THE PATRIOT

I drag myself to the footpath and look around me. I see my blood spattered over the road, my shirt lying soaked in blood somewhere.

I curse myself and the moment at which I had looked at the statue of my beloved leader at the crossroad. The dirt is still not gone from his face. It is splattered across his specs. My heart cringes at the sight. The statue of one of the greatest men in History – smeared by feces.

If only I had not noticed the horrific sight.

If only I had not been angered.

If only I had not tried to wipe it off.

If only it had not been the day of elections.

If only the Party who considered my very hero as their ideal had not seen me in that position…

… I wouldn’t have been lying half dead by the footpath, beaten till I could hear my own bones split within my body by the supporters of the Party and the mob.

Where had so many people poured in onto the street from at that hour of the day anyway? There was never a soul on the street every morning that I jogged on it.

I tried and tried to comprehend what had happened in the past few minutes.

‘Aye!’

I turn. I see members of the Party. I get off the statue.

‘Kay challaye?’ (What’s going on?)

The man standing ahead of the mob, hands rested on waist asks me. He could pass as a typical ‘member of XYZ Party’; dressed all in white, Kolhapuri chappals in his feet, hair gelled back and not daring to move even with the breeze, thick black moustache, with the corners purposefully turned up.

‘Kahi nahi…’ (Nothing…)

‘Kahi nahi?’ (Nothing?)

‘Ghan lagli hoti putalyala… Pusat hoto…’ (There was dirt on the statue… was wiping it off…)

One of the other men standing behind the man pulls him by his shoulder. He signals at my feet.

I look down at my feet.

The Party looks down at my feet.

My shoes are covered in shit.

I stare in disbelief.

Suddenly it comes back to me. My neighbor’s dog had done his morning job close to my house. I had stepped into it.

I panic.

‘Aho, mi kharach kahi nahi kela!’ (I really haven’t done anything!)

‘Amhala kay angutha chhaap samajlaye?’ (Do you think we are uneducated fools?)

'Aho kharach, mi nahi - ' (Trust me, I didn't - )

'Hana re haramyala!’ (Beat the bastard!)

I try to run away. But I know there is no escaping the situation.

And now here I am…

Thousands of questions cross my mind… doubts… fears… but the most overwhelming of all feelings is disappointment and sadness… at the whole situation we, as the People of our country and of the world, are in. And its not just politics I am talking about.

I look up at the sky… the sun is beginning to rise higher over the horizon.

I look back at the statue.

I will myself to get up, despite the pain.

I lean on the street-light and drag myself up. I look at the face of my favorite hero. I think of his co-workers… all great men who did things we probably can never comprehend completely.

It gives me strength.

I take a deep breath, and heave my body.

I am standing on my feet.

My legs hurt till I want to cry out loud. But I look up at the statue and smile.

I raise my hand and put it to my temples.

I salute.

I collapse.








Author's Note: it is a request that the reader view this only as a piece of creativity... there is nothing I want 'to hint at' or 'suggest'. No names of any political parties were mentioned, and I leave it upto the reader to give the statue the name of whichever leader he/she wants to give. This was just a piece that popped up in my mind, and I penned it down. Heck, I am not even interested in politics! Still if anyone's feelings were hurt, all I'll say is, it wasn't my intention...

.....................

Got up at eight today morning and took to cleaning my room immediately. Dust had settled all over. I had been putting it off, waiting for exams to get over. And now that they were over, I couldn’t stand all the mess!

Started with my clothes cupboard. Then my dressing table. My bed. And lastly, my study-table. I always save it for the last. Every year, I have to think and think of how I am going to make place in my already over-full study table for the whole new stack of books. And this being my final year, I had not one, not two, but 11 reference books with no place to go! And they were only the bare minimum.

About 20 minutes later, both the cupboards to the sides of my table were open, their contents spilled out on the floor – and me spilled out somewhere between them. I looked around me and sighed heavily. Books, papers, magazines, school report cards, class photographs, pen stands by the dozen, stationery enough to go into 3 bags, novels, encyclopedia, my diaries, old greeting cards, medals, colours, paints, palette, drawing books… even charcoal, from the one time I tried to do a sketch in charcoal and ended up looking like an adivasi...

Mom came in, took one look at the mess, and burst out laughing.

‘Mom! You should help me out! Not laugh at me!’

‘I would… but you don’t want to throw any of this, or give it away… how else can I help?’

I made a face. Mom laughed.

‘Ok, I am off to Veena-maushi’s… will be back by 5.’

Mom had a lunch date with her friend that day. And dad had left early morning. I was gonna be home alone.

‘Ok, have fun!’ I said following Mom out till the door. I saw Mom walk down the stairs, and pulled the door shut and returned to my den.

I looked at all the mess and sighed again.

‘Ok! Looks like I am gonna have to throw a few things away I guess!’ I said out loud to no one ion particular.

But I just kept staring at the mess for half an hour, sitting on my bed.

I couldn’t possibly throw anything away! Each of the myriad little things lying on the floor was so important to me! And special. Each had a story behind it. Like the first piece I had knitted. Or the cards I had received from my Atya for each of my birthdays. And those pressed grass twigs in that big fat story book! I used to make greetings out of them and used to post them to all our relatives for Diwali. And how could I possibly throw away all those paintings! No way! And the Japanese Fan! The Japanese Fan I had made! The straw hat from my first dance in school... As I went through these and many other things I had even forgotten I had kept still, I thought of all the summer vacations and all the crazy things I used to do back then… from making greeting cards, to fabric painting, to pottery, to lying on my bed reading a book and listening to songs… working on a painting the whole day, and then calling all my neighbors over to see ‘my new creation’… I couldn’t remember the last time I had held a paint brush in my hand, or spent a lazy afternoon just dreaming. Each of us has a fantasy world… a world full of all of our favorite things. I had one too… in fact, I still have one. And it still is full of all things that may seem ‘childish’ or immature’… but heck, it’s my world… where anything is possible…

I looked at all the greeting cards, and read all the messages penned down for me… the last card I had received from my Atya was for my 12th birthday… why do we stop doing things like these when we ‘grow up’? We cross a certain age, and suddenly birthday cards with cake and balloons seem childish…. Or embroidering your initials on your handkerchief seems like a stupid thing to do. I was so serious about becoming a painter as a kid… and somewhere down the line; I just gave it up… for a worldlier career… why? Why do we give up on things, but still cling on to their memory?

As I cleaned my room, I ended up dusting my mind too. It was like I had met myself after a long time…

That day, I did a lot of things I had not done in years.

I started working on a painting.

I spent the afternoon reading a novel.

I made a few snacks and called my neighbors over for tea.

I even went for a walk with Dad in the evening, on the hill, and came back with a bag full of colorful odd looking stones!

And it felt amazing doing all those things…

JENNIFER

This one’s dedicated to the loving memory of Jennifer, the finest female Golden Retriever I have ever come across. I just met her owner – a loveable 65+ Grand-pa by the name Mr. Nandu Kulkarni – a couple of weeks ago, and came to know Jennifer passed away month-and-a-half ago.

Sweetheart, this one goes out to you…

They say a dog can understand upto 500 human words. I don’t know that, and I can’t vouch for it. But this I can say for sure – dogs do understand human emotions perfectly. And they particularly can tell a dog-lover from a non dog-lover.

I used to see Jennifer everyday when I was in school. She was easily the finest female Golden Retriever I had ever come across. Driving to school, parking my bicycle in the parking lot, going up to my classroom on the fourth floor, and then waiting by the window to see Jennifer had become a routine for me. As for Jennifer, her eyes would begin to search for me as soon as Nandu-kaka crossed the street to the side on which my school was. She would look up at my classroom, and would give me a friendly bark everyday – every single day.

It all started one day when Nandu-kaka was stalled close to our school by one of his friends I suppose – and Jennifer had nothing to do. She was sniffing the ground when I reached our classroom and saw her from the window. She might have been 6-7 months old back then. I could make out she was beginning to get restless and wanted to continue with the walk. I decided to entertain her.

I looked around to check no teachers were anywhere within ear-shot, and I whistled.

Jennifer was as if frozen on spot. Not a muscle moving. I smiled. I leaned a little out of the window and whistled again.

This time Jennifer turned to face our school building. Clever bitch! I laughed.

The third time I whistled, Jennifer precisely looked up at the exact window in which I was standing and started barking. That caught Nandu-kaka’s attention. He followed Jennifer and looked up at me. I smiled and waved at him. He smiled back.

‘Such a fine pet you have! What’s her name?’ I asked. It was quite early in the morning and there was practically no one on the road, so I didn’t really have to shout.

‘Jennifer!’ the old man replied.

The incident repeated the next day. But by the third day, I didn’t have to whistle to catch Jenny’s attention. She’d by default look up at my window when Nandu-kaka reached our school.

I started to come a little late to school everyday, in the hope of catching the old man and Jennifer someday. But somehow things just didn’t work out. They’d always come only moments before our school began. But one fine day, I got lucky. I reached school about 20 minutes early – we had to put up some charts and all in the corridors – and was in the parking lot when I heard someone call out – ‘Good morning!’ I turned around and saw Jennifer and the old man. I was so happy! I immediately sat down on my knees and called out –

‘Jennifer!’

She looked at me for a split second, and in the next she was bounding and leaping towards me! She came and crashed right into me and within moments I was slobbered all over! Jennifer was licking my face, my hands – it was crazy! She was barking and jumping and going round in circles around me! And I couldn’t stop laughing.

Dogs can always tell dog-lovers from non dog-lovers.

I had to ride back home that day and change into my other set of school clothes and go back. Obviously the ones I had been wearing went straight into the washing machine. But I was still smiling when I reached school.

I continued to see Jennifer every day till the end of that year. After that I forgot all about her in the summer vacations. But I never saw her after school re-opened.




Just a couple of weeks ago, I met Nandu-kaka. It was great to see him after all these years, and I was surprised to realise we both still remembered each other so perfectly. He told me they had shifted to another part of the city, that’s why I never saw them again. And with that he gave me the news of Jennifer having passed away – peacefully, in her sleep.

That meeting brought back all the memories of Jennifer, and particularly of that day when she licked me all over. It felt nice to know she had not suffered in her last moments. May her soul rest in peace.

BEAUTY

I get off the train – sticky, sweating and smelling like a pig.

I lay eyes on her.

And suddenly I am not feeling tired anymore, and my fatigue is gone..

She’s not beautiful. Not even close. She is just an average looking Indian girl.

But nothing about her is average.

She is wearing a beautiful sky blue colored salwaar kameez, and long dangling ear-rings. Ok, the ear-rings are a bit too long for my taste. But it really doesn’t matter. Everything else about her is so beautiful.

I look around, as I try to comprehend what I am feeling.

I would never otherwise describe her as beautiful.

But that sight… of my best friend… whom I am seeing after all these years… the sight is beautiful… the light scent of her perfume, which is still the same after all these years… the wait in her eyes… her frantic search for a familiar face in the crowd… for my familiar face… the stillness in her stance, her calm body language contradicts her state of mind, which she cannot hide no matter how hard she tries… for her eyes are too innocent… and bare… I see her anticipation, her excitement right through her efforts to conceal it. And the child like beauty amuses me and pulls me like a magnet.

She still hasn’t seen me, almost as if purposely. She is looking in every possible direction but mine.

I linger close to the edge of the platform where I got off, and enjoy the moment… the moment that will soon be gone…

I’m almost crushed as I realise it won’t last too long.

She looks at her watch, as if to remind me how long it has been since I have seen her.

I pick up my bag and start walking towards her, and I laugh as it comes back to me…

I had asked her for a recent picture of her, just in case I don’t recognize her. And I realise that at that moment, the picture just isn’t coming to my mind…