moments, another series of tremors rocked the ground beneath their feet. At a distance, they saw a twelve storied tower collapse into the streets below. They knew it was their turn next. Looking down into the streets below, they saw magma emerge from the sewers. It melted anything that came in its way. Another tremor shook the Earth.
December 21, 2012. 4:00 a.m. Kolkata was petrified by the series of disasters taking place. Sushil and Sushmita still sat while holding hands. Another powerful earthquake shook their feet. They watched helplessly as the apartment beside them broke down to rumbles.
Sushmita’s mother looked out of the window.
“I think you may want to see this,” said she.
All the occupants of the room went towards the window. They were stunned to see what lay in front of them. A tsunami was approaching fast, which rose miles high. They knew that this would be the wave that would relieve them from their worries; this was the wave which would cause the extermination of the Kolkatans.
“I guess this is the end,” said Sushil, holding onto Sushmita’s hand, “I’m glad we could be with each other during our last moments of life.”
Sushil held Sushmita’s hand, gripping it ferociously, never to let go, as if by holding her hand, they would be teleported together to heaven.
“Yes, I guess this is it. I’m happy to die in your arms,” said Sushmita.
“Glad I met you, and I’m lucky to have fallen for you.”
“I’m lucky to have got you too,” said he.
Sushil bent down his head, in order to lay one final kiss on her forehead and then on her lips. They were successful in having one final private moment of pleasure as their lips met.
Within moments, the tsunami struck their building as Sushil and Sushmita’s existence was erased from this sphere.
Thursday, 8 July 2010
A full circle....
“Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor, you can present your allegations and demands now,” the Judge called out. The entire court room looked towards this separated couple. Mr. Kapoor had a frown on his face, while Mrs. Kapoor watched with helplessness. Ashish, their twelve year old son, was unaware of what had been going on, and only looked with perplexity.
His immature age prevented him from understanding the serious situation that existed there. He was, though, able to understand that something unfortunate was going on, as he thought, “Big policemen with guns meant something was wrong.”
He looked at the policemen, attracted by their shiny revolvers, but frightened by the frustrated looks on their faces. An atmosphere of tension and anxiety flouted the entire courtroom.
Ashish was the only son of Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor. Mr. Kapoor was the Chief Executive Officer of a multi- billion dollar multinational company. Mrs. Kapoor was a simple housewife. They were good friends since their schooldays. They shared a warm and intimate relationship. Eventually, they fell in love, and tied the knot after completing their graduation. Mrs. Kapoor had always supported Mr. Kapoor, standing by him in his ups and downs.
“I could never have got anyone better than you,” Mr. Kapoor frequently told Mrs. Kapoor. It was only due to Mrs. Kapoor’s dedication towards her husband that Mr. Kapoor was able to excel in life. He had to struggle, but Mrs. Kapoor’s support had pulled him up from the rags, and turned him into a successful person.
Within five years of marriage, they were gifted with a healthy son. They named him Ashish, after Mr. Kapoor’s pet name. But ever since his birth, a wave of rivalry prevailed over them, as they would compete within themselves in order to prove a better parent to him. Both loved him dearly, but his existence deteriorated the special bond that they had once shared.
Their relationship worsened to such an extent that their bond of marriage could snap at any moment. Unfortunately, within twelve years of Ashish’s birth, it was happening so. Both were so dissatisfied with each other that they decided to separate. Today was the day of the court’s decree. Today’s decision would change their lives drastically; it was a case of certain death, as neither parent was ready to live without their son.
They had already signed the divorce papers. All compensations were paid, and other individual problems were solved. Every property dispute had been resolved, but one question still remained.
“Who will be Ashish’s parent?” Today’s verdict would answer this question and decide their fate.
The couple stood separated by a large distance. Mr. Kapoor occupied one corner, while Mrs. Kapoor occupied the other.
Ashish was under the Judge’s supervision, and he was not allowed to even talk to his parents without being asked to do so.
“So Ashish, whom will you choose, dear?” the Judge asked, after hearing Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor’s resolutions.
Ashish was puzzled by this question. He loved both equally and never imagined to live without either of them. He was donned by his parents’ presence and never wanted them to separate; he wanted to live with both of them, to love them and to be loved by them.
A terrified expression grasped his tired eyes and he was frightened by the thought of losing either of his parents. He looked at each of them, trying to understand the reason for their immature, foolish decision.
Mrs. Kapoor had tears rolling down her red cheeks. She could not suppress the motherly affection which she had for her son. Mr. Kapoor gave back a forced, heart warming smile. He was by no means willing to express his emotions. He never showed any sign of weakness, as men are expected not to do so. His eyes were gloomy, but he continued to smile affectionately at Ashish.
But under his confident and glad appearance lay a dark world, which was only filled with grief. His heart longed to be with his child but this could not force him to shed his tears.
“Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor, each one of you will have just one chance to influence your child’s decision,” the Judge continued after becoming impatient by the profound silence that swerved through the Court, “Ashish, please choose your decision wisely.”
Ashish looked at Mr. Kapoor. “Son, I can give you everything you want. I can buy all the happiness in the world. Please come with me,” He said while flashing some new toys he had bought for him. But Mr. Kapoor was wrong, so terribly wrong. Everything cannot be bought with money, especially not happiness.
All that Ashish wanted was his mother and father to love him together. He desired both of their love, and although any child of his age would be attracted by the new toys, Ashish was not going to be swayed so. He remained silent, and turned towards his mother.
Mrs. Kapoor could not withhold her emotions. Her cheeks had become red with all the tears she had shed. She was barely able to mutter anything. “Son,” she said partly restraining her affection from dominating her speech, “I don’t have enough money, and I can never surely give all that your father can give. I can’t buy all the things you desire. But there is something that I can give, which is priceless. And that is, love, my son. Now you decide what to do.” Mrs. Kapoor could no longer hold back her tears, and she began wailing in such a manner that she could no longer utter a word.
“Now, choose your decision wisely, son. Take your time,” the Judge said. A long period of silence prevailed over the courtroom. Ashish was lost in his thoughts. He had to act wisely, as this decision would finalize the family’s fate.
After much thought he replied, “I’ve decided.”
“So what’s your decision, son?” the Judge asked.
Everyone present in the courtroom looked at him eagerly while his parents looked with desperation.
“I will stay with you father”
“Oh, thank God!” his father exclaimed.
“I will live with you,” continued Ashish, “not because of all the wealth you have; not because you can buy all the happiness for me; but because of your affection for this son of yours… and”
“And what, my son?” asked Mr. Kapoor.
“And, I will live with you, mother, for your motherly warmth and affection. I want to live with both of you, mother and father. Both,”
Ashish ran towards both his parents, hugging them with lots of affection.
This decision of Ashish proved most significant, as the psyche of both the parents had changed.
They never fought again, and Ashish was able to receive equal love from each of them. What proved most important was that both Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor were successful in maintaining a lovable relationship as they once had before Ashish’s birth.
His immature age prevented him from understanding the serious situation that existed there. He was, though, able to understand that something unfortunate was going on, as he thought, “Big policemen with guns meant something was wrong.”
He looked at the policemen, attracted by their shiny revolvers, but frightened by the frustrated looks on their faces. An atmosphere of tension and anxiety flouted the entire courtroom.
Ashish was the only son of Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor. Mr. Kapoor was the Chief Executive Officer of a multi- billion dollar multinational company. Mrs. Kapoor was a simple housewife. They were good friends since their schooldays. They shared a warm and intimate relationship. Eventually, they fell in love, and tied the knot after completing their graduation. Mrs. Kapoor had always supported Mr. Kapoor, standing by him in his ups and downs.
“I could never have got anyone better than you,” Mr. Kapoor frequently told Mrs. Kapoor. It was only due to Mrs. Kapoor’s dedication towards her husband that Mr. Kapoor was able to excel in life. He had to struggle, but Mrs. Kapoor’s support had pulled him up from the rags, and turned him into a successful person.
Within five years of marriage, they were gifted with a healthy son. They named him Ashish, after Mr. Kapoor’s pet name. But ever since his birth, a wave of rivalry prevailed over them, as they would compete within themselves in order to prove a better parent to him. Both loved him dearly, but his existence deteriorated the special bond that they had once shared.
Their relationship worsened to such an extent that their bond of marriage could snap at any moment. Unfortunately, within twelve years of Ashish’s birth, it was happening so. Both were so dissatisfied with each other that they decided to separate. Today was the day of the court’s decree. Today’s decision would change their lives drastically; it was a case of certain death, as neither parent was ready to live without their son.
They had already signed the divorce papers. All compensations were paid, and other individual problems were solved. Every property dispute had been resolved, but one question still remained.
“Who will be Ashish’s parent?” Today’s verdict would answer this question and decide their fate.
The couple stood separated by a large distance. Mr. Kapoor occupied one corner, while Mrs. Kapoor occupied the other.
Ashish was under the Judge’s supervision, and he was not allowed to even talk to his parents without being asked to do so.
“So Ashish, whom will you choose, dear?” the Judge asked, after hearing Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor’s resolutions.
Ashish was puzzled by this question. He loved both equally and never imagined to live without either of them. He was donned by his parents’ presence and never wanted them to separate; he wanted to live with both of them, to love them and to be loved by them.
A terrified expression grasped his tired eyes and he was frightened by the thought of losing either of his parents. He looked at each of them, trying to understand the reason for their immature, foolish decision.
Mrs. Kapoor had tears rolling down her red cheeks. She could not suppress the motherly affection which she had for her son. Mr. Kapoor gave back a forced, heart warming smile. He was by no means willing to express his emotions. He never showed any sign of weakness, as men are expected not to do so. His eyes were gloomy, but he continued to smile affectionately at Ashish.
But under his confident and glad appearance lay a dark world, which was only filled with grief. His heart longed to be with his child but this could not force him to shed his tears.
“Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor, each one of you will have just one chance to influence your child’s decision,” the Judge continued after becoming impatient by the profound silence that swerved through the Court, “Ashish, please choose your decision wisely.”
Ashish looked at Mr. Kapoor. “Son, I can give you everything you want. I can buy all the happiness in the world. Please come with me,” He said while flashing some new toys he had bought for him. But Mr. Kapoor was wrong, so terribly wrong. Everything cannot be bought with money, especially not happiness.
All that Ashish wanted was his mother and father to love him together. He desired both of their love, and although any child of his age would be attracted by the new toys, Ashish was not going to be swayed so. He remained silent, and turned towards his mother.
Mrs. Kapoor could not withhold her emotions. Her cheeks had become red with all the tears she had shed. She was barely able to mutter anything. “Son,” she said partly restraining her affection from dominating her speech, “I don’t have enough money, and I can never surely give all that your father can give. I can’t buy all the things you desire. But there is something that I can give, which is priceless. And that is, love, my son. Now you decide what to do.” Mrs. Kapoor could no longer hold back her tears, and she began wailing in such a manner that she could no longer utter a word.
“Now, choose your decision wisely, son. Take your time,” the Judge said. A long period of silence prevailed over the courtroom. Ashish was lost in his thoughts. He had to act wisely, as this decision would finalize the family’s fate.
After much thought he replied, “I’ve decided.”
“So what’s your decision, son?” the Judge asked.
Everyone present in the courtroom looked at him eagerly while his parents looked with desperation.
“I will stay with you father”
“Oh, thank God!” his father exclaimed.
“I will live with you,” continued Ashish, “not because of all the wealth you have; not because you can buy all the happiness for me; but because of your affection for this son of yours… and”
“And what, my son?” asked Mr. Kapoor.
“And, I will live with you, mother, for your motherly warmth and affection. I want to live with both of you, mother and father. Both,”
Ashish ran towards both his parents, hugging them with lots of affection.
This decision of Ashish proved most significant, as the psyche of both the parents had changed.
They never fought again, and Ashish was able to receive equal love from each of them. What proved most important was that both Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor were successful in maintaining a lovable relationship as they once had before Ashish’s birth.
Saturday, 26 June 2010
The ever expanding city...
Chunee lived with Prahlad on a big, empty ground surrounded by apartment buildings somewhere in Jogeshwari East, Mumbai.
When Chunee came from her village many years ago, there had been empty grounds all around her, there were plenty of green fields and lots of cattle sheds.
The smell of the buffaloes, the clinking of the milk pails, and the milkmen in their yellowing white dhotis had reminded her of home.
But now, there were no green fields and the cattle sheds were wedged between concrete buildings so tall, that Chunee had to strain to see the tops of them.
The ground that she lived on seemed to have been forgotten for some reason, in the building frenzy.
Chunee did not miss her village all the time. But she did miss having a bath everyday. In the village, she could walk into the river any time she wanted, whenever she was feeling hot and dusty, she would splash around to her heart’s content. But here she was able to have a bath only once a week.
Prahlad had to fetch buckets of water from the well near the tea stall. The tea stall owner had become the unofficial owner of the well and even though Prahlad paid two rupees for every bucket of water he took, the self-proclaimed owner would stare disapprovingly at him whenever he took a bucket too many.
The little boy Gottya, who worked at the tea stall would help Prahlad lug the buckets to and fro while bathing times on Sunday mornings became a big event. Even twenty buckets of water could not give Chunee the pleasure she had had splashing in the river back home.
Every Sunday, after the bath, Prahlad would take Chunee to the South Indian temple in Matunga. It was a long walk, but they earned a lot of money on that day because the temple was crowded with devotees, and each one of them gave something to Prahlad and Chunee.
Chunee would be decked in all her finery and everyone would turn to look at her. She was so beautiful. Chunee would stare back with smiling, crinkled eyes.
Chunee loved to go to the temple. The lane outside smelt of flowers and incense; the women were dressed in brilliant colors and the children laughed happily at her. The roads were not too crowded on Sunday and it was a pleasant walk for Prahlad and Chunee.
On weekdays, Prahlad would eat his breakfast late at the tea stall. Chunee would wait till he was ready. Then they would start walking on their regular rounds, past the cattle sheds, crossing the busy highway, crossing the railway tracks to the more affluent western side of the suburb, Andheri, where there were many small South Indian eateries whose owners always had a little something to offer Prahlad and Chunee.
Chunee hated to cross the highway with its roaring trucks and cars that never seemed to stop.
Some days they met Mona and her keeper, Santosh. It did not happen too often, but some times, they would be called together for a wedding party or a film shoot. Mona lived far away in Mira Road and hence Chunee was happy whenever they did meet. Mona and Chunee could talk to each other all day.
Mona was Chunee’s daughter, born to her in the village many years ago. Chunee and Mona had come to the city together, but had been separated when they came here because they worked different rounds.
Chunee had another daughter, Hanno, who lived further away in Kurla, whom Chunee had never seen again after they came to the city.
One day, Chunee and Mona crossed each other near the crowded Andheri station. It was more than a year since they had seen each other. They were on opposite sides of the road, but oblivious to the traffic around them they stopped in the middle of the road and called out to each other.
The traffic policeman glared at Prahlad and Santosh, who goaded both the females to move ahead. The cars piled up around them, the drivers honking furiously. But Chunee and Mona did not hear the noises around them or even feel the prod of Prahlad’s and Santosh’s sticks. They just continued to stand still and look at each other.
Suddenly, a large red bus with an impatient, irate bus driver nudged Chunee on her back and moved forward. Chunee, shaken out of her stillness and hurt by the weight of the bus moved back a step. Across the road, Santosh too nudged Mona again, and she reluctantly but with a lingering glance at Chunee, moved away. Prahlad skillfully guided Chunee through the traffic, ignoring the abuse of the drivers around him. With great patience brought her back home.
That night, Prahlad lay awake hearing Chunee moan for Mona. Her eyes were shut, probably she was asleep after her long walk and the injury on her back must have been hurting, but Prahlad thought perhaps she was dreaming of her daughter Mona and the village to which she belonged.
Prahlad wondered if he should walk to Chunee’s side of the ground and stroke her, but he lay where he was, listening to her soft crying. Again he thought of their silent walk back home and felt a little proud that he had managed to bring her back without any further accidents, she had been so distressed that day.
After a few minutes, he picked up his thin mattress and sheet and walked up to her. He stroked her gently and murmured softly into her ear. Chunee moaned back.
Prahlad was a kind mahout. He had often told his owner, Khan-saab that Chunee, Mona and Hanno needed male mates but Khan-saab had stopped bringing elephants to Mumbai.
It was too expensive to transport them and too expensive to keep them. The three females he had brought years ago were still paying their keep, but it was certainly not worth its while to invest more money in animals, what with the new rules and regulations.
Anyway, where on earth would the elephants mate in Mumbai? There was no place big enough for that in the vicinity. Open grounds no longer existed, and they were lucky they still had place for the three elephants in the city.
Prahlad shrugged helplessly in the dark as he thought about Chunee and her daughters and their longing for their loved ones.
Then he thought of his own wife back home in the village and wondered if she too moaned for him like that in the dark. He laughed at himself and his fancies, as he remembered his silent Lalli going about her work at home and the fields, and sighing softly he turned to go to sleep.
When Chunee woke up the next day, she was still a little sad. Every time she met Mona, she was sad for days, missing Hanno and her village.
But today, Prahlad fetched buckets of water and gave her a bath even though it was not a Sunday. Chunee sprayed water on him with her trunk and tried to be cheerful for his sake.
Prahlad, soaking wet, laughed, and threw yet another mug of water at Chunee’s back. The little boy Gottya came running towards them with a fresh bucket of water, and sprayed by Chunee, he too laughed. It was definitely a sight to watch.
When Chunee came from her village many years ago, there had been empty grounds all around her, there were plenty of green fields and lots of cattle sheds.
The smell of the buffaloes, the clinking of the milk pails, and the milkmen in their yellowing white dhotis had reminded her of home.
But now, there were no green fields and the cattle sheds were wedged between concrete buildings so tall, that Chunee had to strain to see the tops of them.
The ground that she lived on seemed to have been forgotten for some reason, in the building frenzy.
Chunee did not miss her village all the time. But she did miss having a bath everyday. In the village, she could walk into the river any time she wanted, whenever she was feeling hot and dusty, she would splash around to her heart’s content. But here she was able to have a bath only once a week.
Prahlad had to fetch buckets of water from the well near the tea stall. The tea stall owner had become the unofficial owner of the well and even though Prahlad paid two rupees for every bucket of water he took, the self-proclaimed owner would stare disapprovingly at him whenever he took a bucket too many.
The little boy Gottya, who worked at the tea stall would help Prahlad lug the buckets to and fro while bathing times on Sunday mornings became a big event. Even twenty buckets of water could not give Chunee the pleasure she had had splashing in the river back home.
Every Sunday, after the bath, Prahlad would take Chunee to the South Indian temple in Matunga. It was a long walk, but they earned a lot of money on that day because the temple was crowded with devotees, and each one of them gave something to Prahlad and Chunee.
Chunee would be decked in all her finery and everyone would turn to look at her. She was so beautiful. Chunee would stare back with smiling, crinkled eyes.
Chunee loved to go to the temple. The lane outside smelt of flowers and incense; the women were dressed in brilliant colors and the children laughed happily at her. The roads were not too crowded on Sunday and it was a pleasant walk for Prahlad and Chunee.
On weekdays, Prahlad would eat his breakfast late at the tea stall. Chunee would wait till he was ready. Then they would start walking on their regular rounds, past the cattle sheds, crossing the busy highway, crossing the railway tracks to the more affluent western side of the suburb, Andheri, where there were many small South Indian eateries whose owners always had a little something to offer Prahlad and Chunee.
Chunee hated to cross the highway with its roaring trucks and cars that never seemed to stop.
Some days they met Mona and her keeper, Santosh. It did not happen too often, but some times, they would be called together for a wedding party or a film shoot. Mona lived far away in Mira Road and hence Chunee was happy whenever they did meet. Mona and Chunee could talk to each other all day.
Mona was Chunee’s daughter, born to her in the village many years ago. Chunee and Mona had come to the city together, but had been separated when they came here because they worked different rounds.
Chunee had another daughter, Hanno, who lived further away in Kurla, whom Chunee had never seen again after they came to the city.
One day, Chunee and Mona crossed each other near the crowded Andheri station. It was more than a year since they had seen each other. They were on opposite sides of the road, but oblivious to the traffic around them they stopped in the middle of the road and called out to each other.
The traffic policeman glared at Prahlad and Santosh, who goaded both the females to move ahead. The cars piled up around them, the drivers honking furiously. But Chunee and Mona did not hear the noises around them or even feel the prod of Prahlad’s and Santosh’s sticks. They just continued to stand still and look at each other.
Suddenly, a large red bus with an impatient, irate bus driver nudged Chunee on her back and moved forward. Chunee, shaken out of her stillness and hurt by the weight of the bus moved back a step. Across the road, Santosh too nudged Mona again, and she reluctantly but with a lingering glance at Chunee, moved away. Prahlad skillfully guided Chunee through the traffic, ignoring the abuse of the drivers around him. With great patience brought her back home.
That night, Prahlad lay awake hearing Chunee moan for Mona. Her eyes were shut, probably she was asleep after her long walk and the injury on her back must have been hurting, but Prahlad thought perhaps she was dreaming of her daughter Mona and the village to which she belonged.
Prahlad wondered if he should walk to Chunee’s side of the ground and stroke her, but he lay where he was, listening to her soft crying. Again he thought of their silent walk back home and felt a little proud that he had managed to bring her back without any further accidents, she had been so distressed that day.
After a few minutes, he picked up his thin mattress and sheet and walked up to her. He stroked her gently and murmured softly into her ear. Chunee moaned back.
Prahlad was a kind mahout. He had often told his owner, Khan-saab that Chunee, Mona and Hanno needed male mates but Khan-saab had stopped bringing elephants to Mumbai.
It was too expensive to transport them and too expensive to keep them. The three females he had brought years ago were still paying their keep, but it was certainly not worth its while to invest more money in animals, what with the new rules and regulations.
Anyway, where on earth would the elephants mate in Mumbai? There was no place big enough for that in the vicinity. Open grounds no longer existed, and they were lucky they still had place for the three elephants in the city.
Prahlad shrugged helplessly in the dark as he thought about Chunee and her daughters and their longing for their loved ones.
Then he thought of his own wife back home in the village and wondered if she too moaned for him like that in the dark. He laughed at himself and his fancies, as he remembered his silent Lalli going about her work at home and the fields, and sighing softly he turned to go to sleep.
When Chunee woke up the next day, she was still a little sad. Every time she met Mona, she was sad for days, missing Hanno and her village.
But today, Prahlad fetched buckets of water and gave her a bath even though it was not a Sunday. Chunee sprayed water on him with her trunk and tried to be cheerful for his sake.
Prahlad, soaking wet, laughed, and threw yet another mug of water at Chunee’s back. The little boy Gottya came running towards them with a fresh bucket of water, and sprayed by Chunee, he too laughed. It was definitely a sight to watch.
Wednesday, 23 June 2010
The astrologer.....
Every night Janshetram had the same routine, he used to get out of the mill and enter the beer bar to drink the regrets in his life. He used to drink to forget, to drown the past into the bottles of alcohols.
He was a mill worker and earned a modest salary to feed his family, but his drinking habit took over the human in him and turned him into a monster his wife and kids had to face every night.
Every night he used to take the same dark road back home and at the corner of the street saw the astrologer. The astrologer had long brown hair and overgrown facial hair. Unlike other astrologers, he carried no stuff, no stones, and no parrots. The astrologer just sat there quietly, doing nothing, saying nothing.
He just had one board off front which read ‘All your problems solved. Astrological consultation just Rs 5’
‘He is a obviously fake,’ Janshetram used to think, but something in that astrologer made him glance at that corner regularly.
One day totally drunk, he glanced at the fat lady sitting in front of the astrologer. Out of curiosity, he stepped closer to listen to them, “You obviously are going to get freed of all your worries,” said the astrologer gazing at the palm of the fat lady.
“But my love life is a mess,” she replied, “My husband doesn’t love me anymore.”
‘Try reducing your weight a bit,’ thought Janshetram.
“Do one thing; know the Shiv temple on the top of the hill? Every Monday go there and while enchanting the Shiv Mantra, circle around the temple 15 times,” the astrologer said, “You will find your love life returning in a month.”
“Thank you baba,” she touched his feet.
“Remember, if you begin this vrat (the task to please God) you should not stop in between for anything or God will curse you.”
‘Obviously a fake,’ thought Janshetram and gazed at the astrologer.
“Yes, my son,” asked the Astrologer, “Do you want to consult?”
“You are a fake,” said Janshetram, “You do not know anything. If you are really so great can you tell me my past?”
The astrologer gazed at him for a moment.
“See,” Janshetram shouted, “Not upto the task are you?”
“I will,” said the astrologer, “I will definitely. But I will tell you the day you come to me sober.”
“Yeah right,” laughed Janshetram sarcastically and left.
Then he walked the same road stumbling on the road side poles and reached his house.
His wife was dutifully waiting for him with a hot food plate, she was rubbing the bruise from the last night while heating the food.
But today her husband was quiet, she did not understand. He did not pull her hair, he did not beat her. He quietly sat down in the kitchen waiting for food. She was surprised to see the change, as she never had a peaceful night in last three years.
The next day Janshetram did his work promptly while his attention was somewhere else… he was thinking all the time about the astrologer.
That evening, he did not visit the bar. The path suddenly seemed bright, the roads all lit.
The astrologer sat there, as quiet as always.
“I was waiting for you,” the astrologer said.
“If you tell me my past correctly, I will give you Rs100, right now” said Janshetram.
“I know you earn modest wages, son, I will not take a single penny from you,” the astrologer smiled and gazed at the palm.
“You came to the big city three years ago,” began the astrologer, “You come from a small village in Parvachi region of Rajasthan. Your family is your mother whom you cannot face, as you are ashamed of going there because of the deed you did three years back.”
The old thoughts came back to Janshetram, the friendship, the plot and the long run.
“You have been betrayed in your life by someone, someone very close to you. You had to run away from yourself, but now it is time to stop. Don’t run anymore for your betrayer is dead.”
Janshetram was impressed but he did not wish to accept defeat yet, “This is all very general, tell me something specific.”
“Fine, you have robbed, robbed God himself.”
The words hit hard, Janshetram pulled back his hand.
“You and your friend robbed the gold crown in the temple of your village, but your robbery was foiled by the priest who rang the alarm. You had to flee the village in total darkness and fell into a well while your friend ran away with the loot. You have not seen your village and your friend since.”
Janshetram sat stunned; all the past events came back to him. His jobless times, his plan to rob the temple, rob the very people of the village for not letting him into the temple. He came from a lower caste and was not allowed to enter the temple, tired of this, he and his friend, Shirmith, decided to punish the Priest by robbing the crown and then frame him for the robbery.
Unfortunately for him, things went haywire. The alarm was raised, he and Shirmith were chased by the villagers, while running he accidently fell into a deep dry well where he waited in the dark for three days, Shirmith did not return for him.
Then after three days he ran, ran forever leaving his life behind. He was haunted by the villagers’ cries for three years; he was haunted by the sense of loneliness for three years.
Every night he tried to drown these very voices into the numerous bottles of alcohol.
“Do you believe in me now… Son? So I may give you a closure in your fear and regret?” the astrologer asked.
“Yes, baba,” cried Janshetram.
“Your friend was caught soon after you fell into the well. He was taken to the village and the crown was reinstalled in the temple. The villagers condemned him to leave the village immediately. Your friend has received his calling, he is beyond our reach. Your mother is waiting for you son, no one knows of your involvement in the robbery. The damage is done, you have a life ahead of you son, bury the ghost of the past, and go back to your village. Lead a peaceful life.”
That night, Janshetram did not stumble on the way home. He suddenly realized how beautiful his wife looked. He ate the hot food with pleasure; his life would stay beautiful for days to come now. What a relief.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That night, the astrologer went to his hut in the outskirts of the city and started packing his stuff.
“Are you leaving again?” asked his elderly neighbour.
“Yes Chacha, I have to make a final pilgrimage to Ambarnath.”
“Son, you have been to many pilgrimages, Dehu, Alandi and Kashi to find peace, yet you did not get it in any at those places. Now your life is well settled in this city, you can always go and pray in any temple here. Why are you wasting your youth in chasing peace?”
“Chacha, I have taken many pilgrimages, but today I am truly at peace. This is my last journey towards moksha and have to leave”.
He was a mill worker and earned a modest salary to feed his family, but his drinking habit took over the human in him and turned him into a monster his wife and kids had to face every night.
Every night he used to take the same dark road back home and at the corner of the street saw the astrologer. The astrologer had long brown hair and overgrown facial hair. Unlike other astrologers, he carried no stuff, no stones, and no parrots. The astrologer just sat there quietly, doing nothing, saying nothing.
He just had one board off front which read ‘All your problems solved. Astrological consultation just Rs 5’
‘He is a obviously fake,’ Janshetram used to think, but something in that astrologer made him glance at that corner regularly.
One day totally drunk, he glanced at the fat lady sitting in front of the astrologer. Out of curiosity, he stepped closer to listen to them, “You obviously are going to get freed of all your worries,” said the astrologer gazing at the palm of the fat lady.
“But my love life is a mess,” she replied, “My husband doesn’t love me anymore.”
‘Try reducing your weight a bit,’ thought Janshetram.
“Do one thing; know the Shiv temple on the top of the hill? Every Monday go there and while enchanting the Shiv Mantra, circle around the temple 15 times,” the astrologer said, “You will find your love life returning in a month.”
“Thank you baba,” she touched his feet.
“Remember, if you begin this vrat (the task to please God) you should not stop in between for anything or God will curse you.”
‘Obviously a fake,’ thought Janshetram and gazed at the astrologer.
“Yes, my son,” asked the Astrologer, “Do you want to consult?”
“You are a fake,” said Janshetram, “You do not know anything. If you are really so great can you tell me my past?”
The astrologer gazed at him for a moment.
“See,” Janshetram shouted, “Not upto the task are you?”
“I will,” said the astrologer, “I will definitely. But I will tell you the day you come to me sober.”
“Yeah right,” laughed Janshetram sarcastically and left.
Then he walked the same road stumbling on the road side poles and reached his house.
His wife was dutifully waiting for him with a hot food plate, she was rubbing the bruise from the last night while heating the food.
But today her husband was quiet, she did not understand. He did not pull her hair, he did not beat her. He quietly sat down in the kitchen waiting for food. She was surprised to see the change, as she never had a peaceful night in last three years.
The next day Janshetram did his work promptly while his attention was somewhere else… he was thinking all the time about the astrologer.
That evening, he did not visit the bar. The path suddenly seemed bright, the roads all lit.
The astrologer sat there, as quiet as always.
“I was waiting for you,” the astrologer said.
“If you tell me my past correctly, I will give you Rs100, right now” said Janshetram.
“I know you earn modest wages, son, I will not take a single penny from you,” the astrologer smiled and gazed at the palm.
“You came to the big city three years ago,” began the astrologer, “You come from a small village in Parvachi region of Rajasthan. Your family is your mother whom you cannot face, as you are ashamed of going there because of the deed you did three years back.”
The old thoughts came back to Janshetram, the friendship, the plot and the long run.
“You have been betrayed in your life by someone, someone very close to you. You had to run away from yourself, but now it is time to stop. Don’t run anymore for your betrayer is dead.”
Janshetram was impressed but he did not wish to accept defeat yet, “This is all very general, tell me something specific.”
“Fine, you have robbed, robbed God himself.”
The words hit hard, Janshetram pulled back his hand.
“You and your friend robbed the gold crown in the temple of your village, but your robbery was foiled by the priest who rang the alarm. You had to flee the village in total darkness and fell into a well while your friend ran away with the loot. You have not seen your village and your friend since.”
Janshetram sat stunned; all the past events came back to him. His jobless times, his plan to rob the temple, rob the very people of the village for not letting him into the temple. He came from a lower caste and was not allowed to enter the temple, tired of this, he and his friend, Shirmith, decided to punish the Priest by robbing the crown and then frame him for the robbery.
Unfortunately for him, things went haywire. The alarm was raised, he and Shirmith were chased by the villagers, while running he accidently fell into a deep dry well where he waited in the dark for three days, Shirmith did not return for him.
Then after three days he ran, ran forever leaving his life behind. He was haunted by the villagers’ cries for three years; he was haunted by the sense of loneliness for three years.
Every night he tried to drown these very voices into the numerous bottles of alcohol.
“Do you believe in me now… Son? So I may give you a closure in your fear and regret?” the astrologer asked.
“Yes, baba,” cried Janshetram.
“Your friend was caught soon after you fell into the well. He was taken to the village and the crown was reinstalled in the temple. The villagers condemned him to leave the village immediately. Your friend has received his calling, he is beyond our reach. Your mother is waiting for you son, no one knows of your involvement in the robbery. The damage is done, you have a life ahead of you son, bury the ghost of the past, and go back to your village. Lead a peaceful life.”
That night, Janshetram did not stumble on the way home. He suddenly realized how beautiful his wife looked. He ate the hot food with pleasure; his life would stay beautiful for days to come now. What a relief.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That night, the astrologer went to his hut in the outskirts of the city and started packing his stuff.
“Are you leaving again?” asked his elderly neighbour.
“Yes Chacha, I have to make a final pilgrimage to Ambarnath.”
“Son, you have been to many pilgrimages, Dehu, Alandi and Kashi to find peace, yet you did not get it in any at those places. Now your life is well settled in this city, you can always go and pray in any temple here. Why are you wasting your youth in chasing peace?”
“Chacha, I have taken many pilgrimages, but today I am truly at peace. This is my last journey towards moksha and have to leave”.
Sunday, 20 June 2010
The awakening....
When Mr. Raghu opened his eyes, he discovered himself engulfed in a sea of darkness. A deep dark pitch that spread from nowhere to nowhere, the likes he had never seen before.
He could hardly espy where he was, in what part of what. At the beginning, middle or end. At home or in some strange land. He could neither find out whether he was sitting, standing or lying down. He only realized that he was somewhere – somewhere in a lightless realm, trodden by mistake or by misfortune. A realm where the Sun had never risen.
He felt hard done by, that such a thing should even happen to him. A man whom everybody greeted with esteem and awe.
Being the head of a huge corporation and the destiny of hundreds, it was surely a misfortune to rot in the dark like this.
But that was a different thing. The most urgent of all was to find out where he was and what he was done in for. Was it his new apartment that he had recently built and furnished in an exaggerated fashion, amassing his life’s earnings?
Where were then, his wife and sons, relatives and especially his men, whom he had tended so scrupulously? Had they all departed for a holiday, leaving him alone in the dark? It seemed, as if, all were unconcerned.
Or, was it his office with all lights gone out all on a sudden? If yes, where were his office fellows? Why was it so silent? He tried hard to feel their presence and discern their very faces. He wished to pull the calling bell and call a peon.
But ah! Such an attempt was futile, for nothing was visible except his memories that were fresh and vivid. Everything else seemed to be drowned by an overwhelming wave of shadow.
‘Where am I?’ he yelled out aloud in exasperation. But he heard nothing except his rebounded interrogation- ‘w-h-e-r-e .. a-m .. I ??
He repeated his query again and again and always got the same response.
Instead of being afraid, he kicked up a fuss.
‘Who put me in such an invisible void where I cannot see my dear ones, my house or my office? Who could it be?’ he shouted.
Glimpses of images he had read in the Upanishads and in eighteen Puranas stood like living forms in front of him. ‘Was this the Hell I was brought to redeem my sins?
But I’ve not committed any such relentless crime for which Hell is the due.’
His soliloquy was broken by a horselaugh.
By then, the darkness had crystallized into a shadowy form. It stood somewhere yards away, throwing a cold sneer at him all the while. The image of Yamraaj- the god of death, resurrected in his mind. Was it he who brought me to this hell?
‘Who are you?’ he asked the shadowy form sternly and with the authority he used to maintain in his office. He thought the form might be scared of his harsh command as did his subordinates, but instead, the shadow laughed at him.
A loud hearty laugh that rang repetitively. And then his voice turned into a stern callousness.
‘How dare you ask me such a question?’ the shadow retorted back audaciously.’ Don’t you know who I am?’
The imperious utterance of the shadow not only startled Mr. Raghu but also made him irritated. None in his office had ever dared to reply to him with such impudence. His fist was clenched unconsciously to plant a heavy slap on the shadow’s cheek, to teach him, once for all, how to talk with a boss.
But considering his situation he was in at the moment, he thought it to be foolish. He relaxed for a moment and said ‘Why should I ask if I knew you?’
‘Well, then take It.’ the shadow retorted solemnly. ‘I am the one you are.’
‘What?’ croaked Mr. Raghu, listening such a vague and ambiguous statement, ‘If that is that, how come you are away in the dark and not in me?’ he amused and tried to make fun of the shadow’s audacity to think itself akin to his being.
‘I’m always with you, fool, deep within you. Can’t you discern me?’ the shadow’s voice was poignant and sharp, as if, he were in a deep inner turmoil.
‘Don’t upbraid me. I’m sure I can’t discern you.’ pleaded Raghuji with inflected seriousness.
‘How can a blind see his self? That’s the real plight. You’ve made yourself blind. That is what you have caused to me. You have never tried to bring light to me. In fact, you have no time, no zeal, and no need to heed to me.’
Raghu was deeply wounded. Never in his life had he realized that there was such an irrational being that could implicate him. He had enjoyed unlimited power and prestige as the General Manager of the Corporation and earned money that one could only dream of.
He had shown the way and regulated the lives of numerous employees, just at the point of his fingers. And yet, he was blind! But, how…how was that?
‘You are blind because you are away from the light from your own self. You are blind because you are very near to what you are not. You are obsessed with those illusive ghosts that misled you every moment.’ a taunting jeer rang in his ear.
‘Stop your prattle’ commanded Mr. Raghu impatiently, ‘and tell me why I am here.’
‘Where else would have you been with all your sins?’ the shadow mocked at his very face. The dominant figure of Mr. Raghu got shrunken inwardly.
‘I’ve not done any sin. I’ve not done any wrong knowingly.’ Raghu pleaded like a convict in the dock desperate to extricate himself.
‘Were you not haughty? Were you not boastful of your position?’
‘Of course, I was. But that’s not a sin.’ he said confidently.
‘That’s not a virtue either’ came the sharp rejoinder from the dark, ‘Your vanity had led many to their dooms. You were not what you projected to be. That was a temporary act assigned to you and you fancied, as if, you were that. You fell victim to your own ego. You entered into the kingdom of vice. And a vice is a sin.’
‘That wasn’t as much as a murder.’
‘Didn’t you ill-treat many?’ inquired the shadow firmly.
‘Yes, I did. And I was right because they deserved it. They committed blunders and so they paid for them.’
‘Didn’t you commit any in the whole span given to you?’
‘May be, may be…. To err is human.’ He admitted falteringly.
‘To forgive, then, is divine. Did you punish yourself?’
‘No’
‘That’s why you’re here. You were an unjust judge and you must receive your lesson.’
It was still hazy outside. The morning had not clearly dawned, yet a bedlam of twitters had already started in the old peepal.
Mr Jairaj hustled on his usual walk to complete an early round. As he neared the dusky grove, he saw a figure sail leisurely down the opposite. He looked so sober and quiet that he couldn’t help greeting him from a distance.
The other slowed a bit to fold his hands and utter a deep ‘namaskar’. It was a voice-grand and clear, free from the cliché clattered callousness- and one that seemed to spring out of his heart.
Mr Jairaj looked up to have a clear view of the man, and lo, in sheer disbelief and awe, he squinted at what he saw. In his front halted Mr Raghu to ask about his well being. His eyes seemed to stretch far more wider and alert, such as a deep slumber and a freshening dream can bestow. And a ripple of unruffled placidity swept over his countenance. His hands still rested half-folded over his chest.
He could hardly espy where he was, in what part of what. At the beginning, middle or end. At home or in some strange land. He could neither find out whether he was sitting, standing or lying down. He only realized that he was somewhere – somewhere in a lightless realm, trodden by mistake or by misfortune. A realm where the Sun had never risen.
He felt hard done by, that such a thing should even happen to him. A man whom everybody greeted with esteem and awe.
Being the head of a huge corporation and the destiny of hundreds, it was surely a misfortune to rot in the dark like this.
But that was a different thing. The most urgent of all was to find out where he was and what he was done in for. Was it his new apartment that he had recently built and furnished in an exaggerated fashion, amassing his life’s earnings?
Where were then, his wife and sons, relatives and especially his men, whom he had tended so scrupulously? Had they all departed for a holiday, leaving him alone in the dark? It seemed, as if, all were unconcerned.
Or, was it his office with all lights gone out all on a sudden? If yes, where were his office fellows? Why was it so silent? He tried hard to feel their presence and discern their very faces. He wished to pull the calling bell and call a peon.
But ah! Such an attempt was futile, for nothing was visible except his memories that were fresh and vivid. Everything else seemed to be drowned by an overwhelming wave of shadow.
‘Where am I?’ he yelled out aloud in exasperation. But he heard nothing except his rebounded interrogation- ‘w-h-e-r-e .. a-m .. I ??
He repeated his query again and again and always got the same response.
Instead of being afraid, he kicked up a fuss.
‘Who put me in such an invisible void where I cannot see my dear ones, my house or my office? Who could it be?’ he shouted.
Glimpses of images he had read in the Upanishads and in eighteen Puranas stood like living forms in front of him. ‘Was this the Hell I was brought to redeem my sins?
But I’ve not committed any such relentless crime for which Hell is the due.’
His soliloquy was broken by a horselaugh.
By then, the darkness had crystallized into a shadowy form. It stood somewhere yards away, throwing a cold sneer at him all the while. The image of Yamraaj- the god of death, resurrected in his mind. Was it he who brought me to this hell?
‘Who are you?’ he asked the shadowy form sternly and with the authority he used to maintain in his office. He thought the form might be scared of his harsh command as did his subordinates, but instead, the shadow laughed at him.
A loud hearty laugh that rang repetitively. And then his voice turned into a stern callousness.
‘How dare you ask me such a question?’ the shadow retorted back audaciously.’ Don’t you know who I am?’
The imperious utterance of the shadow not only startled Mr. Raghu but also made him irritated. None in his office had ever dared to reply to him with such impudence. His fist was clenched unconsciously to plant a heavy slap on the shadow’s cheek, to teach him, once for all, how to talk with a boss.
But considering his situation he was in at the moment, he thought it to be foolish. He relaxed for a moment and said ‘Why should I ask if I knew you?’
‘Well, then take It.’ the shadow retorted solemnly. ‘I am the one you are.’
‘What?’ croaked Mr. Raghu, listening such a vague and ambiguous statement, ‘If that is that, how come you are away in the dark and not in me?’ he amused and tried to make fun of the shadow’s audacity to think itself akin to his being.
‘I’m always with you, fool, deep within you. Can’t you discern me?’ the shadow’s voice was poignant and sharp, as if, he were in a deep inner turmoil.
‘Don’t upbraid me. I’m sure I can’t discern you.’ pleaded Raghuji with inflected seriousness.
‘How can a blind see his self? That’s the real plight. You’ve made yourself blind. That is what you have caused to me. You have never tried to bring light to me. In fact, you have no time, no zeal, and no need to heed to me.’
Raghu was deeply wounded. Never in his life had he realized that there was such an irrational being that could implicate him. He had enjoyed unlimited power and prestige as the General Manager of the Corporation and earned money that one could only dream of.
He had shown the way and regulated the lives of numerous employees, just at the point of his fingers. And yet, he was blind! But, how…how was that?
‘You are blind because you are away from the light from your own self. You are blind because you are very near to what you are not. You are obsessed with those illusive ghosts that misled you every moment.’ a taunting jeer rang in his ear.
‘Stop your prattle’ commanded Mr. Raghu impatiently, ‘and tell me why I am here.’
‘Where else would have you been with all your sins?’ the shadow mocked at his very face. The dominant figure of Mr. Raghu got shrunken inwardly.
‘I’ve not done any sin. I’ve not done any wrong knowingly.’ Raghu pleaded like a convict in the dock desperate to extricate himself.
‘Were you not haughty? Were you not boastful of your position?’
‘Of course, I was. But that’s not a sin.’ he said confidently.
‘That’s not a virtue either’ came the sharp rejoinder from the dark, ‘Your vanity had led many to their dooms. You were not what you projected to be. That was a temporary act assigned to you and you fancied, as if, you were that. You fell victim to your own ego. You entered into the kingdom of vice. And a vice is a sin.’
‘That wasn’t as much as a murder.’
‘Didn’t you ill-treat many?’ inquired the shadow firmly.
‘Yes, I did. And I was right because they deserved it. They committed blunders and so they paid for them.’
‘Didn’t you commit any in the whole span given to you?’
‘May be, may be…. To err is human.’ He admitted falteringly.
‘To forgive, then, is divine. Did you punish yourself?’
‘No’
‘That’s why you’re here. You were an unjust judge and you must receive your lesson.’
It was still hazy outside. The morning had not clearly dawned, yet a bedlam of twitters had already started in the old peepal.
Mr Jairaj hustled on his usual walk to complete an early round. As he neared the dusky grove, he saw a figure sail leisurely down the opposite. He looked so sober and quiet that he couldn’t help greeting him from a distance.
The other slowed a bit to fold his hands and utter a deep ‘namaskar’. It was a voice-grand and clear, free from the cliché clattered callousness- and one that seemed to spring out of his heart.
Mr Jairaj looked up to have a clear view of the man, and lo, in sheer disbelief and awe, he squinted at what he saw. In his front halted Mr Raghu to ask about his well being. His eyes seemed to stretch far more wider and alert, such as a deep slumber and a freshening dream can bestow. And a ripple of unruffled placidity swept over his countenance. His hands still rested half-folded over his chest.
Tuesday, 15 June 2010
the last wish....
“Darling, what’s wrong?!” Mrs. Walke shrieked. Mr. Walke was coughing violently; his coughs, penetrating through the cold morning air. His mouth foamed vigorously, and within moments, he was lying senseless on the wooden floor of his dining room. Dawn had just approached. The clock struck four, indicating that it was ‘3’ in the morning. The Sun was slowly emerging, while Mr. Walke’s Sun had set.
“Oh, mother!” Mrs. Walke cried out, “Please come and see!” Her mother-in-law had been sleeping; it was not met that a woman of her age would be awakened so early in the morning. She slowly came out of her room, signalling a big yawn. Her age had taken a toll on her body, and it was natural that her body would shiver after confronting the cold winter air.
On seeing her son lying lifeless on the floor, she was stunned. She let a cry of disbelief, and collapsed beside her son.
When she opened her eyes, she found herself lying on a white bed. Beside her, a machine beeped loudly, flashing some kind of a graph. A white coated man with a stethoscope was standing next to her bed. “Thank God she’s back!” He exclaimed.
On hearing the good news, her daughter-in-law arrived. The doctor looked at her, then approached her, and whispered something into her ears, then left. Mrs. Walke sat on the stool beside her mother-in-law’s bed. “Mom! Thank God you’re back! You’ve been lying unconscious for five days now! The doctor said you’ve passed over to coma, but I’m thankful you’re back!”
The old lady asked, “Kishore! Where is he?”
Mrs. Walke began to weep. She threw herself on the bed, and began to sob loudly, as if, to gain attention. The old lady consoled her, and then looking in her eyes, she asked, “What happened to him?”
“Kishore’s gone!” Mrs. Walke continued to sob.
The old mother had a weak mentality. After hearing her son’s death, she could not even react. All she could do was look lost. She stared at her daughter-in-law for some time, before fainting again. She awoke in the evening. Mrs. Walke was still sitting beside her.
Acting strong, she asked, “What is the date today?”
“Eighteenth June,” she replied with a sorrow tune.
“And for how many days exactly am I here?”
“Five.”
“So, Kishore died on the thirteenth?” She could no longer hold back her tears. She wailed, so terribly, that the entire hospital was shaken by her cries. It was quite natural. She had lost her only son.
After some condolences, Mrs. Walke stepped out of her room. The old lady looked lost. She gazed up at the ceiling, ignoring everything that was going around. All she could think of was Kishore. She could envision Kishore’s image appearing and disappearing in a moment’s notice. She flashed back on his past, as she remembered the tiny Kishore when she gave birth to her. Slowly, she imagined Kishore growing up. She remembered all the special moments in her child’s life, both painful and serene. She saw him grow up, and finally marry her dear daughter-in-law, who was like an angel to her. Finally, she imagined his dead face, and the sight mad tears roll down her wizened cheeks. She loved her son dearly; her son meant the world to her. His loss was the greatest trauma of her life. She did not feel as terrible when she lost her dear husband.
“Mrs. Walke?” Someone knocked on the door, which disturbed her thoughts, and drew her attention. She stared at the door. A nurse was standing there with an envelope in her hand.
“Yes?” The old lady answered.
“I have a letter for you. Someone dropped it off at the patients’ letterbox. It’s addressed to you. Sorry, I don’t know the addressee as we aren’t supposed to breach upon our patients’ privacy.”
The old lady looked stunned. “A letter, in here?” she thought. She turned to the nurse, “Thank you. You may leave.”
She saw the post seal on the paper. It was stamped on 17th June, which was yesterday. She quickly tore open the envelope, and took out the piece of paper. The letter was written on a sheet which was of poor quality. The handwriting seemed familiar. It read—
“17th June, 2009.
Dear Mrs. Bina Walke,
I sincerely apologize for not providing my address, because I, myself, am not aware of it. I’m sorry to disturb you during this time, when you are grieving over your son’s death, but this letter is regarding him. No, this is not a testament, but this is mainly a letter to make you aware about the mysteries surrounding your son’s death. Those secrets will be revealed in this letter.
Your son was murdered! His death was unnatural, although the autopsy revealed he died of suffocation. I guess you may be wondering how exactly such a healthy person could suffocate, and that too, in a winter morning while having breakfast. Well, his windpipe may have been blocked due to entrance of food particles, but that is not the case. Yes, he did die by suffocation, but he was suffocated intentionally by someone very dear to him.
Your dear daughter-in-law, your angel Mini, is the reason behind your son’s death. She murdered him, by feeding him peanut butter and toast. And you know how allergic he is to peanuts. As soon as the toast entered his mouth, his neck had swollen, preventing air flow, and thus choking him. It was not an accident, and it was done intentionally. She buttered his toast with peanuts deliberately, in order to get rid of him. That bitch murdered him, only because he knew dark secrets about her. She had an extramarital affair with her husband’s best friend—Varun. She betrayed him. Kishore thought of divorcing his wife due to mental treachery, but he could not do so, as it would upset you.
Now, after I’ve revealed the reason for his death, I will disclose some personal details about him, which might be beneficial to you. After all, people should not dwell on the past. He has written a will, as he feared his end was near, in order to distribute all his properties. The will is held by his lawyer—Mrs. Govindita. You will receive further information from her.
You may be wondering how I know such details about him, but the fact is, he, himself, provided me with such knowledge. This was his last wish—‘Not to punish his wife by giving this letter to the police. Let her live her life.’
Your loving son,
KISHORE.”
The old lady was startled by the name of the addressee. She could not help but stare at this piece of paper. It was her son that sent her the letter. “But how? How can he send it after he died?” She thought. She knew that even if she thought for years, her answers would remain unanswered. The handwriting was similar to Kishore’s, and this style of writing was Kishore’s trademark. So, it must have been him.
After some more days, she was discharged from the hospital. Within a month of Kishore’s death, Mini married Varun, and they lived a happy life together. Kishore’s mother was helpless in interfering; she could not show the letter to the police, as they would not believe her, and because then, her action would be against Kishore’s last wish.
“Oh, mother!” Mrs. Walke cried out, “Please come and see!” Her mother-in-law had been sleeping; it was not met that a woman of her age would be awakened so early in the morning. She slowly came out of her room, signalling a big yawn. Her age had taken a toll on her body, and it was natural that her body would shiver after confronting the cold winter air.
On seeing her son lying lifeless on the floor, she was stunned. She let a cry of disbelief, and collapsed beside her son.
When she opened her eyes, she found herself lying on a white bed. Beside her, a machine beeped loudly, flashing some kind of a graph. A white coated man with a stethoscope was standing next to her bed. “Thank God she’s back!” He exclaimed.
On hearing the good news, her daughter-in-law arrived. The doctor looked at her, then approached her, and whispered something into her ears, then left. Mrs. Walke sat on the stool beside her mother-in-law’s bed. “Mom! Thank God you’re back! You’ve been lying unconscious for five days now! The doctor said you’ve passed over to coma, but I’m thankful you’re back!”
The old lady asked, “Kishore! Where is he?”
Mrs. Walke began to weep. She threw herself on the bed, and began to sob loudly, as if, to gain attention. The old lady consoled her, and then looking in her eyes, she asked, “What happened to him?”
“Kishore’s gone!” Mrs. Walke continued to sob.
The old mother had a weak mentality. After hearing her son’s death, she could not even react. All she could do was look lost. She stared at her daughter-in-law for some time, before fainting again. She awoke in the evening. Mrs. Walke was still sitting beside her.
Acting strong, she asked, “What is the date today?”
“Eighteenth June,” she replied with a sorrow tune.
“And for how many days exactly am I here?”
“Five.”
“So, Kishore died on the thirteenth?” She could no longer hold back her tears. She wailed, so terribly, that the entire hospital was shaken by her cries. It was quite natural. She had lost her only son.
After some condolences, Mrs. Walke stepped out of her room. The old lady looked lost. She gazed up at the ceiling, ignoring everything that was going around. All she could think of was Kishore. She could envision Kishore’s image appearing and disappearing in a moment’s notice. She flashed back on his past, as she remembered the tiny Kishore when she gave birth to her. Slowly, she imagined Kishore growing up. She remembered all the special moments in her child’s life, both painful and serene. She saw him grow up, and finally marry her dear daughter-in-law, who was like an angel to her. Finally, she imagined his dead face, and the sight mad tears roll down her wizened cheeks. She loved her son dearly; her son meant the world to her. His loss was the greatest trauma of her life. She did not feel as terrible when she lost her dear husband.
“Mrs. Walke?” Someone knocked on the door, which disturbed her thoughts, and drew her attention. She stared at the door. A nurse was standing there with an envelope in her hand.
“Yes?” The old lady answered.
“I have a letter for you. Someone dropped it off at the patients’ letterbox. It’s addressed to you. Sorry, I don’t know the addressee as we aren’t supposed to breach upon our patients’ privacy.”
The old lady looked stunned. “A letter, in here?” she thought. She turned to the nurse, “Thank you. You may leave.”
She saw the post seal on the paper. It was stamped on 17th June, which was yesterday. She quickly tore open the envelope, and took out the piece of paper. The letter was written on a sheet which was of poor quality. The handwriting seemed familiar. It read—
“17th June, 2009.
Dear Mrs. Bina Walke,
I sincerely apologize for not providing my address, because I, myself, am not aware of it. I’m sorry to disturb you during this time, when you are grieving over your son’s death, but this letter is regarding him. No, this is not a testament, but this is mainly a letter to make you aware about the mysteries surrounding your son’s death. Those secrets will be revealed in this letter.
Your son was murdered! His death was unnatural, although the autopsy revealed he died of suffocation. I guess you may be wondering how exactly such a healthy person could suffocate, and that too, in a winter morning while having breakfast. Well, his windpipe may have been blocked due to entrance of food particles, but that is not the case. Yes, he did die by suffocation, but he was suffocated intentionally by someone very dear to him.
Your dear daughter-in-law, your angel Mini, is the reason behind your son’s death. She murdered him, by feeding him peanut butter and toast. And you know how allergic he is to peanuts. As soon as the toast entered his mouth, his neck had swollen, preventing air flow, and thus choking him. It was not an accident, and it was done intentionally. She buttered his toast with peanuts deliberately, in order to get rid of him. That bitch murdered him, only because he knew dark secrets about her. She had an extramarital affair with her husband’s best friend—Varun. She betrayed him. Kishore thought of divorcing his wife due to mental treachery, but he could not do so, as it would upset you.
Now, after I’ve revealed the reason for his death, I will disclose some personal details about him, which might be beneficial to you. After all, people should not dwell on the past. He has written a will, as he feared his end was near, in order to distribute all his properties. The will is held by his lawyer—Mrs. Govindita. You will receive further information from her.
You may be wondering how I know such details about him, but the fact is, he, himself, provided me with such knowledge. This was his last wish—‘Not to punish his wife by giving this letter to the police. Let her live her life.’
Your loving son,
KISHORE.”
The old lady was startled by the name of the addressee. She could not help but stare at this piece of paper. It was her son that sent her the letter. “But how? How can he send it after he died?” She thought. She knew that even if she thought for years, her answers would remain unanswered. The handwriting was similar to Kishore’s, and this style of writing was Kishore’s trademark. So, it must have been him.
After some more days, she was discharged from the hospital. Within a month of Kishore’s death, Mini married Varun, and they lived a happy life together. Kishore’s mother was helpless in interfering; she could not show the letter to the police, as they would not believe her, and because then, her action would be against Kishore’s last wish.
Tuesday, 8 June 2010
And the rest is .... story..
There was madness in the crowd…
‘Kill him! Kill him!’
My heart cringed.
‘No, please! Don’t! He’s done nothing wrong’.
‘Lady, you ok?’
I looked at the man talking to me. I suddenly realized that it was merely my imagination. The market was bustling, but no one was shouting, no one was even looking at me.
‘Yes, I’m… I’m fine’, I replied.
I began walking again. I crossed the fruits and vegetable sellers and on, till I saw the familiar bridge.
I began to walk faster, too fast perhaps, for I was now attracting attention. But I couldn’t slow down. Any minute could be the dreaded one. The bridge loomed nearer. Right underneath it, was what I was looking for. The ticket counter.
‘A ticket to Dehradun please.’
The man at the counter looked at me and smiled through his crooked teeth. ‘Traveling alone Miss?’ His bloody lustful smile! If I had the time I would have given him a piece of my mind. But I couldn’t attract attention, not now.
‘Yes, can you hurry up?’ I replied, trying not to sound irritated. He handed me the ticket.
I checked the time on the ticket. It said 11.40. I checked my watch..it said 11.30.
10 minutes! Please God…please…let these 10 minutes go by real quick.
I walked to the platform where the train was already awaiting the passengers. People were rushing about in a frenzy. I turned to the little boy standing beside me.
‘Ritesh, whatever happens, remember you’ve never seen me before. You don’t know who I am or where I live. Get on this train and get down at Dehradun. Forget everything, ok?’
He nodded in agreement. I handed the ticket to him.
He turned to leave.
‘Ritesh!’, I called back.
He turned. ‘Thank you’.
He smiled… the most beautiful I’d ever seen. And then with a wave, he boarded the train.
A few seconds later, the engine began to hum, a whistle sounded and the train began to move out of the station. I sat down on a bench.
Even before I had a chance to gather my thoughts, someone spoke.
‘Excuse me, are you Ms Shurika?’
‘Yes?’, I replied. How did this guy know my name? And then it hit me. The game was up.
‘We need to interrogate you Miss. Perhaps we can walk over to your apartment and discuss matters?’
******************************************
Post Script:
I didn’t know much about Ritesh… not then, not now.
All I know is that he worked as a small time help in several places and managed to gather food for sustenance.
That day, as I walked back to my flat after my shopping, Ritesh was helping me carry my shopping bags. On reaching home I asked him to wait, I was about to wrap up some excess food I had lying in my fridge and give it to him.
But when I walked in, there was my drunken brother… too drunk to make head or toe of me. But he didn’t forget his purpose of being in my flat. Money.
It started with pleading, then blackmailing and then finally it turned violent. I was being repeatedly struck. A silent spectator was witnessing all of it.
But silent, not for long. With my hand being twisted and my face being struck, I couldn’t gather much strength to stop the outburst.
And then I heard it. Metal meeting bone. The clang of metal and the crack of the skull. And when I turned around, there was the vase, lying innocently on the floor and Ritesh standing beside it with an assuring, comforting smile.
And the rest… is story..
‘Kill him! Kill him!’
My heart cringed.
‘No, please! Don’t! He’s done nothing wrong’.
‘Lady, you ok?’
I looked at the man talking to me. I suddenly realized that it was merely my imagination. The market was bustling, but no one was shouting, no one was even looking at me.
‘Yes, I’m… I’m fine’, I replied.
I began walking again. I crossed the fruits and vegetable sellers and on, till I saw the familiar bridge.
I began to walk faster, too fast perhaps, for I was now attracting attention. But I couldn’t slow down. Any minute could be the dreaded one. The bridge loomed nearer. Right underneath it, was what I was looking for. The ticket counter.
‘A ticket to Dehradun please.’
The man at the counter looked at me and smiled through his crooked teeth. ‘Traveling alone Miss?’ His bloody lustful smile! If I had the time I would have given him a piece of my mind. But I couldn’t attract attention, not now.
‘Yes, can you hurry up?’ I replied, trying not to sound irritated. He handed me the ticket.
I checked the time on the ticket. It said 11.40. I checked my watch..it said 11.30.
10 minutes! Please God…please…let these 10 minutes go by real quick.
I walked to the platform where the train was already awaiting the passengers. People were rushing about in a frenzy. I turned to the little boy standing beside me.
‘Ritesh, whatever happens, remember you’ve never seen me before. You don’t know who I am or where I live. Get on this train and get down at Dehradun. Forget everything, ok?’
He nodded in agreement. I handed the ticket to him.
He turned to leave.
‘Ritesh!’, I called back.
He turned. ‘Thank you’.
He smiled… the most beautiful I’d ever seen. And then with a wave, he boarded the train.
A few seconds later, the engine began to hum, a whistle sounded and the train began to move out of the station. I sat down on a bench.
Even before I had a chance to gather my thoughts, someone spoke.
‘Excuse me, are you Ms Shurika?’
‘Yes?’, I replied. How did this guy know my name? And then it hit me. The game was up.
‘We need to interrogate you Miss. Perhaps we can walk over to your apartment and discuss matters?’
******************************************
Post Script:
I didn’t know much about Ritesh… not then, not now.
All I know is that he worked as a small time help in several places and managed to gather food for sustenance.
That day, as I walked back to my flat after my shopping, Ritesh was helping me carry my shopping bags. On reaching home I asked him to wait, I was about to wrap up some excess food I had lying in my fridge and give it to him.
But when I walked in, there was my drunken brother… too drunk to make head or toe of me. But he didn’t forget his purpose of being in my flat. Money.
It started with pleading, then blackmailing and then finally it turned violent. I was being repeatedly struck. A silent spectator was witnessing all of it.
But silent, not for long. With my hand being twisted and my face being struck, I couldn’t gather much strength to stop the outburst.
And then I heard it. Metal meeting bone. The clang of metal and the crack of the skull. And when I turned around, there was the vase, lying innocently on the floor and Ritesh standing beside it with an assuring, comforting smile.
And the rest… is story..
Monday, 7 June 2010
The feeling of being made for each other....
Aarti and Sahadeo were school time sweethearts. The feeling of being made for each other had struck them when they were still in grade nine at school. What sparked as a bond of friendship soon turned them to be the best of mates. It took them five long years to realize that their friendship had sweetly ripened to love. They tied the knot and vowed to stay together for ever. Aarti worked at a child care and Sahadeo was a cop. Life felt like a never ending romantic novel, with each chapter adding loads of love to their lives.
One fine afternoon, Aarti was driving back home from work. She was stuck in traffic at one of the busiest intersections of the city. Just then her mobile buzzed. It was her sister Sally on the phone. Aarti soon got indulged in Sally’s narration of her shopping spree while she was on a trip to
After staying in comma for ten long days, Aarti finally opened her eyes. Sahadeo was delighted to see the love of his life regain senses. Their joy of making it through the deadly experience didn’t last for long. Though Aarti had successfully defeated death but destiny stole her eye-sight in return for her life. After a year of agony, Aarti was finally back to normal life. It took her a while to get used to doing things without being able to see them. Sahadeo helped her at every step. He encouraged her to focus on her other senses. Aarti gradually learned to recognize things by her touch.
Months of hard-work paid off, Aarti felt confident and decided to get back to her work. Sahadeo and Aarti worked on the opposite ends of the city. Every morning Sahadeo used to drive her to work before going to work and would pick her from her workplace after finishing work. This continued for two months before Sahadeo gave up. It had been too demanding for him to drive across the city in the morning as well as the evenings. He suggested that Aarti should start going to work by bus.
Aarti was hesitant and anxious at the start. Sahadeo offered to help. He patiently accompanied Aarti every morning and evening from home to work and back home. He made sure Aarti soon grew familiar with all the drivers and the stops to help her when she would travel on her own. Sahadeo her soul-mate had been her best-friend, her companion through the tough times and now he was her trainer. After a month’s practice and loving reassurances from Sahadeo, Aarti felt confident enough to travel to work on her own.
The door opened and Aarti stepped with a white stick. Feeling her way she climbed the stairs of the bus and finally made it to the seat the driver had told her was empty. Seating herself, she gently placed her handbag in her lap. She could feel her fingers tremble with anxiety. She was glad at her achievement so far and was hopeful she’ll be able to find her way to work soon. Everything went according to the plan. Every morning Sahadeo dropped her at the bust stop and picked her from the stop in the evening. Days moved on. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday even Thursday passed uneventful.
It was Friday morning. As Aarti made her way towards the bus door she heard the bus-driver exclaim, “You must be proud, how lucky you are.” Not sure whether the driver was speaking to her, Aarti wondered why a bus-driver would call a blind woman lucky. She couldn’t hold back her curiosity and asked the driver, “Why would you think I am lucky?” The bus driver replied, “Every morning, when you get down from the bus there is a cop in uniform who watches you from a distance. Makes sure you get down well and make your way across the road safely. Once you cross the road and enter the building, he flies a kiss your way and salutes with love beaming in his eyes.”
Friday, 30 April 2010
Mist on Senchal Lake.....
Raj walked the well trodden path right beside the Senchal Lake and its surrounding scenic splendor. In the midst of heavy early morning mist and cool breeze, he was lost in his thoughts as he gently walked on unknown territory.Abruptly he stopped and looked curiously and then he asked 'Sue…. Sue is that you'? He pinched himself on not getting a reply…. it indeed was 'Suhana' his college sweet heart.
Raj gathered his composure and said 'Hi Suhana, how are you? Come on, It's been ages since we met, isn’t it? He got no reply.
Raj glanced at her closely, Suhana was still extremely beautiful, her fair skin was now albaster white and her face a bit gaunt but she still had those sparkling brown eyes and jet black hair. Raj was dumbstruck for a while. After gathering enough courage he held Suhana’s hand and said, ‘Lets sit by the lake Suhana and catch up on old times please’.
No!! She replied, ‘I got to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow; same place and at the same time’.
The prospect of seeing Sue again made his adrenalin rush. Gosh, he had a lot of catching up to do.
Later while sleeping on his favorite hammock, his thoughts of Sue came back like a flash.
It was his final year B.com. He remembered his unstable family background. His dad had left his mom for a younger woman and had never looked back; he and his mom were left to fend for themselves. His mom had managed to get a small job in a private firm and he managed to attend college during the day while in the evening he would give guitar lessons to students.
This way they managed to somehow make ends meet. Both he and his mom were happy in their own small way. Deep in his heart he was not content with the way they lived and being very ambitious by nature craved for a better life. He wanted to get out of the rat hole that he thought he lived in.
Being bright, assertive, handsome and flamboyant, he had all the qualities to make it big and was hence quite popular with the opposite sex.
He had not seen her before, rather he did not make any attempt to meet or know her. She was quite, rather shy and did not mix her words while talking with her friends.
One day as she sat in the college canteen with her friends he approached her..
Hi! He said ‘I am Raj and you’?
She almost gasped. Nervously she looked around and said. 'Sue’.... ‘Suhana’ she whispered. He glanced at her expressive brown eyes, pearl white complexion and was immediately smitten. It was never the same again.
Suhana was not taken by his personality; she was into studies and quite a girl with a serious demeanor that made him more adamant to pursue her.
After a lot of persuasion finally Suhana agreed on a date with him. He took her to ‘Cafe Royale’ a restaurant worthy of its name. Munching on brownies and coffee he heard her story. It was almost parallel to his story. Her father too had left her mom early in life. Her mom lived in a town faraway while she came to the city for education.
Suhana lived in a paying guest accommodation. She was quite independent, attended college during the day and gave tuitions in the evening to make ends meet. It was exactly like his hard life.
Once he casually asked her why she never made an attempt at modeling, she had everything in her to be one with ease. Sue casually said she was a simple girl and money and glamour was not her forte. This really impressed Raj immensely. Soon they were a well known couple in the college. Though they were in the same college they could get quality time to spend together only at weekends.
Most of the time, Sue preferred to hear him play his guitar and spend quite peaceful moments with him. Those were great times together. He once held her close to him and poured his heart out. He said ‘Suhana one day I'll take you around in a fabulous car, buy you a luxurious house, and take you round the world’.
Sue just smiled back and said ‘You are my world Raj, I don't need anything more’. The thought brought goose pimples on him as he remembered those lovely days.
Soon they were in their final year and were looking forward to their life ahead. Like they say, good times can turn at any time; his life too took a u turn. Young Payal made an unexpected entry in his life.
Payal's father was an extremely successful NRI businessman living in the United States. It remained a mystery to him as to why Payal had come to study in India. Payal befriended all his friends. Her amiable nature, good looks and her riches made her extremely popular.
She came to college driving a white Honda and the most chic and happening clothes. Almost all the college boys wanted to befriend her and ask her out.
During their last summer break, Sue came to him and said, 'Raj moms ill, I have to go and assist her to recover and recoup’. He was aghast. He wanted to spend the entire break with her. He was planning to introduce her to his family and move their relation forward.
‘Sue I’ll miss you’. He cried on her shoulders.
‘I'll be back very soon Raj’ she promised. He genuinely missed Sue a lot.
That’s when Payal filled the void. Payal took a fancy for him and soon invited him and his friends for her birthday party. At the party Raj was gob smacked seeing her house which was a penthouse. She had an array of servants in attendance at her beck and call. All this made quite an impression on his ambitious mind.
He soon became mesmerized with Payal. She lived like a queen. She too was intensely ambitious like him. She wanted to return to the United States soon after her degree and pursue a glamorous career. She wanted to start a fashion house and also launch her own perfume.
One fine day she approached Raj and said boldly ‘I'm in love with you’. He very well knew that it was coming. ‘Payal I need some time’ he said. Yeah! She said ‘I know about you and Sue. What life can Sue offer you? You would be struggling all your life with her. Is that what you want?
Think and let me know’ she said. She also informed him that she had already spoken about him to her dad and her dad was all for it.
Manmohan Sinha, Payal's father, owned a chain of restaurants in New York, San Diego, and many other states in the US. Payal was his only child. He needed a son in law who would take care of his daughter as well his business some day and Raj filled the place to the tee. Being ambitious Raj was convinced to go with Payal and her dad's business plans.
He broke the news to Sue gently. She was devastated but managed to remain composed. She said ‘Payal's perfect for you Raj’. Please go ahead.
Time passed and one day he landed at Sue's PG accommodation to give her the invitation for his wedding. Sue had simply vanished. Even her landlady did not know where she went. This news skipped his heartbeat and wanted to earnestly know how she was.
One thing he knew beneath the soft demeanor of Sue was that she was a strong girl and could take good care of her life.
Several years passed by. He got almost all what he ever wished for. Enchanting world trips, plush apartments in every state of US, and a rich array of cars. Both were extremely busy and they almost led independent lives.
Payal was not a bad person but being career minded, business was a way of life for her. She had become a successful business person and had no time for a family life.
Raj was soon disillusioned with life. Nothing seemed right and was soon a very unhappy person. They decided to part ways under mutual consent. Payal saw to it that he got a good chunk of her father's money as he had worked hard for it. Not having any children made things easy for them and soon they were divorced.
Soon after, he returned to India. Being financially secured there was nothing to worry. He now wanted to have a more stress free and a spiritual life.
His good friend Basu suggested him to settle in Darjeeling. Basu lived there and wanted Raj to settle there too. According to Basu, Darjeeling was the 'Queen of the hills’ and the most peaceful place for the spiritually inclined. It rested among the mountains with glistening Mount Kanchenjunga towering over the azure sky. Raj bought a quaint cottage and took up a job as a manager for ‘Happy valley tea estate’ which was run by the aged Mrs. Rama Mohan.
Not that he needed a job. He was financially secured thanks to Payal, but to just keep himself occupied he took up employment.
While deep in his thoughts the watch alarm rang. He scrambled clumsily as his thoughts came abruptly to the present.
He dressed up fast and rushed to the Senchal Lake. Sue was already there.
‘Did you miss me Raj?’ cried Sue. ‘Of course I did, Suhana’. Then they got on talking about life in general. He told her about his life in the US with Payal and their various businesses and how he finally decided to come back to India.
‘Sue’, he said ‘I could never forget you. You were always there in my heart all these years. I regret today for what I have done. If ever I could go back and mend ways. Sue, can we get back to our old days again please?’
He saw a very sad expression on her face, ‘I don't want to hurry Sue, think about it, OK?’
They spoke for nearly an hour about everything under the sun. While parting, he again asked her, ‘Tell me Sue, can we start a new relationship again?’ She shivered and her lips turned blue. It was getting too cold by the lake. ‘Sue you were my only love. Wish I had never met Payal. I regret everything today. I was a callous fool, but now I'll do anything to make you happy, my dear’.
Sue was very quite. She promised to meet him the next day.
She never turned up after that. Raj went to Senchal Lake every day. She never came. He cursed himself for not asking her where she lived. For some reason he had forgotten to ask her.
He hurriedly went to meet Mrs. Rama Mohan and was just in time as she wheezed with her chronic asthma attack. ‘Raj, please get my medicine from by bedroom closet’, she cried. He ran to her bedroom to get it. As he entered her bedroom he froze. There on the wall stood a framed photo of Suhana decked with a sandal wood garland.
He gave Mrs. Rama her medicine and once she was composed, asked her about the photo. ‘Oh!’ cried Mrs. Rama. ‘That was my daughter Suhana. She died eight years back. She committed suicide. She had told me she loved a boy but he ditched her for a rich girl. She was heart broken and committed suicide on 5th April eight years back.’ Raj gasped as he remembered his wedding date.
‘Look at the irony’ she said. ‘Three years back her father died and left this large estate in his daughter’s name not knowing she was already dead. If she would have been alive she would have been a very rich women today. I curse that boy who ditched her for money. He will never be happy’.Raj walked the path near the Senchal Lake. The mist had by now cleared and the sun was bright.
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