‘Collect your pictures in half an hour,’ the lady who had just taken my picture told me.
‘I hope there is no confusion,’ I said.
‘Yes ma’am; ten stamp-size copies and ten passport-size copies,’ the lady repeated my order.
‘Right!’ I said and smiled. She smiled back. I stepped out of the studio and walked down the stairs. I came out of the complex and took a deep breath. I looked at my watch. I had come quite a long way from my house to go back and come in the evening to pick up my photographs. Besides I could do with getting them early. I decided to spend some time in the Crossword outlet across the street while I waited for my pictures to be developed.
I crossed the street and entered the store. The blast of the cool AC-air felt like a blessing, with temperatures hitting 38 degrees. I deposited my hand bag at the counter and took the coupon. Stuffing it into my pant-pocket, I started walking towards the ‘New Arrival’ section.
Visiting book stores somehow leaves me feeling rejuvenated. Every time I look at the stacks after stacks of books, piled ceiling to floor, I can’t help but contemplate over the treasure that might be hidden in those millions and millions of pages. There could be stuff out there that could change my life forever, make me a believer of something, make me hate something; make me long for something… anything. The power of words. Words, words, words.
That’s probably why I always like to go to bookstores alone. It makes me feel great. Nothing makes me feel as great as after a visit to a bookstore.
And we come there to choose one out of thousands and thousands of books...
I read somewhere that its not we who choose; the book chooses its reader. It should be true. I like to try new authors. Somewhere I believe it’s our responsibility to give them a chance. Encourage them, buy their books; atleast give them a try. We spend so much money on so many things. It’s ridiculous that we should think and debate before spending a few bucks on a book, just because it’s not by Jeffery Archer or Agatha Christie or Stephen Hawking or Paulo Coelho. And even though it sometimes boomerangs, it’s ok. Atleast for me. I still keep trying new books. I read them and I pass them on among my friends... And just as the book chooses its reader, it also chooses when the reader is to read it. I could put aside atleast five books right now from the ones I have that I haven’t read at all, though I bought them a long long time ago. For whatever reason, they have been left untouched. A few days back, one of my friends borrowed one of these books from me, and she really loved it. And she was also very surprised I hadn’t read such a nice book. Now I have been given the ultimatum: Book padho, ya mujhe bhul jao! (Read the book or you can forget about our friendship!) Anyways…
I went from the ‘New Arrivals’ section to the ‘Indian Fiction’ section. One after the other, I read the titles and names of authors. Once in a few names, a name would make me pull the book out of the stack and look at its cover, then look at its back and then the first few pages. I read ‘praise for the author’ and wondered exactly how many people actually meant what they said. I put the book back in its place. Sometimes I put it elsewhere. I wondered who’d be the next to pick it up. After going through a number of books, I settled for just one (very uncharacteristic of me). I put it in the shopping-bag I got at the door and turned around. I went to the billing counter. The man took the book from the shopping-bag and kept the bag on a pile of several other shopping-bags. I drummed my fingers on the counter.
‘Two-fifty, ma’am.’
I patted my pockets and realised I’d left my wallet in my bag.
‘I’ll just go get my wallet,’ I said and left the queue. And just as I turned around, I saw a lady enter the store with a small boy. He was wearing blue jeans and a white t-shirt with some abstract design printed in pink. His hair was an unusual reddish-brown colour. His feet were done in bright colored sports shoes. Within fraction of a second as mother and son entered the store, the boy’s eyes lit up. They grew big and wide and I saw a glint in his eyes. They were shining bright. The gleam was unmistakable. And even before the mother had a chance to say anything, the boy freed his hand from the mother’s grasp and ran inside the store, towards the kids section. My eyes followed him. He ran straight to the end of the store and stopped in front of the books section. I smiled and went back to the billing counter. I paid for my book, picked up my hand bag from the counter. Just as I was about to step out of the store, I turned around one more time to look at the boy. He was deeply engrossed in reading a book. My smile grew wider. I walked back inside and walked up to that boy. I got down and sat on my knees. I ruffled his hair (a habit I have. I always ruffle kid’s hair. Especially boys’). He looked up from his book, a bit confused. I smiled. He smiled back, but a little cautious.
‘You like reading?’ I said. He nodded. I reached inside my bag and pulled out an old copy of ‘Wuthering Heights’. I have a habit of carrying some kind of a book or novel with me when I go out. I opened the book and took the bookmark out; a typical sun-sign type. I held it out to him. He looked at it, then looked at his mother, who had now come and stood behind me. She nodded. The boy’s face lit-up with a big smile, and the glint was back in his eyes. He took the bookmark from my hand and looked at it.
‘Even my sun-sign is Sagittarius,’ he said and smiled.
I laughed. ‘Do you know what a sun-sign is?’ I asked. He thought for a moment, then counter-questioned me; ‘Do you know what it is?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Then why do you ask?’ he said.
‘Bhaskar! What happened to your manners?’ his mother scolded him as she walked over to him. The boy looked down at his feet.
‘No no! Please!’ I said. I ruffled his hair again. He looked up at me and smiled as I got up. I turned toward the mother.
‘I am so happy you brought him here instead of taking him to a toy-store,’ I said.
‘Oh he loves reading,’ the mother said. ‘I don’t like reading myself much, but I always encourage him to buy books. I guess it’s come to him from his grandfather.’
‘That’s really great,’ I said. I turned to look at him. ‘Bye Bhaskar!’ I said. Mother and son both waved at me as I finally walked out of the store. I then walked down to the studio and picked up my pictures which were now ready and drove back home.
For the rest of the day, my mind went back again and again to the little boy I had seen in the bookstore. I just couldn’t put his face out of my mind. The glint I saw in his eyes… It was pure and innocent. It was strong and full of hope, curiosity, happiness and a… a kind of positivenness that was so alluring... I was to meet my Professor in an hour regarding a project I was working on. I was sitting in his office. The kaka (peon) told me he’d take another fifteen minutes to come back from his meeting. Automatically my hand reached inside my bag and I pulled the copy of Wuthering Heights out. I shuffled through the pages and suddenly realised I had given the small boy my bookmark. I smiled as his face, his eyes popped up in my mind again; and instantly my face lit-up with a smile too. I opened the first page of the book and started reading it all-over again… glad he happened to me.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Sunday, March 9, 2008
MIRTH
I looked at the trees, the lawn, the grass and the sky. I kept staring out in the distance. Above the sound of the rain, I could hear my mom fry pakoras in the kitchen, the sizzle louder with every batch of pakoras as the oil got hotter and hotter. The first rain of the year. A proper downpour. The kind that wets every millimeter of you within seconds. Suddenly a strong wind splashed a few drops of water on my face. I blinked and drew a deep breath. I turned around and looked inside our house from the verandah. I could see dad sitting in the bean bag, pretending to read the newspaper, but actually fast asleep. I made sure mom was still in the kitchen, listening to the old Marathi songs playing on the radio. I slipped my feet into my slippers and quietly stepped out of the house.
I walked slowly and heavily on the mud path that was carved out around our garden. I stopped where it was cut to enter into the garden. I looked at my feet, at the slippers and then at the grass. I removed my slippers and stepped onto the grass. I walked slowly as I felt the grass beneath my feet. By now my clothes were clinging to me. I was drenched in the first rain of the year.
I looked up at the sky. It was a uniform grey. Spotless. Plain. But not dull in any way. I stared at the sky, unblinking. I felt the drops of rain, sharp as razor; hit my face, my eyes, my cheeks. I stood there, looking at the sky, my hands beside me.
Somewhere I could hear someone calling out to me. I ignored.
I lifted my hand and ran it over my face. Slowly I could feel this energy build up in me. My breathing grew stronger, heavier. I had this mad surge to shout at the top of my voice. No I was not mad or angry at anything or anybody. Sometimes you don’t have to be mad at or angry at something or somebody to feel like doing something so crazy. Nature drive’s you mad.
I opened my mouth and let out a loud cry. A long loud cry.
Suddenly everyone was out of their houses. They were all staring at me, wondering if I had lost my mind. Mom was standing in the verandah of our house with dad, clutching each-other’s hands. I looked at them. I looked at the people who were staring at me. I walked out of our garden onto the street and looked up at the sky again. I kneeled down and spread my arms wide apart and screamed again.
What joy!
What liberation!
I stopped screaming. My head was still tilted upwards. I drew my hands close and bent my head. I placed my hands on my laps and hung my head. I looked up at mom and dad again. And at the people who were still staring at me. And I smiled as I saw few of them were running towards me, their arms stretched out, and their mouths wide open as they joined me in my mirth and screamed.
I walked slowly and heavily on the mud path that was carved out around our garden. I stopped where it was cut to enter into the garden. I looked at my feet, at the slippers and then at the grass. I removed my slippers and stepped onto the grass. I walked slowly as I felt the grass beneath my feet. By now my clothes were clinging to me. I was drenched in the first rain of the year.
I looked up at the sky. It was a uniform grey. Spotless. Plain. But not dull in any way. I stared at the sky, unblinking. I felt the drops of rain, sharp as razor; hit my face, my eyes, my cheeks. I stood there, looking at the sky, my hands beside me.
Somewhere I could hear someone calling out to me. I ignored.
I lifted my hand and ran it over my face. Slowly I could feel this energy build up in me. My breathing grew stronger, heavier. I had this mad surge to shout at the top of my voice. No I was not mad or angry at anything or anybody. Sometimes you don’t have to be mad at or angry at something or somebody to feel like doing something so crazy. Nature drive’s you mad.
I opened my mouth and let out a loud cry. A long loud cry.
Suddenly everyone was out of their houses. They were all staring at me, wondering if I had lost my mind. Mom was standing in the verandah of our house with dad, clutching each-other’s hands. I looked at them. I looked at the people who were staring at me. I walked out of our garden onto the street and looked up at the sky again. I kneeled down and spread my arms wide apart and screamed again.
What joy!
What liberation!
I stopped screaming. My head was still tilted upwards. I drew my hands close and bent my head. I placed my hands on my laps and hung my head. I looked up at mom and dad again. And at the people who were still staring at me. And I smiled as I saw few of them were running towards me, their arms stretched out, and their mouths wide open as they joined me in my mirth and screamed.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
REFLECTION - PART II
‘Hey! Relax dude! Slow down.’
I immediately eased my grip on the accelerator. Suddenly my senses were alert; my muscles tense. I tried to tell myself to calm down but couldn’t. You can’t just say ‘relax’ and relax with a gun in your face.
‘Ok ok; I’ll put it back,’ she said and leaned a little towards me. She stretched her hand and reached out for her bag kept on the back seat. I shrank back and away from her.
‘Why are you acting so scared? Look, I have put it away, ok? Now I’m about as harmless as you are.’
I still didn’t look at her. She continued.
‘Potentially you’re about twice as big as I am,’ she said, looking at my six-feet-three-inch frame, ‘and twice as strong as well.’
‘I’m not carrying a gun!’ I blurted.
She started laughing again. Suddenly her voice wasn’t sweet anymore.
‘Just about anyone can have a gun ok? And I have a proper licensed gun, ok? I bought it about a month ago.’
‘What for? To kill your husband?’ I asked, shuddering at her coolness.
‘Precisely.’ She looked at me. ‘I bought it to kill Karan,’ she said to confirm.
I didn’t say anything.
‘You know, I had planned it all out. I had even decided to surrender to the police…’
I still didn’t say anything.
‘Please stop on the side of the road. I need some fresh air.’
I pulled onto the side. As soon as I turned the ignition off she asked me for the keys.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘I don’t want you to leave me here and run away.’
‘And what guarantee you won’t run away with my car?’ I counter-questioned.
‘Ummm… Ok. Let’s just leave the keys in the car then and lets both get out together.’
I agreed and we both stepped out. She closed the door, went to the rear of the car and stood there, resting against it. The moon was right on top of us now. I saw her full-self in the moonlight, and for the first time I noticed; she was badly scratched and injured. Her entire left arm was bruised and so was a little of her waist. Her foot was bleeding and the blood had already caked at places. Her sari was soiled too. I didn’t know how much of her wounds were concealed under her sari, but the sight of blood on such a perfect and flawless skin alarmed me.
‘Jesus Christ! You’re hurt!’ I exclaimed.
‘Yes. But it’s not much.’
‘Shut up and sit down on that rock.’
I opened the rear-door and removed the first-aid box. I shut the door and came and sat down on my knees next to her. I first took a look at her arm. She adjusted her sari over her shoulder to help me get a better view. I started by cleaning up her wounds.
‘Aren’t you scared now?’ she asked. I didn’t answer. ‘Really, it’s nothing; trust me.’
‘How did you get hurt?’ I asked, ignoring her comment.
‘While jumping out of the car.’
‘What! How? Why?’
She sat quiet for a while. I waited for her to go on.
‘Good for nothing… that is what Karan called me. Lately he couldn’t help but find faults in me… My habits, my dressing style, my cooking… I guess I wasn’t good enough in bed either. That’s probably what made him lay Charu.’
She paused and took a deep breath.
‘I was a very different girl back then___ totally crazy, fashion-freak, and a smoker. I can’t remember the first time I tried it; but by the time I was in the final year of B.A. I loved nothing more than bunking lectures and sitting on the terrace of our college with my gang, listening to Linkin Park and smoking Marlboro. I wouldn’t have dared to do it back home, but then… I was a hostelite…
One day we were on our way to the terrace. We were all running up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I was holding a cigarette in one hand, clutching my bag with the other. Just as we reached the last flight of stairs, two guys brushed past me.
“Ouch!” one of them exclaimed. I had burnt him with my cigarette I guess. “Saale teri toh___” he started and caught my hand. He turned around and looked at me and immediately shut up.
“Sorry,” I muttered and tried to break free from his iron-grip.
“Subhan-allah!” he said. I looked at him. He was staring at me.
“Let go of me,” I said.
“And what if I don’t?” he asked, smiling. I looked at him for a moment, and then stabbed my cigarette onto his hand again. He instantly released me hand and squealed in pain again. I bounded up the stairs. Mid-way, I stopped and turned around to look at him.
‘Don’t make me do it again,’ I said; ‘please. I hate wasting my cigarettes.’
That was how we met. It seems like another lifetime altogether. Karan had changed so much post-marriage, I would have laughed back then, if someone had told me he was going to turn into a womanizing monster. We loved each other so much! I quit smoking and turned into a typical good Indian girl. I didn’t want to, but Karan’s parents belonged to the old times and wouldn’t have approved of my way of living. I switched from jeans and skirts to saris___ and in the process I ended up switching names to become Mrs. Isha Karan Arora.’
She paused. I had finished cleaning the wounds on her arm. She looked at the bandages and smiled at me. I smiled back awkwardly. She then lifted her sari up to her knees. Her leg was badly bruised too. I shook my head and muttered a soft ‘Oh God’. All that blood on such perfect skin looked like a curse. I opened the bottle of Dettol again and soaked yet another cotton-ball in it. I dabbed it on the wound and she clutched at my shoulder. I removed the cotton and waited for her grip to ease a bit. I applied the cotton again, she clutched again, little less strong this time. Her body eased slowly as she got used to the burning sensation.
‘I thought… Heck. I couldn’t think straight actually. I couldn’t figure out what had happened; why he had started having affairs. Then I thought maybe that’s the true him. I accepted it. Funny it didn’t affect me or my parents severely… almost as if we were prepared for it; although how come, I don’t know. The gravity of the whole thing began weighing on me a few days after I first came to know about him and Charu. I filed for a divorce. “It’s not the end of the world,” I kept telling myself. “Marriages happen and marriages break… so many… everyday…” I kept saying. But the real trouble started when Karan refused to give me divorce and started physically abusing me.’
This time I clutched my fist.
‘It went on and on for a couple of weeks. I fled to my parent’s house. He brought me back; and the situation went from bad to worse. Finally one night, I snapped. He tried to hit me, and I hit him back with a pair of tongs. I fled to my room before he had time to recover and closed the door from inside.’
For the first time since we met about an hour ago, I saw her shiver and look scared… alarmed rather.
‘That night, I decided something had to be done about the whole situation. I had only just recovered from his recent beating. Something happened that night… I don’t know what. But as the day dawned I had made up my mind to kill him.’
I looked at her. There was mad determination in her eyes.
‘I didn’t come out of my room till he had left for his office in the morning. I contacted a friend of mine and with her help I acquired this pistol the very next day. Today I decided to kill him after he got back from work. I served him dinner. He went to the bar right after dinner. I encouraged him to just an extra drink and then suggested we go for a drive. He agreed and took the keys. I took my pistol.
We reached the dhaba off the highway. We went a little further. The car swerved from left to right as the drinks took over Karan. At one point we nearly missed running head on into a truck. And that’s where I saw my opportunity. I could get rid off him without his blood on my hands. And that’s what I decided to do. I slipped my bag onto my shoulder and sat ready waiting for the next curb. I saw it coming and distracted him by kissing him hard on his lips. He pushed me away and looked taken aback. My eyes welled up. And just as he was about to drive off the road I said “Bye Karan” and jumped out of the car.’
In the silence that followed her monologue, I tried to absorb what she had told me. Things like these happened in novels, in movies… in pathetic and third-rate daily soaps; not in real life. But this was real life. She resumed talking.
‘When I got up, the car was nowhere in sight. I don’t know what had happened to it, or to Karan; but both had disappeared into thin air somehow. I got up and tried to gather my things. Most importantly I tried to locate the pistol and found it was right there, safe in my bag.
I started walking. i walked and walked… half there, half not there. Strangely, I wasn’t feeling a wee bit sad. In fact, I was feeling relieved… and happy. Actually happy. By the time I reached the highway, I was as happy as I could be. And then you drove along.’
She stopped. I looked at her. She looked back at me.
‘You can drive me to the police station if you want to. I don’t really care,’ she said. I closed my eyes for a moment. I opened them and started putting the bandage, the Dettol bottle and other stuff back into the first-aid kit. I helped her get up and get into the car. I went and sat in the driver’s seat. Soon we were driving back home.
We reached the post office at twelve-thirty. I helped her get out of the car again.
‘Thanks,’ she said, and held out a card. I took it. ‘Isha’s Creations’ it said. ‘Drop in sometime if you want to buy a dress for your girl-friend,’ she said, smiling.
‘What will you do now?’
‘Go up and sleep,’ she replied simply, like nothing had happened. I figured she didn’t want to talk about it… at least not then. I picked up the hint and didn’t press the topic. I got back in the car as she turned around and started crossing the street. I turned the ignition on and looked in the mirror.
She was gone.
I put my head out of the window. I couldn’t see her. I turned the engine off and got out of the car.
She was nowhere to be seen.
‘What the hell!’
I ran across the street and reached the apartment. She couldn’t have possibly crossed the street so quickly… with her leg sprained and with so many wounds all over her. I ran up the stairs of the building and reached her flat. The flat was locked.
Cold sweat broke on my forehead a second time in that night. I started walking down the stairs… How could this be? One second she was there, the other she was gone! I started imagining crazy things… Ghost? Spirit? Poltergeist? What?
Suddenly I remembered her card. I ran back to my car and picked the card up from the dashboard. It felt real enough. I removed my cell from my pocket, and stood just like that. Something was holding me back. I just couldn’t bring myself to dial the number on the card, fearing what I might find out
I finally mustered up all my courage, and dialed the number on the card. The hair on my body stood on their ends as I heard a pre-recorded message;
“This number does not exist…”
I immediately eased my grip on the accelerator. Suddenly my senses were alert; my muscles tense. I tried to tell myself to calm down but couldn’t. You can’t just say ‘relax’ and relax with a gun in your face.
‘Ok ok; I’ll put it back,’ she said and leaned a little towards me. She stretched her hand and reached out for her bag kept on the back seat. I shrank back and away from her.
‘Why are you acting so scared? Look, I have put it away, ok? Now I’m about as harmless as you are.’
I still didn’t look at her. She continued.
‘Potentially you’re about twice as big as I am,’ she said, looking at my six-feet-three-inch frame, ‘and twice as strong as well.’
‘I’m not carrying a gun!’ I blurted.
She started laughing again. Suddenly her voice wasn’t sweet anymore.
‘Just about anyone can have a gun ok? And I have a proper licensed gun, ok? I bought it about a month ago.’
‘What for? To kill your husband?’ I asked, shuddering at her coolness.
‘Precisely.’ She looked at me. ‘I bought it to kill Karan,’ she said to confirm.
I didn’t say anything.
‘You know, I had planned it all out. I had even decided to surrender to the police…’
I still didn’t say anything.
‘Please stop on the side of the road. I need some fresh air.’
I pulled onto the side. As soon as I turned the ignition off she asked me for the keys.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘I don’t want you to leave me here and run away.’
‘And what guarantee you won’t run away with my car?’ I counter-questioned.
‘Ummm… Ok. Let’s just leave the keys in the car then and lets both get out together.’
I agreed and we both stepped out. She closed the door, went to the rear of the car and stood there, resting against it. The moon was right on top of us now. I saw her full-self in the moonlight, and for the first time I noticed; she was badly scratched and injured. Her entire left arm was bruised and so was a little of her waist. Her foot was bleeding and the blood had already caked at places. Her sari was soiled too. I didn’t know how much of her wounds were concealed under her sari, but the sight of blood on such a perfect and flawless skin alarmed me.
‘Jesus Christ! You’re hurt!’ I exclaimed.
‘Yes. But it’s not much.’
‘Shut up and sit down on that rock.’
I opened the rear-door and removed the first-aid box. I shut the door and came and sat down on my knees next to her. I first took a look at her arm. She adjusted her sari over her shoulder to help me get a better view. I started by cleaning up her wounds.
‘Aren’t you scared now?’ she asked. I didn’t answer. ‘Really, it’s nothing; trust me.’
‘How did you get hurt?’ I asked, ignoring her comment.
‘While jumping out of the car.’
‘What! How? Why?’
She sat quiet for a while. I waited for her to go on.
‘Good for nothing… that is what Karan called me. Lately he couldn’t help but find faults in me… My habits, my dressing style, my cooking… I guess I wasn’t good enough in bed either. That’s probably what made him lay Charu.’
She paused and took a deep breath.
‘I was a very different girl back then___ totally crazy, fashion-freak, and a smoker. I can’t remember the first time I tried it; but by the time I was in the final year of B.A. I loved nothing more than bunking lectures and sitting on the terrace of our college with my gang, listening to Linkin Park and smoking Marlboro. I wouldn’t have dared to do it back home, but then… I was a hostelite…
One day we were on our way to the terrace. We were all running up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I was holding a cigarette in one hand, clutching my bag with the other. Just as we reached the last flight of stairs, two guys brushed past me.
“Ouch!” one of them exclaimed. I had burnt him with my cigarette I guess. “Saale teri toh___” he started and caught my hand. He turned around and looked at me and immediately shut up.
“Sorry,” I muttered and tried to break free from his iron-grip.
“Subhan-allah!” he said. I looked at him. He was staring at me.
“Let go of me,” I said.
“And what if I don’t?” he asked, smiling. I looked at him for a moment, and then stabbed my cigarette onto his hand again. He instantly released me hand and squealed in pain again. I bounded up the stairs. Mid-way, I stopped and turned around to look at him.
‘Don’t make me do it again,’ I said; ‘please. I hate wasting my cigarettes.’
That was how we met. It seems like another lifetime altogether. Karan had changed so much post-marriage, I would have laughed back then, if someone had told me he was going to turn into a womanizing monster. We loved each other so much! I quit smoking and turned into a typical good Indian girl. I didn’t want to, but Karan’s parents belonged to the old times and wouldn’t have approved of my way of living. I switched from jeans and skirts to saris___ and in the process I ended up switching names to become Mrs. Isha Karan Arora.’
She paused. I had finished cleaning the wounds on her arm. She looked at the bandages and smiled at me. I smiled back awkwardly. She then lifted her sari up to her knees. Her leg was badly bruised too. I shook my head and muttered a soft ‘Oh God’. All that blood on such perfect skin looked like a curse. I opened the bottle of Dettol again and soaked yet another cotton-ball in it. I dabbed it on the wound and she clutched at my shoulder. I removed the cotton and waited for her grip to ease a bit. I applied the cotton again, she clutched again, little less strong this time. Her body eased slowly as she got used to the burning sensation.
‘I thought… Heck. I couldn’t think straight actually. I couldn’t figure out what had happened; why he had started having affairs. Then I thought maybe that’s the true him. I accepted it. Funny it didn’t affect me or my parents severely… almost as if we were prepared for it; although how come, I don’t know. The gravity of the whole thing began weighing on me a few days after I first came to know about him and Charu. I filed for a divorce. “It’s not the end of the world,” I kept telling myself. “Marriages happen and marriages break… so many… everyday…” I kept saying. But the real trouble started when Karan refused to give me divorce and started physically abusing me.’
This time I clutched my fist.
‘It went on and on for a couple of weeks. I fled to my parent’s house. He brought me back; and the situation went from bad to worse. Finally one night, I snapped. He tried to hit me, and I hit him back with a pair of tongs. I fled to my room before he had time to recover and closed the door from inside.’
For the first time since we met about an hour ago, I saw her shiver and look scared… alarmed rather.
‘That night, I decided something had to be done about the whole situation. I had only just recovered from his recent beating. Something happened that night… I don’t know what. But as the day dawned I had made up my mind to kill him.’
I looked at her. There was mad determination in her eyes.
‘I didn’t come out of my room till he had left for his office in the morning. I contacted a friend of mine and with her help I acquired this pistol the very next day. Today I decided to kill him after he got back from work. I served him dinner. He went to the bar right after dinner. I encouraged him to just an extra drink and then suggested we go for a drive. He agreed and took the keys. I took my pistol.
We reached the dhaba off the highway. We went a little further. The car swerved from left to right as the drinks took over Karan. At one point we nearly missed running head on into a truck. And that’s where I saw my opportunity. I could get rid off him without his blood on my hands. And that’s what I decided to do. I slipped my bag onto my shoulder and sat ready waiting for the next curb. I saw it coming and distracted him by kissing him hard on his lips. He pushed me away and looked taken aback. My eyes welled up. And just as he was about to drive off the road I said “Bye Karan” and jumped out of the car.’
In the silence that followed her monologue, I tried to absorb what she had told me. Things like these happened in novels, in movies… in pathetic and third-rate daily soaps; not in real life. But this was real life. She resumed talking.
‘When I got up, the car was nowhere in sight. I don’t know what had happened to it, or to Karan; but both had disappeared into thin air somehow. I got up and tried to gather my things. Most importantly I tried to locate the pistol and found it was right there, safe in my bag.
I started walking. i walked and walked… half there, half not there. Strangely, I wasn’t feeling a wee bit sad. In fact, I was feeling relieved… and happy. Actually happy. By the time I reached the highway, I was as happy as I could be. And then you drove along.’
She stopped. I looked at her. She looked back at me.
‘You can drive me to the police station if you want to. I don’t really care,’ she said. I closed my eyes for a moment. I opened them and started putting the bandage, the Dettol bottle and other stuff back into the first-aid kit. I helped her get up and get into the car. I went and sat in the driver’s seat. Soon we were driving back home.
We reached the post office at twelve-thirty. I helped her get out of the car again.
‘Thanks,’ she said, and held out a card. I took it. ‘Isha’s Creations’ it said. ‘Drop in sometime if you want to buy a dress for your girl-friend,’ she said, smiling.
‘What will you do now?’
‘Go up and sleep,’ she replied simply, like nothing had happened. I figured she didn’t want to talk about it… at least not then. I picked up the hint and didn’t press the topic. I got back in the car as she turned around and started crossing the street. I turned the ignition on and looked in the mirror.
She was gone.
I put my head out of the window. I couldn’t see her. I turned the engine off and got out of the car.
She was nowhere to be seen.
‘What the hell!’
I ran across the street and reached the apartment. She couldn’t have possibly crossed the street so quickly… with her leg sprained and with so many wounds all over her. I ran up the stairs of the building and reached her flat. The flat was locked.
Cold sweat broke on my forehead a second time in that night. I started walking down the stairs… How could this be? One second she was there, the other she was gone! I started imagining crazy things… Ghost? Spirit? Poltergeist? What?
Suddenly I remembered her card. I ran back to my car and picked the card up from the dashboard. It felt real enough. I removed my cell from my pocket, and stood just like that. Something was holding me back. I just couldn’t bring myself to dial the number on the card, fearing what I might find out
I finally mustered up all my courage, and dialed the number on the card. The hair on my body stood on their ends as I heard a pre-recorded message;
“This number does not exist…”
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
REFLECTION - PART I (my first attempt at writing a thriller)
I stepped onto the brakes. The car came to a stop. I looked at whoever it was asking for a lift at ten-thirty in such a God-forsaken place on such a pitch-black night. It was a girl. A beautiful girl.
‘Yes?’ I said.
‘Can you please drop me off at the post office on Shami Street?’ her voice sounded like a piece of soft music.
‘At this hour? It must be closed ma’am,’ I said, glancing at my Omega.
‘Actually I live in the building opposite to it. Gulmohar Apartments.’
The name rang a bell. I was lost in my thoughts for a few moments.
‘Excuse me?’
‘What? Oh yes; ya sure. I’ll drop you off,’ I said, opening the door for her. She opened the rear door. “Attitude!” I thought to myself. Then she dumped her bag on the rear seat and shut the door. She came and sat next to me. I looked at the steering wheel sheepishly. I started the car and pulled onto the road again.
We were both quiet for a long time; during which, I tried hard not to stare at her. Clad in a black Chiffon sari with a halter neck blouse and absolutely no jewellery, spare a silver watch on her left wrist and her black beady eyes, she looked simple yet stunning. She had a fair complexion that was so soft and delicate and spotless, you’d think she bathed in milk everyday. Finally I asked her;
‘What are you doing all alone in this part of the city at this hour of the night, if I may ask so?’
Now you may think that was a stupid question to ask; but when you see a girl so beautiful and all alone at ten-thirty, about five minutes away from the highway… it doesn’t seem to be an odd question, right?
‘Funny you should ask me that,’ she said, playing with a lock of her long black curly hair.
‘Yeah; maybe… But then I’m a guy… and not much in danger. But you are a really beautiful lady___’
She suddenly burst out laughing. She then took a full look at me, her eyes lingering on my biceps, then my abs.
‘How many hours do you work out?’ she asked me.
‘Two.’
‘And you think you are strong?’
I kept quiet.
‘How strong would you be if I had a gun with me right now?’ she asked. My hair stood out on their ends.
‘Do you?’ I asked. And she laughed again.
We were quiet again for a while. Shit! Could I have run out of conversation with such a beauty so soon? Had I really put her off by my silly remark? But then the whole situation, simple as it was, was seemingly unusual.
I switched the radio in the car on. Asha Bhosale’s voice came floating out of it;
‘Aankhon Se Jo Utari Hai Dil Mein…’
‘Aaah!’ I exclaimed, then apologized immediately.
‘What for?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know… Maybe I was too loud?’
This time she simply ignored me and looked out of the window.
Again silence.
WHY WAS I ACTING SO CHIVALROUS? Come on… I mean, this wasn’t like the first time I was driving with a gorgeous female sitting next to me. I mean, it was routine for me. Oh, didn’t I tell you? I am a photographer.
‘So you are a photographer?’
I looked at her as she tried to tuck in a curl that was carelessly bouncing on her forehead, and said, ‘How did you know?’
She pointed to the rear-seat. I glanced back, and for the first time I was glad for all the mess at the back of my car; thermocol sheets, black cloth, tripod stand, and safely put in one corner among all this clutter, my precious precious camera.
‘Ya,’ I said, happy she had initiated the talk this time after my two miserable, failed attempts.
‘Cool! So you work for a magazine or something?’ she further inquired.
‘Yeah; I work for GLAM.’
Wow! We were finally talking. I could have become her chauffer for the rest of my life if only to get to see that breath-taking face in the rear-view mirror and hear that sweet voice again and again… man! I was thinking crazy things!
She pushed the back-rest further behind and leaned against it.
‘My brother was a photographer too,’ she said, her eyes closed, her body relaxed.
‘Really?’ I said.
‘But a wild-life photographer.’
‘Oh.’
I again found myself studying her in the silence that ensued. God! I tell you she was beautiful. But there was something about her beauty that was queer… something really odd. Her skin was so fair… or was it the moon playing tricks on my slightly over-worked mind? I tried hard to resist myself from reaching out for her arm.
‘Girlfriend?’ she asked suddenly, pointing at a small picture on the dashboard. I quickly picked it up and threw it on the back seat. She looked at me and raised her eyebrows.
‘Ex.’ I said, focusing on the road.
‘Name?’
‘Akanksha.’
Why was I not being able to answer her unselfconsciously? And why was I at all giving this strange, but beautiful girl a fill-up on my personal life at now almost eleven, when I didn’t even know her name?
‘I’m Isha,’ she said; ‘Whats your name?’
‘Can you read people’s minds or something?’ I blurted out.
‘Sorry?’ she asked, confused.
‘Nothing,’ I said and continued driving. A moment or two later I reached out for the glove box. My hand brushed her leg slightly, but she didn’t seem to notice it. I on the other hand, with adrenaline pumping in every inch of my body, felt it. My hand lingered a while, fidgeting with the handle. I shook my head and gathered myself. I opened the box and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. I noticed she was staring out of the window. I pulled a cigarette out of the pack and lit it. The smoke made her turn around and look at me.
‘Marlboro?’ she asked.
‘How did you know?’
‘Oh I can recognized that smell in a thousand other, have an extra one?’
‘You smoke?’
‘Used to.’
I handed the pack over to her. She removed a cigarette and held it between her lips. I lit it for her. She shut her eyes and sighed. She withdrew the cigarette and blew out a ring.
‘Wow,’ she exclaimed. ‘This feels so great… so liberating.’
‘How did you quit?’
‘Karan didn’t like it.’
I closed my eyes… squeezed them shut. My fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
‘He said he didn’t want my pink lips to turn black.’
‘No boy-friend would want that if you were the girl involved,’ I said.
She laughed. I immediately felt like an idiot.
‘He was my husband.’
I clutched inwardly. ‘What does he do?’ I asked, trying to conceal the disappointment in my voice.
‘Nothing much. He is dead.’
I did a double-take. ‘What?’ I said.
‘I killed him.’
I stamped onto the breaks. The car came to a screeching halt right in the middle of the road.
I just kept staring ahead of me for a minute or so; blinking rapidly; trying to make sense of what was happening. I turned around to look at her.
‘Keep driving.’
She was holding a pistol in my face. Cold sweat broke on my forehead. I started the car and began speeding down the road.
‘Yes?’ I said.
‘Can you please drop me off at the post office on Shami Street?’ her voice sounded like a piece of soft music.
‘At this hour? It must be closed ma’am,’ I said, glancing at my Omega.
‘Actually I live in the building opposite to it. Gulmohar Apartments.’
The name rang a bell. I was lost in my thoughts for a few moments.
‘Excuse me?’
‘What? Oh yes; ya sure. I’ll drop you off,’ I said, opening the door for her. She opened the rear door. “Attitude!” I thought to myself. Then she dumped her bag on the rear seat and shut the door. She came and sat next to me. I looked at the steering wheel sheepishly. I started the car and pulled onto the road again.
We were both quiet for a long time; during which, I tried hard not to stare at her. Clad in a black Chiffon sari with a halter neck blouse and absolutely no jewellery, spare a silver watch on her left wrist and her black beady eyes, she looked simple yet stunning. She had a fair complexion that was so soft and delicate and spotless, you’d think she bathed in milk everyday. Finally I asked her;
‘What are you doing all alone in this part of the city at this hour of the night, if I may ask so?’
Now you may think that was a stupid question to ask; but when you see a girl so beautiful and all alone at ten-thirty, about five minutes away from the highway… it doesn’t seem to be an odd question, right?
‘Funny you should ask me that,’ she said, playing with a lock of her long black curly hair.
‘Yeah; maybe… But then I’m a guy… and not much in danger. But you are a really beautiful lady___’
She suddenly burst out laughing. She then took a full look at me, her eyes lingering on my biceps, then my abs.
‘How many hours do you work out?’ she asked me.
‘Two.’
‘And you think you are strong?’
I kept quiet.
‘How strong would you be if I had a gun with me right now?’ she asked. My hair stood out on their ends.
‘Do you?’ I asked. And she laughed again.
We were quiet again for a while. Shit! Could I have run out of conversation with such a beauty so soon? Had I really put her off by my silly remark? But then the whole situation, simple as it was, was seemingly unusual.
I switched the radio in the car on. Asha Bhosale’s voice came floating out of it;
‘Aankhon Se Jo Utari Hai Dil Mein…’
‘Aaah!’ I exclaimed, then apologized immediately.
‘What for?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know… Maybe I was too loud?’
This time she simply ignored me and looked out of the window.
Again silence.
WHY WAS I ACTING SO CHIVALROUS? Come on… I mean, this wasn’t like the first time I was driving with a gorgeous female sitting next to me. I mean, it was routine for me. Oh, didn’t I tell you? I am a photographer.
‘So you are a photographer?’
I looked at her as she tried to tuck in a curl that was carelessly bouncing on her forehead, and said, ‘How did you know?’
She pointed to the rear-seat. I glanced back, and for the first time I was glad for all the mess at the back of my car; thermocol sheets, black cloth, tripod stand, and safely put in one corner among all this clutter, my precious precious camera.
‘Ya,’ I said, happy she had initiated the talk this time after my two miserable, failed attempts.
‘Cool! So you work for a magazine or something?’ she further inquired.
‘Yeah; I work for GLAM.’
Wow! We were finally talking. I could have become her chauffer for the rest of my life if only to get to see that breath-taking face in the rear-view mirror and hear that sweet voice again and again… man! I was thinking crazy things!
She pushed the back-rest further behind and leaned against it.
‘My brother was a photographer too,’ she said, her eyes closed, her body relaxed.
‘Really?’ I said.
‘But a wild-life photographer.’
‘Oh.’
I again found myself studying her in the silence that ensued. God! I tell you she was beautiful. But there was something about her beauty that was queer… something really odd. Her skin was so fair… or was it the moon playing tricks on my slightly over-worked mind? I tried hard to resist myself from reaching out for her arm.
‘Girlfriend?’ she asked suddenly, pointing at a small picture on the dashboard. I quickly picked it up and threw it on the back seat. She looked at me and raised her eyebrows.
‘Ex.’ I said, focusing on the road.
‘Name?’
‘Akanksha.’
Why was I not being able to answer her unselfconsciously? And why was I at all giving this strange, but beautiful girl a fill-up on my personal life at now almost eleven, when I didn’t even know her name?
‘I’m Isha,’ she said; ‘Whats your name?’
‘Can you read people’s minds or something?’ I blurted out.
‘Sorry?’ she asked, confused.
‘Nothing,’ I said and continued driving. A moment or two later I reached out for the glove box. My hand brushed her leg slightly, but she didn’t seem to notice it. I on the other hand, with adrenaline pumping in every inch of my body, felt it. My hand lingered a while, fidgeting with the handle. I shook my head and gathered myself. I opened the box and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. I noticed she was staring out of the window. I pulled a cigarette out of the pack and lit it. The smoke made her turn around and look at me.
‘Marlboro?’ she asked.
‘How did you know?’
‘Oh I can recognized that smell in a thousand other, have an extra one?’
‘You smoke?’
‘Used to.’
I handed the pack over to her. She removed a cigarette and held it between her lips. I lit it for her. She shut her eyes and sighed. She withdrew the cigarette and blew out a ring.
‘Wow,’ she exclaimed. ‘This feels so great… so liberating.’
‘How did you quit?’
‘Karan didn’t like it.’
I closed my eyes… squeezed them shut. My fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
‘He said he didn’t want my pink lips to turn black.’
‘No boy-friend would want that if you were the girl involved,’ I said.
She laughed. I immediately felt like an idiot.
‘He was my husband.’
I clutched inwardly. ‘What does he do?’ I asked, trying to conceal the disappointment in my voice.
‘Nothing much. He is dead.’
I did a double-take. ‘What?’ I said.
‘I killed him.’
I stamped onto the breaks. The car came to a screeching halt right in the middle of the road.
I just kept staring ahead of me for a minute or so; blinking rapidly; trying to make sense of what was happening. I turned around to look at her.
‘Keep driving.’
She was holding a pistol in my face. Cold sweat broke on my forehead. I started the car and began speeding down the road.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Monday, March 3, 2008
MY MOST EMBARASSING MOMENT
You ever had a moment when you wished the ground beneath your feet should just split open and swallow you whole and people shouldn’t even realise you have ceased to exist? Or that you could just flick your fingers and go 'POOF!' and land up in the safety and confinement of your home, where you could dance naked and not be seen for all you cared?
Sounds familiar? I bet it does...
I used to always get stuck on the 'Most embarrassing moment' blank while filling up slambooks for friends back in school... I started with my name, filled in my phone number, my address, my most memorable moment, and then I’d come upon 'Most embarrassing moment;' I’d pause, scratch my head, and then jump to the next blank... I'd continue and fill the entire slambook, and would again come back to the 'Most embarrassing moment'... I'd scratch my brain a little more, and would eventually end up returning the slambook, the blank still blank. But if i had to fill one now, I’d have loads to write about... Loads... And it wouldn’t be my 'Most embarrassing moment' but my 'Extremely mortifying and 'go-beet-root-red-in-cheeks' moment'...
One fine Monday morning (although how can a Monday morning be fine, that too after a rather long and tiring Sunday is beyond me) I was getting ready for college. I had just come out of the bath and was still in my bathrobe. Water was dripping from my hair. I was already running itsy-bitsy late for college… but I was too lazed to get ready. The first lecture was ‘English’ anyway, so didn’t matter if I went a little late. So there I was, hanging out in my room, going through the pile of much used and dog-eared books___ novels, reference books, text books, magazines___ while Nick, Howie, AJ and Brian all tried to convince me I was ‘One In A Million’. I swayed left-right-front-back as the song went on; its rhythm and melody like the boys had had just an extra shot of Tequila. Mom suddenly barged into my room and shrieked.
‘What do you think you are doing?’ she said. I froze. Holding my position, I turned to look at Mom, facing the mirror of my dressing table simultaneously. I took a look at my reflection in the mirror and burst out laughing.
‘God! Whats wrong with you? You are acting like you’re having a hang over!’
‘Maybe I am!’ I squealed; Mom looked daggers at me.
‘Chill Mom! I’m ok!’ I said, and swirled around. Needless to say, I lost my balance and fell on the bed. That sent me into more fits of laughter and Mom into those of anger.
‘God! Honestly, what have I been rearing the past nineteen years?’ Mom said.
‘Ok, what is it now? What did you come in to talk about?’
‘Nothing, what are you doing in the evening?’
‘Nothing. Why?’
‘Can you come with me? Got some work, could use some help.’
‘Sure.’
Happy that I had agreed so quickly, and without giving me a chance to change my decision or rethink, Mom danced out of my room and I went back swaying around my room. Somehow I was on a high that day. You know, it happens… sometimes you are inexplicably happy, for no reason. They say it is because of your karma… some of your past deeds, maybe of a past life, have been rewarded, and that is what makes you happy… But let’s not get into that… Bottom line is; I was on a high. It seemed like nothing could mar my mirth. But no! I have now learnt my lesson well; eight out of ten times when you get such a feeling, be sure something is going to happen. In fact, I should have picked up the signs when Mom marched right back into my room.
‘Now what?’ I asked.
‘What are you wearing today?’ Mom asked.
‘Oh no… not again!’
‘Mi tula jauch denar nahiye aaj (I am not going to let you go today) unless you wear your salwar-kameez.’
Ok, I’d like to add a few things here. I am not the types who hate wearing anything that speaks of my ethnicity and shows in a way that I am Indian. I like wearing salwar-kameezes… love it in fact. But what Mom doesn’t seem to get is I have my ‘days’ or my phases… There are days when I wear only salwar-kameezes one after the other. And then there are days when I just don’t feel like it, and I stick to my jeans and t-shirts. And although mom doesn’t mind the former, she hates the later.
‘But Mom___’
‘Te kay pujayala ghetlet ka?’ (Have we bought all those dresses to worship them?)
‘Nahi, pan___’ (No, but___)
‘No if, no but,’ mom said, reaching out for my cupboard door. She opened it and pulled one of my salwar-kameezes out. ‘You wear this and come out in the next fifteen minutes, ok?’
‘Yeah.’
Mom went out of the room, and I threw a pillow at the door. I heard Mom laugh. ‘Mend me, bend me, but you cant break me!’ she called out.
‘YEAH RIGHT! WHATEVER!’ I shouted back, nonetheless smiling to myself.
Note: if you are my friend, remember one thing. Never; NEVER EVER make me do something I don’t want to. Consequences can be disastrous.
As instructed, I came out of my room, twenty minutes later, clad in a white Lucknowi salwar-kameez, with long ear-rings, and with a Shabnam on my shoulder.
‘I’m leaving!’ I called out, and Mom came rushing out of the kitchen.
‘There you are! How pretty you look!’ Mom said. ‘Bye!’
‘Thanks… bye!’ I replied and stepped out of the house.
We had three out of five of our lectures off that day. And on top of that I had planned to bunk my last two lectures anyway, as I wanted to go for a movie, which meant I was not going to attend a single lecture that day. I spent most of that day hanging out in the parking and the canteen of our college with classmates, seniors and of course, my new world friends. Soon it was quarter-to-two; time for me to go. I said bye and took leave. The show was at two-thirty. Half-way to the parking, I thought I should probably just wash my face and go… I had been in college the entire day anyway, and had been sitting in the parking lot since the minute I came. So I made my way to the Ladies Room. And the minute I set my foot inside the room, I shrieked.
I looked down at the floor… it was all wet. Completely wet. There was water everywhere and no one was in sight.
Now I am someone who can’t stand it when people leave taps running, or unnecessarily waste water in any way, so obviously I was furious. I walked to where the washrooms were and saw that one of the taps in the basin was running… Someone had turned it on all the way and probably left it on even after the water ran out; so that now that the water-tank was full, the water was running at full speed.
‘Shish!’ I exclaimed, as I hurried to the basin, trying to hold my salwar up so that it wouldn’t get wet, and trying to balance the dupatta and the Shabnam on my shoulders and myself on my heels. I quickly reached the basin and began turning the faucet off.
Soon I realised it wasn’t turning off.
I looked at the tap like it had been jinxed. I adjusted my dupatta and Shabnam and stood a little more firmly, now facing the basin, and tried to turn the tap ff with both my hands. But it just kept going round and round and round. And then at one point, it just snapped.
‘Ooo! Shit!’ I exclaimed and sprang away from the tap, dropping my Shabnam to the floor in the process, spraining my leg, and hitting the wall behind me.
I blinked rapidly and tried to regain my equilibrium. Slowly, I moved one hand, then the other, and then my legs. I looked around. My books were lying in a puddle of water… or more precisely in three inch deep water; and so was my Shabnam. My dupatta was floating away to one corner of the room; and when I finally got to look in the mirror… I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.
For a few moments, I just froze. I kept looking at my books, my dupatta and my reflection in the mirror again and again. Somewhere in between I figured that my phone was in my bag too. I lifted my bag off the floor, and water poured out of it. I put my hand inside and took my cell out; and for the first time, I thanked Mom inwardly for forcing her things upon me. Just the previous day she had bought me this plastic cover for my cell, and so my cell was at that moment absolutely dry and safe. I took it out and dialed mom’s number, thinking i'd ask her to bring me a change of clothes.
Have you noticed that often when one thing goofs up… it doesn’t stop there; it goes on in a series and stops only when sufficient damage has been done to leave you feeling utterly embarrassed and miserable.
So what was the next thing that had gone wrong in my series?
Mom was not answering.
Then one after the other I tried calling Dad, my brother, my neighbour and my aunt. And with every phone call, I was almost expecting the next person to not be home/be available too… and that left me with just one option. And if you are not a really really dumb person, you must have figured it out too.
To drive back home.
On my own.
In a white Lucknowi salwar-kameez that was no longer white.
I cursed my luck several times and finally dared to step out of the Ladies room. I looked around and noticed that there was nobody in sight. I quickly got out and ran on my toes towards that parking. Luckily (ironic I should use that word under these circumstances, right?) there was nobody there either. I quickly sat on my bike and drove out of college.
That day I came home at an amazing 80km/hr; and again ‘luckily’, I didn’t get one red-signal. I didn’t get stuck in one traffic-jam, which had now almost become mandatory for every time that I drove to or from college. I drove so fast, that my dress and me were half-dry by the time I reached my house. I rushed into the bathroom and stripped the dress of… it was a sorry state. I put it in a bucket of clean water and let it soak till I took a quick shower.
Mom burst out laughing when I narrated the whole thing to her in the evening after everyone got back home.
‘You are laughing! Damn! It all happened because of you!’
‘Me?’ mom said through her fits of laughter. ‘Why me?’
‘If you wouldn’t have forced me to wear the salwar-kameez, none of this would have happened!’ I said, and Mom-Dad-Bro all broke out into more and more peels of laughter.
‘And your cells!’ I said, addressing all of them; ‘go dump them into the sewer! God! I got so fed up of listening to the same line over and over again. “The customer you are trying to reach has moved out of coverage area”. What the hell!’
By now we all had tears in our eyes… theirs out of laughing, mine rooted in fury and anger. I picked up my Mango-milkshake glass and stomped off into my room… I shut the door and could still hear the laughing and my brother mimicking me now… God! I so hated it when he did that. I grabbed the remote control lying on my bed and turned the music-system on, and of all the cassettes that could have been in it, Aqua shouted out to me;
‘FREAKY-FRIDAY! THINGS AIN’T GOING MY WAY!’
And finally, for the first time in that day, after so much of fretting and tantrum-throwing… I laughed my arse off at the bloody timing! Or should I say ‘luck’ again???
Sounds familiar? I bet it does...
I used to always get stuck on the 'Most embarrassing moment' blank while filling up slambooks for friends back in school... I started with my name, filled in my phone number, my address, my most memorable moment, and then I’d come upon 'Most embarrassing moment;' I’d pause, scratch my head, and then jump to the next blank... I'd continue and fill the entire slambook, and would again come back to the 'Most embarrassing moment'... I'd scratch my brain a little more, and would eventually end up returning the slambook, the blank still blank. But if i had to fill one now, I’d have loads to write about... Loads... And it wouldn’t be my 'Most embarrassing moment' but my 'Extremely mortifying and 'go-beet-root-red-in-cheeks' moment'...
One fine Monday morning (although how can a Monday morning be fine, that too after a rather long and tiring Sunday is beyond me) I was getting ready for college. I had just come out of the bath and was still in my bathrobe. Water was dripping from my hair. I was already running itsy-bitsy late for college… but I was too lazed to get ready. The first lecture was ‘English’ anyway, so didn’t matter if I went a little late. So there I was, hanging out in my room, going through the pile of much used and dog-eared books___ novels, reference books, text books, magazines___ while Nick, Howie, AJ and Brian all tried to convince me I was ‘One In A Million’. I swayed left-right-front-back as the song went on; its rhythm and melody like the boys had had just an extra shot of Tequila. Mom suddenly barged into my room and shrieked.
‘What do you think you are doing?’ she said. I froze. Holding my position, I turned to look at Mom, facing the mirror of my dressing table simultaneously. I took a look at my reflection in the mirror and burst out laughing.
‘God! Whats wrong with you? You are acting like you’re having a hang over!’
‘Maybe I am!’ I squealed; Mom looked daggers at me.
‘Chill Mom! I’m ok!’ I said, and swirled around. Needless to say, I lost my balance and fell on the bed. That sent me into more fits of laughter and Mom into those of anger.
‘God! Honestly, what have I been rearing the past nineteen years?’ Mom said.
‘Ok, what is it now? What did you come in to talk about?’
‘Nothing, what are you doing in the evening?’
‘Nothing. Why?’
‘Can you come with me? Got some work, could use some help.’
‘Sure.’
Happy that I had agreed so quickly, and without giving me a chance to change my decision or rethink, Mom danced out of my room and I went back swaying around my room. Somehow I was on a high that day. You know, it happens… sometimes you are inexplicably happy, for no reason. They say it is because of your karma… some of your past deeds, maybe of a past life, have been rewarded, and that is what makes you happy… But let’s not get into that… Bottom line is; I was on a high. It seemed like nothing could mar my mirth. But no! I have now learnt my lesson well; eight out of ten times when you get such a feeling, be sure something is going to happen. In fact, I should have picked up the signs when Mom marched right back into my room.
‘Now what?’ I asked.
‘What are you wearing today?’ Mom asked.
‘Oh no… not again!’
‘Mi tula jauch denar nahiye aaj (I am not going to let you go today) unless you wear your salwar-kameez.’
Ok, I’d like to add a few things here. I am not the types who hate wearing anything that speaks of my ethnicity and shows in a way that I am Indian. I like wearing salwar-kameezes… love it in fact. But what Mom doesn’t seem to get is I have my ‘days’ or my phases… There are days when I wear only salwar-kameezes one after the other. And then there are days when I just don’t feel like it, and I stick to my jeans and t-shirts. And although mom doesn’t mind the former, she hates the later.
‘But Mom___’
‘Te kay pujayala ghetlet ka?’ (Have we bought all those dresses to worship them?)
‘Nahi, pan___’ (No, but___)
‘No if, no but,’ mom said, reaching out for my cupboard door. She opened it and pulled one of my salwar-kameezes out. ‘You wear this and come out in the next fifteen minutes, ok?’
‘Yeah.’
Mom went out of the room, and I threw a pillow at the door. I heard Mom laugh. ‘Mend me, bend me, but you cant break me!’ she called out.
‘YEAH RIGHT! WHATEVER!’ I shouted back, nonetheless smiling to myself.
Note: if you are my friend, remember one thing. Never; NEVER EVER make me do something I don’t want to. Consequences can be disastrous.
As instructed, I came out of my room, twenty minutes later, clad in a white Lucknowi salwar-kameez, with long ear-rings, and with a Shabnam on my shoulder.
‘I’m leaving!’ I called out, and Mom came rushing out of the kitchen.
‘There you are! How pretty you look!’ Mom said. ‘Bye!’
‘Thanks… bye!’ I replied and stepped out of the house.
We had three out of five of our lectures off that day. And on top of that I had planned to bunk my last two lectures anyway, as I wanted to go for a movie, which meant I was not going to attend a single lecture that day. I spent most of that day hanging out in the parking and the canteen of our college with classmates, seniors and of course, my new world friends. Soon it was quarter-to-two; time for me to go. I said bye and took leave. The show was at two-thirty. Half-way to the parking, I thought I should probably just wash my face and go… I had been in college the entire day anyway, and had been sitting in the parking lot since the minute I came. So I made my way to the Ladies Room. And the minute I set my foot inside the room, I shrieked.
I looked down at the floor… it was all wet. Completely wet. There was water everywhere and no one was in sight.
Now I am someone who can’t stand it when people leave taps running, or unnecessarily waste water in any way, so obviously I was furious. I walked to where the washrooms were and saw that one of the taps in the basin was running… Someone had turned it on all the way and probably left it on even after the water ran out; so that now that the water-tank was full, the water was running at full speed.
‘Shish!’ I exclaimed, as I hurried to the basin, trying to hold my salwar up so that it wouldn’t get wet, and trying to balance the dupatta and the Shabnam on my shoulders and myself on my heels. I quickly reached the basin and began turning the faucet off.
Soon I realised it wasn’t turning off.
I looked at the tap like it had been jinxed. I adjusted my dupatta and Shabnam and stood a little more firmly, now facing the basin, and tried to turn the tap ff with both my hands. But it just kept going round and round and round. And then at one point, it just snapped.
‘Ooo! Shit!’ I exclaimed and sprang away from the tap, dropping my Shabnam to the floor in the process, spraining my leg, and hitting the wall behind me.
I blinked rapidly and tried to regain my equilibrium. Slowly, I moved one hand, then the other, and then my legs. I looked around. My books were lying in a puddle of water… or more precisely in three inch deep water; and so was my Shabnam. My dupatta was floating away to one corner of the room; and when I finally got to look in the mirror… I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.
For a few moments, I just froze. I kept looking at my books, my dupatta and my reflection in the mirror again and again. Somewhere in between I figured that my phone was in my bag too. I lifted my bag off the floor, and water poured out of it. I put my hand inside and took my cell out; and for the first time, I thanked Mom inwardly for forcing her things upon me. Just the previous day she had bought me this plastic cover for my cell, and so my cell was at that moment absolutely dry and safe. I took it out and dialed mom’s number, thinking i'd ask her to bring me a change of clothes.
Have you noticed that often when one thing goofs up… it doesn’t stop there; it goes on in a series and stops only when sufficient damage has been done to leave you feeling utterly embarrassed and miserable.
So what was the next thing that had gone wrong in my series?
Mom was not answering.
Then one after the other I tried calling Dad, my brother, my neighbour and my aunt. And with every phone call, I was almost expecting the next person to not be home/be available too… and that left me with just one option. And if you are not a really really dumb person, you must have figured it out too.
To drive back home.
On my own.
In a white Lucknowi salwar-kameez that was no longer white.
I cursed my luck several times and finally dared to step out of the Ladies room. I looked around and noticed that there was nobody in sight. I quickly got out and ran on my toes towards that parking. Luckily (ironic I should use that word under these circumstances, right?) there was nobody there either. I quickly sat on my bike and drove out of college.
That day I came home at an amazing 80km/hr; and again ‘luckily’, I didn’t get one red-signal. I didn’t get stuck in one traffic-jam, which had now almost become mandatory for every time that I drove to or from college. I drove so fast, that my dress and me were half-dry by the time I reached my house. I rushed into the bathroom and stripped the dress of… it was a sorry state. I put it in a bucket of clean water and let it soak till I took a quick shower.
Mom burst out laughing when I narrated the whole thing to her in the evening after everyone got back home.
‘You are laughing! Damn! It all happened because of you!’
‘Me?’ mom said through her fits of laughter. ‘Why me?’
‘If you wouldn’t have forced me to wear the salwar-kameez, none of this would have happened!’ I said, and Mom-Dad-Bro all broke out into more and more peels of laughter.
‘And your cells!’ I said, addressing all of them; ‘go dump them into the sewer! God! I got so fed up of listening to the same line over and over again. “The customer you are trying to reach has moved out of coverage area”. What the hell!’
By now we all had tears in our eyes… theirs out of laughing, mine rooted in fury and anger. I picked up my Mango-milkshake glass and stomped off into my room… I shut the door and could still hear the laughing and my brother mimicking me now… God! I so hated it when he did that. I grabbed the remote control lying on my bed and turned the music-system on, and of all the cassettes that could have been in it, Aqua shouted out to me;
‘FREAKY-FRIDAY! THINGS AIN’T GOING MY WAY!’
And finally, for the first time in that day, after so much of fretting and tantrum-throwing… I laughed my arse off at the bloody timing! Or should I say ‘luck’ again???
CONFESSIONS OF A TEENAGE SOUL...
Ok. So it was happening again. And I was prepared; or so I thought…
At the exact moment when I realised I was falling head over heels for my friend all over again, I also realised he was not interested in me, all over again… or that he would probably never be…
I still tried to play it cool… Try and ‘take it all sportingly in a stride’… Be happy for him… Ask about the girl without feeling jealous or left-out… Smile and actually mean it… act mature…
But the main problem with acting mature is that at the end of it, you are still ‘acting’ mature… and not actually being mature…
I again convinced myself… or tried to; that I am a ‘nice’ girl… good-looking and all… and that maybe I am just worth someone better… that I am not his kind but that doesn’t mean I am never going to have a boy-friend or anything… For the zillionth time in my life I tried to get over… over what? Even I don’t know really if you ask me. I mean, we weren’t going around, so I can’t call it ‘heartbreak’… so whatever it was that I was trying to get over… I still haven’t figured out… maybe trying to get over being the ‘outcaste’… trying to get over the fact of being the only person among my gal-pals who didn’t have a boy-friend, and so also didn’t have any of her friends who could spare some time for her and meet her and catch up on things… trying to get over feeling unwanted… trying to get over the feeling you get when your feelings are not reciprocated… Like always I tried to convince myself and said good things about myself to me… things that would, or were supposed to cheer me up… I tried to tell myself… I tried to argue, ‘why is it so important for me that a guy should like me, fall for me or whatever?’, and ‘why was my happiness conditional?’, and on and on I went inside my head. He was sitting in front of me and talking… I could make it out from his lip-movements, but I wasn’t really listening.
I went on and on… trying to ‘look at the brighter side of things’, if there were any… and I tried to ‘act mature’…
And then at one point… I just snapped.
You know what? No matter what you say and what you do… IT SUCKS.
It sucks to be the only single girl in your group of friends… It sucks to always fall for guys who don’t like you… It sucks to have all guys think of you as a ‘guy’… as an equal… just because you are frank and straightforward and bindaas… It sucks big-time. It really does. I am fed up of having to be the ‘poor-me’… and I don’t know what to do about it… I am fed up of eating with a voice at the back of my head that constantly reminds me the number of calories I am putting on… I am fed up of watching models with unrealistic figures on TV… I am fed up of going to college to look at girls who are ‘bitchy’ and pathetic people on the inside but who are also surrounded by people just because they act sweet on the face and are ‘oh-so-girly’… I am fed up of hanging out with friends who have nothing but their boy-friends to talk about… It’s such a shame that people should judge you by how you look and who you hang out with and what time you sleep and whether you go to pubs or not and whether you have a boy-friend or not… and whether you are fat or not… and whether you enjoy late night parties or not… I am fed up of going to romantic movies and then wistfully looking at the hero and the heroine as they kiss each other in the end… It’s so so sick. I am fed up trying to make myself ‘fit’… make myself accepted… I’m fed up of trying to be someone I am not… Ya I don’t wear make-up; I sleep at nine; I am fat; I am not a typical girl; i don’t go to pubs; I don’t wear short skirts and I don’t have a tattoo; and I have never had a boy-friend; and I have never been kissed… SO WHAT?
You try to be cool… you try to get people to accept you into their group… and you don’t succeed… and then at the end of the day, its just you sitting with your tears giving you company… even when you know the whole thing is nothing worth crying over… You know that you are better off such people… and that it’s not the end of the world… but nonetheless, it’s a fact. It is the world you are living in… it’s the world I am living in. It’s a world where I am alone in a crowd. It’s the world that is pathetic to the core, but it’s the real world… and my only consolation lies in this sentence I read somewhere…
Life is a dream… I will wake up when I die…
At the exact moment when I realised I was falling head over heels for my friend all over again, I also realised he was not interested in me, all over again… or that he would probably never be…
I still tried to play it cool… Try and ‘take it all sportingly in a stride’… Be happy for him… Ask about the girl without feeling jealous or left-out… Smile and actually mean it… act mature…
But the main problem with acting mature is that at the end of it, you are still ‘acting’ mature… and not actually being mature…
I again convinced myself… or tried to; that I am a ‘nice’ girl… good-looking and all… and that maybe I am just worth someone better… that I am not his kind but that doesn’t mean I am never going to have a boy-friend or anything… For the zillionth time in my life I tried to get over… over what? Even I don’t know really if you ask me. I mean, we weren’t going around, so I can’t call it ‘heartbreak’… so whatever it was that I was trying to get over… I still haven’t figured out… maybe trying to get over being the ‘outcaste’… trying to get over the fact of being the only person among my gal-pals who didn’t have a boy-friend, and so also didn’t have any of her friends who could spare some time for her and meet her and catch up on things… trying to get over feeling unwanted… trying to get over the feeling you get when your feelings are not reciprocated… Like always I tried to convince myself and said good things about myself to me… things that would, or were supposed to cheer me up… I tried to tell myself… I tried to argue, ‘why is it so important for me that a guy should like me, fall for me or whatever?’, and ‘why was my happiness conditional?’, and on and on I went inside my head. He was sitting in front of me and talking… I could make it out from his lip-movements, but I wasn’t really listening.
I went on and on… trying to ‘look at the brighter side of things’, if there were any… and I tried to ‘act mature’…
And then at one point… I just snapped.
You know what? No matter what you say and what you do… IT SUCKS.
It sucks to be the only single girl in your group of friends… It sucks to always fall for guys who don’t like you… It sucks to have all guys think of you as a ‘guy’… as an equal… just because you are frank and straightforward and bindaas… It sucks big-time. It really does. I am fed up of having to be the ‘poor-me’… and I don’t know what to do about it… I am fed up of eating with a voice at the back of my head that constantly reminds me the number of calories I am putting on… I am fed up of watching models with unrealistic figures on TV… I am fed up of going to college to look at girls who are ‘bitchy’ and pathetic people on the inside but who are also surrounded by people just because they act sweet on the face and are ‘oh-so-girly’… I am fed up of hanging out with friends who have nothing but their boy-friends to talk about… It’s such a shame that people should judge you by how you look and who you hang out with and what time you sleep and whether you go to pubs or not and whether you have a boy-friend or not… and whether you are fat or not… and whether you enjoy late night parties or not… I am fed up of going to romantic movies and then wistfully looking at the hero and the heroine as they kiss each other in the end… It’s so so sick. I am fed up trying to make myself ‘fit’… make myself accepted… I’m fed up of trying to be someone I am not… Ya I don’t wear make-up; I sleep at nine; I am fat; I am not a typical girl; i don’t go to pubs; I don’t wear short skirts and I don’t have a tattoo; and I have never had a boy-friend; and I have never been kissed… SO WHAT?
You try to be cool… you try to get people to accept you into their group… and you don’t succeed… and then at the end of the day, its just you sitting with your tears giving you company… even when you know the whole thing is nothing worth crying over… You know that you are better off such people… and that it’s not the end of the world… but nonetheless, it’s a fact. It is the world you are living in… it’s the world I am living in. It’s a world where I am alone in a crowd. It’s the world that is pathetic to the core, but it’s the real world… and my only consolation lies in this sentence I read somewhere…
Life is a dream… I will wake up when I die…
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