Riddhima looked around at the people sitting in the drawing room and stifled a yawn. The clock struck twelve-thirty. It was pitch black outside.
‘Well, we certainly can’t do anything. At least till Dada is back,’ her father said, and everybody else in the room nodded in agreement.
‘But how are we going to break the news to them when they do get back?’ her mother said.
‘Parvati calm down,’ Riddhima’s grandfather said. He turned to look at his younger son. ‘When is Nikhil supposed to be back?’
‘Dada is coming back tomorrow Baba,’ Rohan answered his father. ‘He will be here by seven in the morning. Mala tar Wahinichich kalji wattiye,’ he said. I’m more worried about Wahini.
‘Don’t worry about them,’ Baba replied. ‘You take Parvati and Baby back to your room, and all of you get some sleep. We are going to have a long day tomorrow.’
Riddhima tore her eyes open as she heard Baba mention her. She got up as her father took her mother’s hand and walked to her. She held his hand and the trio walked back to their room.
Rohan lay in his bed, looking out of the window, a thousand thoughts crowding his mind…
“... this shouldn’t have happened. But then, who can stop the inevitable?... Dada-la itkyanda bolun pan... (Even after telling Dada so many times)... kids become rebellious. And then Melody wasn’t a bad girl. And Parth and Melody were both mature, and they were adults by law. Had Dada treated the issue with just a little bit of more sensitivity, maybe Parth wouldn’t have eloped with the girl...”
Baba looked at his son, his daughter-in-law and his grand-daughter as they walked back to their room. He heaved a sigh. He took his specs off.
“Why did you do it Parth? Couldn’t you come and speak to your Baba at least, before doing something like this? Have I not supported you, and helped you out of situations, and reasoned with you when I thought you were wrong? Did I ever force anything on you? Did I not help you solve things between you and your father?... Yes. Most certainly what you have done today is wrong... but at the same time, I guess I have no right to say this either... hadn’t I done quite the same thing as a young man? I can’t condemn you... but I had no ‘Baba’ to stand by me. You had one... why didn’t you trust me? Or anyone of us for that matter? I believe we have failed as a family... for you found it easier to confess into your friends and take them into your confidence than us... I guess we have failed... Yes. But still... you shouldn’t have done this Parth...”
Riddhima tip-toed out of her room and peeped into her parents’ room. They were fast asleep. She tip-toed back to her room and shut the door. She turned the light over her study-table on and took her diary out of its drawer and started writing.
“God! Eeeee! I don’t believe this. I so can’t believe this! Is it really happening? I like Melody... she is such a nice girl! And you two look so good together! But Kaka is going to be mad at you... really mad. You have any idea what you have gotten yourself into Bhaiyya? Its like, a part of me is very very happy for you. But a part of me is very worried too. I mean... surely there had to be some other way! Maybe you could have convinced Kaka. We could have worked out something... anything! There had to be a way! But God! This is so romantic! Just like QSQT! And as much as I hate you for leaving like that and not telling me and involving me in the planning, I am happy for you... I pray you will survive and make it through... and well, I received the pre-paid card you had kept for me in the drawer of your study. I will keep it on for an hour every night. But I hope this is not yet another of your jokes, and that you will really call me one of these days...”
Parth put an arm around Melody. She was fast asleep, with her head on his shoulder. He looked at her, looked down at her tear stained face, and an ever-so-small smile danced on his lips, even as his eyes filled with tears. He looked out of the door and saw the fast-receding railway tracks in the moonlight, running parallel to the track their train was on. His mind went back in time and a small voice in his head read-out to him the letter he had read and re-read several times before leaving it in his parents’ room, on their bed.
“... I don’t know if I have done the right thing Papa. But doing it felt right enough. I know you want the very best for your son Papa and that you would have had me marry a nice girl from a good family. But I love Melody. I know she is not going to live for more than a year, and I know I am going to be alone after she dies. But just think about Melody. If I had abandoned her, she would have crashed. And so would have I. I didn’t choose to elope Papa. The choice I made was to be with her and be happy for a short time, over abandoning her and being unhappy for the rest of my life. I know you may perhaps never understand my decision; that you will find it unreasonable that I waste my life for a happiness that is so short-lived. But sometimes you have to do things in life. There is no reason; you just have to do them. Melody is my Fate, and I want to take my chances. If you have ever loved anyone from the bottom of your heart you will someday understand me..."
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
A LETTER
DEAR TAI,
Congratulations! Heartiest congratulations on your wedding, and may God bless you and Jiju with his choicest of blessings.
I am sure you didn’t expect to get a ‘gift’ from your younger sister today, and definitely not a letter. But then, it is the best I have to offer. What else can I give you? I don’t work or earn! Hee hee…
The first time Dad told me you are getting married, I was stunned. For a moment, all was lost to me, and I was lost in nothing. And then suddenly, I was smiling ear-to-ear and hugging Dad tightly. I was so happy! Ecstatic! And even more so when he told me you are marrying Sanjay. I was so pleasantly surprised! You wont believe me, but in that insane moment, I tried to imagine marrying one of my school friends; God! I went crazy rolling with laughter. But I was so happy for you… really. ‘It must be the best thing to marry your friend,’ I thought to myself… atleast that’s what I think. But then, I’m only 16, so I maybe wrong. But I’d like to believe I’m right; it makes life so much easier.
I was very nostalgic the day Dad told me about your marriage. I found it pretty surprising, and I shocked myself with what I felt about your wedding. I mean, I never saw much of you, but then, you are my real sister after all, even if we don’t live together, and never will perhaps. And now I was not going to be able too see you at all; what with you migrating to Switzerland. I am going to fight with Jiju over this some day…
I have always wanted to have a real sister or a real brother. I used to look at you and Dada, and my heart used to fill with envy. And I used to hate myself for envying you. I used to be so excited when we met at all our family get-togethers. Really! Even before Dad told me about us being real brothers and sisters__ about us being real siblings__ you were always special to me. I don’t know why. On the very few and extremely rare occasions that you’d come to live with us, I would be so fascinated! I used to copy everything you did. I used to get up and laze in the bed. I used to sit in my window, close to you, with my toothbrush in my hand. I used to shake my head left-right vigorously after my bath. You’re hair was shorter than mine, so it was ok for you. But my waist-length hair used to get entangled so badly, Mom used to really have a tough time untangling them, and I used to often get a slap or a rap on my back for my stupidity. I never used to cry.
I remember the night very clearly when Dad told me about us. I remember his exact words, and how shocked and surprised and confused I was. I tried to make head or tales of what he had told me for a long time. So many of my questions had been left unanswered… Why you and Dada didn’t live with us, when we were real brothers and sisters; why did you never even come to stay with us and play with me, atleast once in a while; why you didn’t call my Mom ‘Mom’ but called her ‘Maushi’… I struggled to try and understand why things were the way they were. I was too young to understand the situation. It was more like, I knew the situation, but didn’t know what it meant.
I never ever felt depressed though. Never. I was never ‘sad’ or ‘depressed’ or ‘angry’ or any of the things. I never for a moment hated Dad, or even you or Dada for that matter. In fact I felt more and more close to you, and I loved you and adored you and idolized you even more day-by-day. But I did feel deprived; very deeply deprived.
As I entered secondary school, I began understanding what it meant… us being siblings and not staying together. And that is when it really hit me. I felt so terribly deprived. It was like, I had a brother and a sister, a Tai and a Dada; but I could never tell it to anyone. I would always stumble when my new-made friends would ask me: So do you have a brother or a sister? Only briefly, but I would feel… awkward. And more often than not, I’d end up lying: Nope, I’m alone. And if my friend had a sibling, he or she would call me ‘lucky’; and if they didn’t, he or she would say ‘me neither; join the club!’ they’d say they were glad to be alone, and I’d nod, pasting a smile on my face.
Every time we all gathered for any festival or festivity, you would all talk about the fun you had as cousins; and the stuff you confessed into each other; and the way you covered up for each other; and I’d feel like an alien amongst my own cousins. You had grown together, and it seemed to me like I had tagged along. I had attached myself to a group of brothers and sisters whom I had nothing in common with. I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I would always closely listen to you guys, and try and think what it must have been like. I tried to do stuff that would make you notice me and talk to me. I listened to English songs in hope that I would get to talk to you about them. I tried to adopt the several things you guys did to try and blend in with you and be a part of you.
But most of all, I always tried to be your younger sister Tai; your ‘kid’-sister. I always tried to bond with you. I loved you so much! I was in awe of you. I was fascinated by you; by the thought of having a Tai I could share my stuff with__ ear-rings, clothes, boyfriends, break-ups. I always wanted to be your ‘kid’-sister. But I never got to be.
Every time I was at your place, I’d go through your stuff and try to find out more about you; your likes, your tastes; so that I could adopt them and then probably have something in common with you that would help me strike a chord with you and make you think of me a little more and talk to me a little more and notice me a little more. I would go through the books you read__ Archie’s, Comics, Garfield, Sherlock Holmes__ I’d leaf through them. I never meant to pry through your stuff or take it Tai. I never ever meant to steal it! If I had known you did not like anyone going through your things I wouldn’t have dared to even look at your things. I wouldn’t have dared to enter your room. All I wanted was to be your sister and all I wanted was you to be my ‘Tai’. All I wanted to do was connect with you and feel at least for a moment that I had a sister; a real sister.
I was deeply hurt that day when you told Dad that you didn’t like me sneaking in your room. But I didn’t say anything. And unknowing to me I started detaching myself from you guys, from my cousins, from you. I started having my meals with Ajoba on the dining table when ever we gathered, instead of sitting among you guys and chit-chatting and having fun. I used to pretend to feel very sleepy after my meals and used to go off to the bedroom of whosever house we had gathered at and used to try and fall asleep. I had come to accept that I never was and probably would never be a part of your world; a world which you had all shared together as cousins, but which you were too old to share with me now. I never thought there would be a ‘generation gap’ between us, but that is what happened… to an extent. With you, the youngest of you all, being 9 years older to me, I was another generation for you guys, and I tried to accept it.
I am sorry. I am sincerely sorry for going through your stuff and for doing those things I did. But believe me, I never meant to be privy. All I wanted was to get to know you…
As I see you standing on the stage with Jiju today, I know you have changed. I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it in your gestures. I can feel the aura that you seem to be radiating. I felt it the day when, on our recent get-together, you asked me why I had chosen to sit on the oldies’ side of the table in the restaurant and not with you guys; and it’s stronger than ever today. I can see that you have ‘come of age’ as they say…
I wish you all the luck and all the very best things in life. It is great to see you so happy, and I am happy for you. In fact, I am sure I am the happiest person in this wedding-hall right now; next to you and Jiju of course!
I have put a bet with Dad that I won’t cry when you leave. But I know I am going to cry buckets when I’m alone later in the day.
Don’t tell Dad though! Or I will lose the bet…
I love you! And I am going to miss you a lot…
YOURS TRULY.
Congratulations! Heartiest congratulations on your wedding, and may God bless you and Jiju with his choicest of blessings.
I am sure you didn’t expect to get a ‘gift’ from your younger sister today, and definitely not a letter. But then, it is the best I have to offer. What else can I give you? I don’t work or earn! Hee hee…
The first time Dad told me you are getting married, I was stunned. For a moment, all was lost to me, and I was lost in nothing. And then suddenly, I was smiling ear-to-ear and hugging Dad tightly. I was so happy! Ecstatic! And even more so when he told me you are marrying Sanjay. I was so pleasantly surprised! You wont believe me, but in that insane moment, I tried to imagine marrying one of my school friends; God! I went crazy rolling with laughter. But I was so happy for you… really. ‘It must be the best thing to marry your friend,’ I thought to myself… atleast that’s what I think. But then, I’m only 16, so I maybe wrong. But I’d like to believe I’m right; it makes life so much easier.
I was very nostalgic the day Dad told me about your marriage. I found it pretty surprising, and I shocked myself with what I felt about your wedding. I mean, I never saw much of you, but then, you are my real sister after all, even if we don’t live together, and never will perhaps. And now I was not going to be able too see you at all; what with you migrating to Switzerland. I am going to fight with Jiju over this some day…
I have always wanted to have a real sister or a real brother. I used to look at you and Dada, and my heart used to fill with envy. And I used to hate myself for envying you. I used to be so excited when we met at all our family get-togethers. Really! Even before Dad told me about us being real brothers and sisters__ about us being real siblings__ you were always special to me. I don’t know why. On the very few and extremely rare occasions that you’d come to live with us, I would be so fascinated! I used to copy everything you did. I used to get up and laze in the bed. I used to sit in my window, close to you, with my toothbrush in my hand. I used to shake my head left-right vigorously after my bath. You’re hair was shorter than mine, so it was ok for you. But my waist-length hair used to get entangled so badly, Mom used to really have a tough time untangling them, and I used to often get a slap or a rap on my back for my stupidity. I never used to cry.
I remember the night very clearly when Dad told me about us. I remember his exact words, and how shocked and surprised and confused I was. I tried to make head or tales of what he had told me for a long time. So many of my questions had been left unanswered… Why you and Dada didn’t live with us, when we were real brothers and sisters; why did you never even come to stay with us and play with me, atleast once in a while; why you didn’t call my Mom ‘Mom’ but called her ‘Maushi’… I struggled to try and understand why things were the way they were. I was too young to understand the situation. It was more like, I knew the situation, but didn’t know what it meant.
I never ever felt depressed though. Never. I was never ‘sad’ or ‘depressed’ or ‘angry’ or any of the things. I never for a moment hated Dad, or even you or Dada for that matter. In fact I felt more and more close to you, and I loved you and adored you and idolized you even more day-by-day. But I did feel deprived; very deeply deprived.
As I entered secondary school, I began understanding what it meant… us being siblings and not staying together. And that is when it really hit me. I felt so terribly deprived. It was like, I had a brother and a sister, a Tai and a Dada; but I could never tell it to anyone. I would always stumble when my new-made friends would ask me: So do you have a brother or a sister? Only briefly, but I would feel… awkward. And more often than not, I’d end up lying: Nope, I’m alone. And if my friend had a sibling, he or she would call me ‘lucky’; and if they didn’t, he or she would say ‘me neither; join the club!’ they’d say they were glad to be alone, and I’d nod, pasting a smile on my face.
Every time we all gathered for any festival or festivity, you would all talk about the fun you had as cousins; and the stuff you confessed into each other; and the way you covered up for each other; and I’d feel like an alien amongst my own cousins. You had grown together, and it seemed to me like I had tagged along. I had attached myself to a group of brothers and sisters whom I had nothing in common with. I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I would always closely listen to you guys, and try and think what it must have been like. I tried to do stuff that would make you notice me and talk to me. I listened to English songs in hope that I would get to talk to you about them. I tried to adopt the several things you guys did to try and blend in with you and be a part of you.
But most of all, I always tried to be your younger sister Tai; your ‘kid’-sister. I always tried to bond with you. I loved you so much! I was in awe of you. I was fascinated by you; by the thought of having a Tai I could share my stuff with__ ear-rings, clothes, boyfriends, break-ups. I always wanted to be your ‘kid’-sister. But I never got to be.
Every time I was at your place, I’d go through your stuff and try to find out more about you; your likes, your tastes; so that I could adopt them and then probably have something in common with you that would help me strike a chord with you and make you think of me a little more and talk to me a little more and notice me a little more. I would go through the books you read__ Archie’s, Comics, Garfield, Sherlock Holmes__ I’d leaf through them. I never meant to pry through your stuff or take it Tai. I never ever meant to steal it! If I had known you did not like anyone going through your things I wouldn’t have dared to even look at your things. I wouldn’t have dared to enter your room. All I wanted was to be your sister and all I wanted was you to be my ‘Tai’. All I wanted to do was connect with you and feel at least for a moment that I had a sister; a real sister.
I was deeply hurt that day when you told Dad that you didn’t like me sneaking in your room. But I didn’t say anything. And unknowing to me I started detaching myself from you guys, from my cousins, from you. I started having my meals with Ajoba on the dining table when ever we gathered, instead of sitting among you guys and chit-chatting and having fun. I used to pretend to feel very sleepy after my meals and used to go off to the bedroom of whosever house we had gathered at and used to try and fall asleep. I had come to accept that I never was and probably would never be a part of your world; a world which you had all shared together as cousins, but which you were too old to share with me now. I never thought there would be a ‘generation gap’ between us, but that is what happened… to an extent. With you, the youngest of you all, being 9 years older to me, I was another generation for you guys, and I tried to accept it.
I am sorry. I am sincerely sorry for going through your stuff and for doing those things I did. But believe me, I never meant to be privy. All I wanted was to get to know you…
As I see you standing on the stage with Jiju today, I know you have changed. I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it in your gestures. I can feel the aura that you seem to be radiating. I felt it the day when, on our recent get-together, you asked me why I had chosen to sit on the oldies’ side of the table in the restaurant and not with you guys; and it’s stronger than ever today. I can see that you have ‘come of age’ as they say…
I wish you all the luck and all the very best things in life. It is great to see you so happy, and I am happy for you. In fact, I am sure I am the happiest person in this wedding-hall right now; next to you and Jiju of course!
I have put a bet with Dad that I won’t cry when you leave. But I know I am going to cry buckets when I’m alone later in the day.
Don’t tell Dad though! Or I will lose the bet…
I love you! And I am going to miss you a lot…
YOURS TRULY.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
ANALOGY
‘But I have nothing to give you! My hands are empty!’
‘Not any more!’
I smiled as Jo slid her hand into Friedrich’s and they kissed under the umbrella as the rain poured down on them; and the picture blacked out and the credits started to roll. I kept staring at the TV-screen for a moment, lost in the world of ‘Little Women’… In a time when girls wore dresses that were hideously impractical and huge and made them trip over every time they tried to be elegant and walk… specially girls like Josephine March! I got lost in a world where boys actually meant all the things they said when they proposed a girl and asked her hand in marriage. I got lost in a world which though it existed only a few decades ago now seemed like eons ago.
I tried to imagine what life would be like in a world like that. I for sure would be a ‘Jo’; caught between someone I was and someone I wanted to be; clumsy and not much of a girl, or a ‘lady’… and with thoughts and questions like ‘Why do we have to marry at all?’ in my mind. But then, I realised, life wouldn’t be all that bad either; if it was going to end up in my meeting a ‘Friedrich Bhaer’! And also if it meant that I would be a published author for sure someday!
I came back to the present as the credits rolled out and the advertisements started. I quickly put the TV off, but not without hearing ‘Das saal se mera sathi’; Aaah! What a stupid stupid ad! (Sorry if you are an ardent SRK fan… actually no; why should I be sorry! I take it back!) I always hate it the way the commercials take away from all the aftereffect of a nice movie; especially a movie like the one I had just seen. That’s why I prefer seeing movies at the theatre. I cursed no one in particular and turned the TV off, the frown on my face refusing to go away. I squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to go back to Jo’s world, but with little success. But the frown sure did fade away in the process. I went to my room and shut the door. I propped onto the pillows on my bed, lying on my stomach. I looked out of the window, now the smile on my face refusing to go away. I could see a clear blue sky and the leaves of the almond tree planted in our parking. It had grown tall and I could almost reach out and touch a few of its leaves from my window. I looked at the leaves, now turning into a shade of bright crimson-orange red… quite similar to the shade of orange-red leaves I had just seen in the autumn of the Little Women’s world. I smiled. Again and again, my mind flashed back to Teddy’s proposal and to Friedrich’s kiss, in the opera, and outside Jo’s house. Suddenly a sher I had once received as an SMS came back to me…
Jisne hume chaha, usse hum chah na sake
Jise chaha, usse hum pa na sake
Yeh samajh lo dil tutne ka khel hai
Kisika toda aur apna bacha na sake
I don’t know why it popped into my mind at that very moment. The very next moment though, I found myself trying to see myself in place of Jo. I have always liked Jo the most, of all the four March sisters; probably because in ways more than one, she seemed to be my alter ego, my twin soul, running around the house shouting ‘Marmee’ every time she called out to her mother. I felt like he was addressing me when her father comes back from the army and addresses Jo as she flies into his arms as ‘The Wild One’. Jo, who lived in a world of her own where Vampires were a reality. Almost immediately I hoped though that my writing wasn’t as bad as Jo’s, or as bad as Friedrich made it out to be. I tried to decide which would be worse, it being bad, or it not being appreciated by a ‘Friedrich’; and my smile faded a bit as I realised there was no ‘Friedrich’ in my life… sigh… or was there? Yes… sure there was! I had found ‘my Friedrich’… yes I had. But he was miles apart at the moment… but then so were Jo and Friedrich at some point, right? And my smile grew wider than before at the prospects…
If only this one analogy, which was the only difference for the time, turned out to be true too, it would so be a happy ending… just like in the movie…
‘Not any more!’
I smiled as Jo slid her hand into Friedrich’s and they kissed under the umbrella as the rain poured down on them; and the picture blacked out and the credits started to roll. I kept staring at the TV-screen for a moment, lost in the world of ‘Little Women’… In a time when girls wore dresses that were hideously impractical and huge and made them trip over every time they tried to be elegant and walk… specially girls like Josephine March! I got lost in a world where boys actually meant all the things they said when they proposed a girl and asked her hand in marriage. I got lost in a world which though it existed only a few decades ago now seemed like eons ago.
I tried to imagine what life would be like in a world like that. I for sure would be a ‘Jo’; caught between someone I was and someone I wanted to be; clumsy and not much of a girl, or a ‘lady’… and with thoughts and questions like ‘Why do we have to marry at all?’ in my mind. But then, I realised, life wouldn’t be all that bad either; if it was going to end up in my meeting a ‘Friedrich Bhaer’! And also if it meant that I would be a published author for sure someday!
I came back to the present as the credits rolled out and the advertisements started. I quickly put the TV off, but not without hearing ‘Das saal se mera sathi’; Aaah! What a stupid stupid ad! (Sorry if you are an ardent SRK fan… actually no; why should I be sorry! I take it back!) I always hate it the way the commercials take away from all the aftereffect of a nice movie; especially a movie like the one I had just seen. That’s why I prefer seeing movies at the theatre. I cursed no one in particular and turned the TV off, the frown on my face refusing to go away. I squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to go back to Jo’s world, but with little success. But the frown sure did fade away in the process. I went to my room and shut the door. I propped onto the pillows on my bed, lying on my stomach. I looked out of the window, now the smile on my face refusing to go away. I could see a clear blue sky and the leaves of the almond tree planted in our parking. It had grown tall and I could almost reach out and touch a few of its leaves from my window. I looked at the leaves, now turning into a shade of bright crimson-orange red… quite similar to the shade of orange-red leaves I had just seen in the autumn of the Little Women’s world. I smiled. Again and again, my mind flashed back to Teddy’s proposal and to Friedrich’s kiss, in the opera, and outside Jo’s house. Suddenly a sher I had once received as an SMS came back to me…
Jisne hume chaha, usse hum chah na sake
Jise chaha, usse hum pa na sake
Yeh samajh lo dil tutne ka khel hai
Kisika toda aur apna bacha na sake
I don’t know why it popped into my mind at that very moment. The very next moment though, I found myself trying to see myself in place of Jo. I have always liked Jo the most, of all the four March sisters; probably because in ways more than one, she seemed to be my alter ego, my twin soul, running around the house shouting ‘Marmee’ every time she called out to her mother. I felt like he was addressing me when her father comes back from the army and addresses Jo as she flies into his arms as ‘The Wild One’. Jo, who lived in a world of her own where Vampires were a reality. Almost immediately I hoped though that my writing wasn’t as bad as Jo’s, or as bad as Friedrich made it out to be. I tried to decide which would be worse, it being bad, or it not being appreciated by a ‘Friedrich’; and my smile faded a bit as I realised there was no ‘Friedrich’ in my life… sigh… or was there? Yes… sure there was! I had found ‘my Friedrich’… yes I had. But he was miles apart at the moment… but then so were Jo and Friedrich at some point, right? And my smile grew wider than before at the prospects…
If only this one analogy, which was the only difference for the time, turned out to be true too, it would so be a happy ending… just like in the movie…
Thursday, March 27, 2008
THE GLINT IN HIS EYES
‘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.
‘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.
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)
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