Nancy got up with a sad feeling deep in her heart. How she regretted having to live through this day every year. Every year she would go down the memory lane and visit the same old shack by the sea where she had gone off all on her own for a vacation a few years ago and had met a man who, Nancy was sure since the moment she set her eyes on him, was going to be very important to her and was going to change her life forever. If only she had not spotted that figure on the beach. If only she had not offered the man a glass of wine. If only he had not accepted. If only they had not fallen in love.
But she had spotted that lonely figure on the beach.
She had offered the cold man a glass of wine.
He had accepted.
And they had fallen in love.
It was not something she regretted. Once in your life comes along the kind of love that we are all made to grow up believing in, but that we all learn in our own ways exists only in fairy-tales and dreams and good romantic books and cheesy romantic movies.
But she did regret not asking him to stay when she knew she could have and when she knew he would not have refused.
She regretted having heeded to the higher calling. She had put that man and his life and his path towards a better self, top-most on her list of priorities; and herself and her feelings and her happiness below it – just like she had been brought up to be; just like she had lived all her life.
Her children before her.
Her husband before her.
Her marriage before her.
Her parents, her job, the people around – the world before herself.
And that made her the good mother, the good wife, the good daughter, employee and person that everybody talked about and that everybody wanted everybody else to be – but also that that she did not like, forty years of life, fifteen years of marriage and two children later.
What good is life when you spend it living for others? Every waking moment, every breath, every thought spent on others. Every good deed always done for the betterment of others. Every sacrifice always made for the happiness of others.
And it was a weekend spent not with her husband but with a stranger in a shack many many miles away from her house that had made her think – what had she done in life for herself?
When was the last time she lived, laughed, loved for herself?
That one weekend with the man in the shack by the sea had given Nancy a taste of what life could have been – a man who loved every inch of her body, a man who loved her heart and soul and who wasn’t afraid to show it; a life with a companion who was very different from her, but who complemented her and understood her nonetheless.
And yes, he was a married man, much older to her, with a son only fifteen years younger to Nancy. He was a man with faults, much like her husband; and yet he was so different from her husband.
Nancy regretted not having asked the man to stay when it was time for him to leave. She knew she had had the power to make him wait; she knew he had longed for her to ask him to wait. He had left the decision in Nancy’s hand. And Nancy had again chosen to be the good mother and wife and had let him go, only to come back to an unfaithful husband and a broken marriage that she thought was her responsibility to try and save.
But no relationship works with the efforts of only one individual. It is a give and take.
However, that one weekend spent with that man in the shack by the sea many many miles away from her house had changed Nancy. She had returned to an unfaithful husband and a broken marriage, but without guilt or a false sense of morality. She had returned a changed woman, and she had taken charge of things and had changed her life – which included moving out of the house and life of her husband but along with her son and daughter, shifting base to a new city, making new friends and finding a new job and doing what she had always dreamt of doing; starting a plant nursery. Her daughter understood her; but Nancy would not have minded even if she hadn’t – she would when she grew up a little more. Her son still loved his mother, though he missed his father.
But Nancy was still haunted by the memories of the man she met on this day few years ago.
She was glad he had saved her.
She was glad he had shown her what her life could be, what it ought to be.
She was glad he had happened to her.
But she still regretted not having asked him to wait when she could have.
But she now understood the lines she had read many many years ago…
Love is always new. Regardless of whether we love once, twice or a dozen times in our life, we always face a brand new situation. Love can consign us to hell or to paradise, but it always takes us somewhere. We simply have to accept it because it is what nourishes our existence. If we reject it, we die of hunger, because we lack the courage to stretch out a hand and pluck the fruit from the branches of the tree of life. We have to take love where we find, even if that means hours, days, weeks of disappointment and sadness.
The moment we begin to seek love, love begins to seek us.
And to save us.
Showing posts with label jara hatke.... Show all posts
Showing posts with label jara hatke.... Show all posts
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
inspired from "By The River Piedra I Sat Down And Wept" - THE OLD LADY
Some people always have to be doing battle with someone, sometimes with themselves, battling with their own lives. So they begin to create a kind of play in their head, and they write the script based on their frustration.
Tilo heard the old lady say these lines and realised how much they were true – every word of it was painfully true and relevant to her life. Right from the moment she had been born, all she had been doing was fighting; first as her Mother tried to kill her while she was still in her womb, and then as the people around tried to kill her soul. All she had been doing was fighting – battling to guard her existence; battling to guard her virginity, battling to guard her innocence, battling to exist in a world that was crueller than could be imagined. Every moment a struggle. Every moment a war waged against her one self that wanted to believe in the good in people and her other self that had nothing but eyes that could see the world around her with all its bad and bad.
But when night fell and her Mother had cursed and cursed her and gone off to sleep, Tilo would dare to dream – of a caring Mother, of a clean house, of school; of a normal life and a better world. And it is these few moments every night and the hope they brought that helped Tilo pull through every day.
Until the day she heard the old lady speak – the old lady that she was scared of, but that she loved to hear when she began to speak. The old lady who Tilo saw always in the same clothes and who never smiled. There was something mysterious about the lady. She was not a beggar, and yet people passing her seemed to drop money for her and touch her feet. The lady never touched the money, and never seemed hungry or thirsty. She looked almost ethereal. At some point in the day the lady would start talking – and the stresaaset would go silent; but not because everyone would be listening, but because everyone would just clear the street. They would all disappear, take their children in and go inside their little huts and shut the doors and stay in till dusk. One evening Tilo had wandered off ad returned after the street had cleared and had heard the old lady speak. She had been scared at first and had tried to make her Mother open the door so she could come into the house.
‘Pay for your little excursion! Thousand times I tell you not to wander too far away, but you just don’t listen. The Devil, that’s what you are!’
Tilo had been very scared and had cried and cried till her throat went dry and her eyes and head started to ache. Finally when exhaustion took over and she couldn’t care less if she died or lived, she walked towards the lady and went and sat down in front of her.
The old lady’s eyes were closed, and she appeared as if to be chanting something. She broke out into prose once in a while, and went back to the chanting soon again. But her eyes always remained closed, like she was reciting something from memory. Her slow steady voice almost managed to put Tilo off to sleep when the lady opened her eyes and looked at Tilo. Tilo’s fears returned, but she sat rooted to the pace, stupefied. The old lady kept on looking at her – a constant unblinking stare, and Tilo couldn’t help but stare back into those eyes. How long they sat like that, no one knows. But after quite some time had passed, Tilo felt a hand lift her to her feet rather roughly.
‘Do you want to invoke the wrath of the Devil on the entire village?’
Tilo looked at her Mother, and turned back to look at the old lady. But she was gone.
– x – x –
‘You must take her to him! He is the only one who can save your daughter!’
‘Yes! No one who has ever seen that lady or spoken to her has ever lived to tell about it. But she has. There is something that’s definitely wrong.’
‘Take her to him. He knows just what to do.’
‘He will cure her.’
‘He will save her.’
– x – x –
Several days passed. People continued to drop money at the place where Tilo had seen the old lady sitting, and continued to touch the ground even. But Tilo was confused.
‘Mother, who do they offer the money to, if the old lady is not there anymore?’
But this innocent little question only brought upon another thrashing on Tilo, and she learnt never to ask her Mother about it again.
Several days passed by again. And then several weeks. One day Tilo met the old lady while she had wandered a little too far and away from her house. This time Tilo was not scared of the lady. But the lady, instead of maintaining her distance as always, addressed Tilo directly by her secret name –
‘Janhavi!’
Tilo was so astonished that the old lady knew her secret name that she forgot all her fear and the promise she had made to herself – to treat the old lady as indifferently as she treated her – and curiosity took over and Tilo ended up talking to her. She spent the whole evening talking to the old lady, and the night and it was almost dawn by the time she realised that an entire night had passed by. Tilo felt excited. This was her first night away from her home, and she was still safe and sound.
She had witnessed the good side of the world.
Tilo started meeting the old lady regularly. Her Mother kept on beating her up when she returned home just before sunrise every day.
‘Who is she sending you to?’
‘Who is sending me anywhere Mother?’
Slap.
‘Come on you little witch! Speak up! Where are you hiding all the money?’
‘What money Mother, I don’t understand.’
‘Oh you scoundrel! Just you wait till I get my hands on the money. How long are you going to hide it from me anyway.’
Tilo discussed this with the old lady one evening.
‘Mother keeps asking me funny questions. She keeps demanding money from me. I don’t understand.’
But the old lady just smiled.
One evening Mother caught hold of Tilo just as she was about to slip off to meet the old lady.
‘Not so easy darling. Today you shall go to who I tell you to go to.’
Mother gave Tilo a clean set of clothes to wear. She combed her hair and braided them. Tilo got confused, but was still happy. Her Mother today seemed like the one from the story they told at the school that Tilo liked to listen to secretly. Before mother and daughter stepped out of the house, Tilo hugged her Mother.
‘I love you Mother!’
Little did she know what lay in front of her, what her Mother had planned for her. But in spite of all that she had to go through each day, Tilo’s heart was pure, and it knew only to love.
They reached in front of a big house after some walking. Mother picked Tilo up in her arms and knocked on the front door. A big man answered the door.
‘At last.’
Mother gave Tilo into the arms of the man. The man reached inside his pocket and pulled out a thick wad of money and handed it to Tilo’s mother.
Tilo looked upon the transaction and turned to her mother –
‘So he had the money! But who is this man? Is it Father?’
Mother looked for a moment at Tilo’s face. She realised she was going to burst out crying. She quickly turned on her heel and began to walk away as fast as she could.
Tilo called out to her Mother to wait. Tilo felt really sad – how unfortunate that on the very day that she had seen a side of Mother she didn’t knew existed, Mother had also abandoned her and left her to the mercy of a strange big and scary man. Tilo looked at the man.
‘I am hungry Father.’
The man slapped Tilo across her face. Tilo’s eyes instantly sprouted tears. The man’s hands stung worse than her mother’s ever had.
Tilo kicked and punched and pushed and tried to break free from the man’s hand as he dragged her towards a room in the inside of the house…
– x – x –
‘Mother!’
Tilo called out to her Mother who was sitting by the pot of water that was kept in one corner of their house. Mother turned to look at her daughter.
‘That man was not at all nice Mother. Who was he? Why did you leave me with him Mother?’
Tilo’s mother kept staring at Tilo. Suddenly she came up to her and fell at Tilo’s feet. Tilo got confused.
‘Mother! Why are you touching my feet!’
But just as Tilo touched her mother’s arms in order to lift her up, her mother’s body broke out into a crackling fire. Tilo quickly stepped aside from her Mother, shocked at what she had witnessed. Tilo quickly went to the water-pot and tried to lift it. But she lost balance and the water spilled onto the floor.
The fire died out as mysteriously as it had erupted. Tilo looked around the house, but there was nothing there. No ashes, no sign that only moments ago there had been another individual in the room, as alive and breathing as Tilo. Tilo felt the old lady’s presence and turned around to look at her.
‘What happened? Why didn’t you save Mother like you saved me!’
But the old lady just smiled.
‘I wanted to tell her how you saved me from that man! I wanted to tell her you are not a bad woman!’
‘She wouldn’t believe you Janhavi.’
‘But she would! She was my Mother!’
‘Would you have believed her, if she told you the same?’
Tilo stood still.
‘Everyone has to find me and come to me on their own. No one can be pushed in my direction to seek me. When their hearts seek me out, I shall heed. Till then, I shall wait.’
Tilo did not completely understand what the old lady had said, but she felt a lot calmer anyway.
‘Come.’
Tilo looked at the old lady’s hand, and wondered if she should take it. But somewhere she knew even before she took the hand that the choice had already been made.
Her life had already been changed.
Her path and her destiny were never going to be the same again.
And she was tied to this woman for eternity.
Tilo took the old lady’s hand and they walked out of the house.
Tilo heard the old lady say these lines and realised how much they were true – every word of it was painfully true and relevant to her life. Right from the moment she had been born, all she had been doing was fighting; first as her Mother tried to kill her while she was still in her womb, and then as the people around tried to kill her soul. All she had been doing was fighting – battling to guard her existence; battling to guard her virginity, battling to guard her innocence, battling to exist in a world that was crueller than could be imagined. Every moment a struggle. Every moment a war waged against her one self that wanted to believe in the good in people and her other self that had nothing but eyes that could see the world around her with all its bad and bad.
But when night fell and her Mother had cursed and cursed her and gone off to sleep, Tilo would dare to dream – of a caring Mother, of a clean house, of school; of a normal life and a better world. And it is these few moments every night and the hope they brought that helped Tilo pull through every day.
Until the day she heard the old lady speak – the old lady that she was scared of, but that she loved to hear when she began to speak. The old lady who Tilo saw always in the same clothes and who never smiled. There was something mysterious about the lady. She was not a beggar, and yet people passing her seemed to drop money for her and touch her feet. The lady never touched the money, and never seemed hungry or thirsty. She looked almost ethereal. At some point in the day the lady would start talking – and the stresaaset would go silent; but not because everyone would be listening, but because everyone would just clear the street. They would all disappear, take their children in and go inside their little huts and shut the doors and stay in till dusk. One evening Tilo had wandered off ad returned after the street had cleared and had heard the old lady speak. She had been scared at first and had tried to make her Mother open the door so she could come into the house.
‘Pay for your little excursion! Thousand times I tell you not to wander too far away, but you just don’t listen. The Devil, that’s what you are!’
Tilo had been very scared and had cried and cried till her throat went dry and her eyes and head started to ache. Finally when exhaustion took over and she couldn’t care less if she died or lived, she walked towards the lady and went and sat down in front of her.
The old lady’s eyes were closed, and she appeared as if to be chanting something. She broke out into prose once in a while, and went back to the chanting soon again. But her eyes always remained closed, like she was reciting something from memory. Her slow steady voice almost managed to put Tilo off to sleep when the lady opened her eyes and looked at Tilo. Tilo’s fears returned, but she sat rooted to the pace, stupefied. The old lady kept on looking at her – a constant unblinking stare, and Tilo couldn’t help but stare back into those eyes. How long they sat like that, no one knows. But after quite some time had passed, Tilo felt a hand lift her to her feet rather roughly.
‘Do you want to invoke the wrath of the Devil on the entire village?’
Tilo looked at her Mother, and turned back to look at the old lady. But she was gone.
– x – x –
‘You must take her to him! He is the only one who can save your daughter!’
‘Yes! No one who has ever seen that lady or spoken to her has ever lived to tell about it. But she has. There is something that’s definitely wrong.’
‘Take her to him. He knows just what to do.’
‘He will cure her.’
‘He will save her.’
– x – x –
Several days passed. People continued to drop money at the place where Tilo had seen the old lady sitting, and continued to touch the ground even. But Tilo was confused.
‘Mother, who do they offer the money to, if the old lady is not there anymore?’
But this innocent little question only brought upon another thrashing on Tilo, and she learnt never to ask her Mother about it again.
Several days passed by again. And then several weeks. One day Tilo met the old lady while she had wandered a little too far and away from her house. This time Tilo was not scared of the lady. But the lady, instead of maintaining her distance as always, addressed Tilo directly by her secret name –
‘Janhavi!’
Tilo was so astonished that the old lady knew her secret name that she forgot all her fear and the promise she had made to herself – to treat the old lady as indifferently as she treated her – and curiosity took over and Tilo ended up talking to her. She spent the whole evening talking to the old lady, and the night and it was almost dawn by the time she realised that an entire night had passed by. Tilo felt excited. This was her first night away from her home, and she was still safe and sound.
She had witnessed the good side of the world.
Tilo started meeting the old lady regularly. Her Mother kept on beating her up when she returned home just before sunrise every day.
‘Who is she sending you to?’
‘Who is sending me anywhere Mother?’
Slap.
‘Come on you little witch! Speak up! Where are you hiding all the money?’
‘What money Mother, I don’t understand.’
‘Oh you scoundrel! Just you wait till I get my hands on the money. How long are you going to hide it from me anyway.’
Tilo discussed this with the old lady one evening.
‘Mother keeps asking me funny questions. She keeps demanding money from me. I don’t understand.’
But the old lady just smiled.
One evening Mother caught hold of Tilo just as she was about to slip off to meet the old lady.
‘Not so easy darling. Today you shall go to who I tell you to go to.’
Mother gave Tilo a clean set of clothes to wear. She combed her hair and braided them. Tilo got confused, but was still happy. Her Mother today seemed like the one from the story they told at the school that Tilo liked to listen to secretly. Before mother and daughter stepped out of the house, Tilo hugged her Mother.
‘I love you Mother!’
Little did she know what lay in front of her, what her Mother had planned for her. But in spite of all that she had to go through each day, Tilo’s heart was pure, and it knew only to love.
They reached in front of a big house after some walking. Mother picked Tilo up in her arms and knocked on the front door. A big man answered the door.
‘At last.’
Mother gave Tilo into the arms of the man. The man reached inside his pocket and pulled out a thick wad of money and handed it to Tilo’s mother.
Tilo looked upon the transaction and turned to her mother –
‘So he had the money! But who is this man? Is it Father?’
Mother looked for a moment at Tilo’s face. She realised she was going to burst out crying. She quickly turned on her heel and began to walk away as fast as she could.
Tilo called out to her Mother to wait. Tilo felt really sad – how unfortunate that on the very day that she had seen a side of Mother she didn’t knew existed, Mother had also abandoned her and left her to the mercy of a strange big and scary man. Tilo looked at the man.
‘I am hungry Father.’
The man slapped Tilo across her face. Tilo’s eyes instantly sprouted tears. The man’s hands stung worse than her mother’s ever had.
Tilo kicked and punched and pushed and tried to break free from the man’s hand as he dragged her towards a room in the inside of the house…
– x – x –
‘Mother!’
Tilo called out to her Mother who was sitting by the pot of water that was kept in one corner of their house. Mother turned to look at her daughter.
‘That man was not at all nice Mother. Who was he? Why did you leave me with him Mother?’
Tilo’s mother kept staring at Tilo. Suddenly she came up to her and fell at Tilo’s feet. Tilo got confused.
‘Mother! Why are you touching my feet!’
But just as Tilo touched her mother’s arms in order to lift her up, her mother’s body broke out into a crackling fire. Tilo quickly stepped aside from her Mother, shocked at what she had witnessed. Tilo quickly went to the water-pot and tried to lift it. But she lost balance and the water spilled onto the floor.
The fire died out as mysteriously as it had erupted. Tilo looked around the house, but there was nothing there. No ashes, no sign that only moments ago there had been another individual in the room, as alive and breathing as Tilo. Tilo felt the old lady’s presence and turned around to look at her.
‘What happened? Why didn’t you save Mother like you saved me!’
But the old lady just smiled.
‘I wanted to tell her how you saved me from that man! I wanted to tell her you are not a bad woman!’
‘She wouldn’t believe you Janhavi.’
‘But she would! She was my Mother!’
‘Would you have believed her, if she told you the same?’
Tilo stood still.
‘Everyone has to find me and come to me on their own. No one can be pushed in my direction to seek me. When their hearts seek me out, I shall heed. Till then, I shall wait.’
Tilo did not completely understand what the old lady had said, but she felt a lot calmer anyway.
‘Come.’
Tilo looked at the old lady’s hand, and wondered if she should take it. But somewhere she knew even before she took the hand that the choice had already been made.
Her life had already been changed.
Her path and her destiny were never going to be the same again.
And she was tied to this woman for eternity.
Tilo took the old lady’s hand and they walked out of the house.
Monday, July 19, 2010
MUNGFALI
It didn’t feel anything like coming home.
I was quite upset with Dad for not getting our new house ready by the time I had to leave the city. But it had been for a totally different reason. Having found my love in a new city where I had gone for an assignment, I was sure I wanted to get married to him, and as early as I can. And as if I had a premonition about the whole thing earlier, I used to keep hurrying Dad to get our new house ready so that we could shift into it as soon as possible, and I would get to enjoy it for at least a while – the balcony in my proposed room, the huge terrace. I had spent nights dreaming of all the barbecue parties I would throw on the terrace when the family got together, and all the sleepovers I would invite my friends to.
But none of this ever happened.
And now here I was, back from my assignment after a period of six months, and I had no clue what to expect from this new place I was going to call home, even if it was for a short while till I got married to my love.
I got out of the car and a smiling Balu greeted me.
‘Ya ya tai…’ (Come come!) he said, as he hurried and came forward to remove my bags from the dickey of the car.
‘Kasa ahes Balu?’ (How are you Balu?) I asked him. He just smiled in response. Balu had been with us for almost 10 years now.
I got into the elevator along with Mom and Dad. And soon we were right outside our house, and then inside the new apartment.
I admit, the new house was very beautiful, much more spacious, and didn’t look like a dumpyard like our last one had looked.
But I just didn’t feel right.
I went into my room. Mom and Dad eagerly tagged behind me, to get my first expression I guess, on seeing my new room and all. It was just like I had wished it to be. But it still didn’t feel right. All the old belonging that I had wanted to keep were there in the room – an old dressing table, my favourite soft toy, my first quilt, the study table and the photo-frame I used to keep on it. And even the new things – right from curtains to the lamp shade, to the new phone connection in my room – were in the place and just as I wanted them to be.
But it didn’t feel right. Didn’t feel like home.
I immediately wanted to turn around and say to Dad – something’s missing. But I saw the look of expectation and anticipation on my parents’ faces, and I lied. They had taken immense pains to make up for not getting the new house ready in time – every minute detail of my room, even stuff I had forgotten I had ever mentioned/asked for was there and had been taken care of. I smiled my best false smile and said –
‘This is beautiful, I love it!’
Mom came forward and hugged me.
‘I am so glad you liked it! Dad has put in a lot of efforts to get it ready!’ mom disclosed finally; and I was glad I had lied.
For many days after that I tried to grasp that which seemed to have gotten lost as we had shifted just few blocks down the road. I tried to find that sense of familiarity, that feeling of belongingness, of comfort. The feeling of home. But I failed everyday. I just couldn’t I kept missing and wishing for my old room, my old house – the house that felt like home. Even with all the matched curtains and sofa sets and the complementary furniture and everything, it still felt like somebody else’s house. I tried to feel what Mom felt when she talked about our new house with her friends, but I couldn’t.
And then one day I woke to the smell of Mungfali’s at my bed-side.
That smoke that rises from fresh mungfali’s after they have been just roasted on coal – it is my most favourite smell in the world. It is the smell of my childhood.
I sat up on the bed, rubbing my eyes and smiled lazily at the same old wicker basket in which Mom used to remove the mungfalis after they had been roasted, and covered them with a thin cotton cloth, to retain the smoke in it just a little longer. I couldn’t possibly count the scores of mornings when I had woken up to that smell by my bed side.
I picked up the basket and came out in the drawing room. I went and sat in the balcony, on the swing, holding the basket between my legs and looked at the first colours of the morning being splashed across the sky. I didn’t even realize when Dad came and stood behind me. All I can say is, he had been standing and observing me for quite a while – because when I happened to look at him, he had the sweetest smile on his face. I pulled my legs together and made room for him to come and sit on the swing next to me.
He came and sat down and put his arm around me and said –
‘Welcome home Mau…’
And suddenly it felt like I had finally come back home again.
I was quite upset with Dad for not getting our new house ready by the time I had to leave the city. But it had been for a totally different reason. Having found my love in a new city where I had gone for an assignment, I was sure I wanted to get married to him, and as early as I can. And as if I had a premonition about the whole thing earlier, I used to keep hurrying Dad to get our new house ready so that we could shift into it as soon as possible, and I would get to enjoy it for at least a while – the balcony in my proposed room, the huge terrace. I had spent nights dreaming of all the barbecue parties I would throw on the terrace when the family got together, and all the sleepovers I would invite my friends to.
But none of this ever happened.
And now here I was, back from my assignment after a period of six months, and I had no clue what to expect from this new place I was going to call home, even if it was for a short while till I got married to my love.
I got out of the car and a smiling Balu greeted me.
‘Ya ya tai…’ (Come come!) he said, as he hurried and came forward to remove my bags from the dickey of the car.
‘Kasa ahes Balu?’ (How are you Balu?) I asked him. He just smiled in response. Balu had been with us for almost 10 years now.
I got into the elevator along with Mom and Dad. And soon we were right outside our house, and then inside the new apartment.
I admit, the new house was very beautiful, much more spacious, and didn’t look like a dumpyard like our last one had looked.
But I just didn’t feel right.
I went into my room. Mom and Dad eagerly tagged behind me, to get my first expression I guess, on seeing my new room and all. It was just like I had wished it to be. But it still didn’t feel right. All the old belonging that I had wanted to keep were there in the room – an old dressing table, my favourite soft toy, my first quilt, the study table and the photo-frame I used to keep on it. And even the new things – right from curtains to the lamp shade, to the new phone connection in my room – were in the place and just as I wanted them to be.
But it didn’t feel right. Didn’t feel like home.
I immediately wanted to turn around and say to Dad – something’s missing. But I saw the look of expectation and anticipation on my parents’ faces, and I lied. They had taken immense pains to make up for not getting the new house ready in time – every minute detail of my room, even stuff I had forgotten I had ever mentioned/asked for was there and had been taken care of. I smiled my best false smile and said –
‘This is beautiful, I love it!’
Mom came forward and hugged me.
‘I am so glad you liked it! Dad has put in a lot of efforts to get it ready!’ mom disclosed finally; and I was glad I had lied.
For many days after that I tried to grasp that which seemed to have gotten lost as we had shifted just few blocks down the road. I tried to find that sense of familiarity, that feeling of belongingness, of comfort. The feeling of home. But I failed everyday. I just couldn’t I kept missing and wishing for my old room, my old house – the house that felt like home. Even with all the matched curtains and sofa sets and the complementary furniture and everything, it still felt like somebody else’s house. I tried to feel what Mom felt when she talked about our new house with her friends, but I couldn’t.
And then one day I woke to the smell of Mungfali’s at my bed-side.
That smoke that rises from fresh mungfali’s after they have been just roasted on coal – it is my most favourite smell in the world. It is the smell of my childhood.
I sat up on the bed, rubbing my eyes and smiled lazily at the same old wicker basket in which Mom used to remove the mungfalis after they had been roasted, and covered them with a thin cotton cloth, to retain the smoke in it just a little longer. I couldn’t possibly count the scores of mornings when I had woken up to that smell by my bed side.
I picked up the basket and came out in the drawing room. I went and sat in the balcony, on the swing, holding the basket between my legs and looked at the first colours of the morning being splashed across the sky. I didn’t even realize when Dad came and stood behind me. All I can say is, he had been standing and observing me for quite a while – because when I happened to look at him, he had the sweetest smile on his face. I pulled my legs together and made room for him to come and sit on the swing next to me.
He came and sat down and put his arm around me and said –
‘Welcome home Mau…’
And suddenly it felt like I had finally come back home again.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
ESSENCE OF EX-ES
‘so…’
‘no Sojwala is not here…’
‘oh come on…’
‘no yar… we just got back na… I don’t want to go anywhere now…’
‘ok the beer’s getting to you…’
‘come on!’
‘what come on! You were the one who said you don’t want to go anywhere!’
‘I know, m just sayin we’ll go chat in my room… mom, dad, bro are not used to this kinda stuff…’
‘why they never had a best friend?’
‘maybe they did. I dunno… we never talked…’
‘my god! How have you been managing to keep mum past 20 years!’
‘it wouldn’t be so difficult for anyone you know, if they had my family.’
‘oh well, to each his own…’
‘her own, you mean…’
‘are you sure? Why does it have to be ‘his’ or ‘her’ all the time?’
‘yeah like we don’t know ‘they’ exist too…’
‘god is the beer getting the better of us or what…’
‘how would god know?’
‘god knows…’
‘no he doesn’t! he wasn’t there lifting up his glass n saying cheers to us!’
‘oh he was… didn’t you see mutthu?’
‘oh mutthu darling… don’t you remind me of that devil…’
‘and his devilicious smile…’
‘MUTTHU! MARRY ME!’
‘oh he might just say yes…’
‘is he single?’
‘oh yes…’
‘you bitch! Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘cos then you’d go be the bitch right there and then!’
‘n what is wrong with that?’
‘nothing really…’
‘give me your mobile.’
‘I don’t have his number…’
‘n you call yourself my best friend! You can’t even hook me up!’
‘whatever…’
‘god… I can’t stop thinking of him…’
‘hmm I can’t stop thinking of him too…’
‘lay off woman! He is mine…’
‘sure…’
‘oh by the way… give me the bill, we need to split it.’
‘gosh! The beer was on the house!’
‘now you are really drunk darling…’
‘you know…’
‘yeah I do.’
‘what?’
‘a lot of things…’
‘go on… tell me one…’
‘I know you are my best friend…’
(Kissing sound)
‘yeah… ever the bitches, aren’t we…’
(Laughter)
‘you know, I know something too…’
‘what?’
‘we’re drunk and talking shit.’
‘oh no we are not!’
‘come on! Of course we are drunk!’
‘yeah we are, but we are not talking shit…’
‘prove it…’
‘well, sameer does really not love me… its true.’
(Silence)
‘and I don’t love him either.’
‘oh now you are talking shit.’
‘no.’
(Silence)
‘well good for you then…’
‘now you are talking shit. This isn’t good for me… its not. In fact it’s a total 100% complete the opposite of good for me.’
(Silence)
‘well you know… that is actually feeling good.’
‘what? Talking shit?’
‘no. accepting it.’
‘shit.’
‘what?’
‘you are losing the whole essence of our evening…’
‘what essence?’
‘getting drunk… talking shit about our ex-es…’
‘well we are, aren’t we?’
‘we are?’
‘yes.’
‘how? Enlighten me!’
‘aren’t they in deep shit that they’re our ‘ex-es’ already?’
(Laughter)
‘yeah…maybe you’re right.’
‘I’m always right!’
(More laughter… and ribaldry of course…)
‘no Sojwala is not here…’
‘oh come on…’
‘no yar… we just got back na… I don’t want to go anywhere now…’
‘ok the beer’s getting to you…’
‘come on!’
‘what come on! You were the one who said you don’t want to go anywhere!’
‘I know, m just sayin we’ll go chat in my room… mom, dad, bro are not used to this kinda stuff…’
‘why they never had a best friend?’
‘maybe they did. I dunno… we never talked…’
‘my god! How have you been managing to keep mum past 20 years!’
‘it wouldn’t be so difficult for anyone you know, if they had my family.’
‘oh well, to each his own…’
‘her own, you mean…’
‘are you sure? Why does it have to be ‘his’ or ‘her’ all the time?’
‘yeah like we don’t know ‘they’ exist too…’
‘god is the beer getting the better of us or what…’
‘how would god know?’
‘god knows…’
‘no he doesn’t! he wasn’t there lifting up his glass n saying cheers to us!’
‘oh he was… didn’t you see mutthu?’
‘oh mutthu darling… don’t you remind me of that devil…’
‘and his devilicious smile…’
‘MUTTHU! MARRY ME!’
‘oh he might just say yes…’
‘is he single?’
‘oh yes…’
‘you bitch! Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘cos then you’d go be the bitch right there and then!’
‘n what is wrong with that?’
‘nothing really…’
‘give me your mobile.’
‘I don’t have his number…’
‘n you call yourself my best friend! You can’t even hook me up!’
‘whatever…’
‘god… I can’t stop thinking of him…’
‘hmm I can’t stop thinking of him too…’
‘lay off woman! He is mine…’
‘sure…’
‘oh by the way… give me the bill, we need to split it.’
‘gosh! The beer was on the house!’
‘now you are really drunk darling…’
‘you know…’
‘yeah I do.’
‘what?’
‘a lot of things…’
‘go on… tell me one…’
‘I know you are my best friend…’
(Kissing sound)
‘yeah… ever the bitches, aren’t we…’
(Laughter)
‘you know, I know something too…’
‘what?’
‘we’re drunk and talking shit.’
‘oh no we are not!’
‘come on! Of course we are drunk!’
‘yeah we are, but we are not talking shit…’
‘prove it…’
‘well, sameer does really not love me… its true.’
(Silence)
‘and I don’t love him either.’
‘oh now you are talking shit.’
‘no.’
(Silence)
‘well good for you then…’
‘now you are talking shit. This isn’t good for me… its not. In fact it’s a total 100% complete the opposite of good for me.’
(Silence)
‘well you know… that is actually feeling good.’
‘what? Talking shit?’
‘no. accepting it.’
‘shit.’
‘what?’
‘you are losing the whole essence of our evening…’
‘what essence?’
‘getting drunk… talking shit about our ex-es…’
‘well we are, aren’t we?’
‘we are?’
‘yes.’
‘how? Enlighten me!’
‘aren’t they in deep shit that they’re our ‘ex-es’ already?’
(Laughter)
‘yeah…maybe you’re right.’
‘I’m always right!’
(More laughter… and ribaldry of course…)
Friday, April 24, 2009
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...
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...
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
ITI
There was once a scene I randomly came across in a daily soap on TV. The girl’s face was new, and for a change she looked sensible. I paused momentarily. The girl was reading a letter. From her father. A sentence in the letter kind of stayed with me for a long time… ‘There is no one in the world who hasn’t at least once felt like ending it all and taking his/her life.’ I pondered over it for quite some time, and it led to me filling up over six pages of my personal diary.
But I couldn’t recall any of those pages.
All I could recall that moment was that line I had randomly heard that day.
There is no one in this world who hasn’t at least once felt like ending it all…
I looked at the white hills around me. I took a deep breath in. One among my last few ones. I felt the cold air pass through my nose and into my lungs. It filled my lungs. The cold was getting to my bones. I could feel it. I looked up at the sky.
I threw my shirt off.
My upper body was bare.
I began climbing again. My mind clogged with thoughts for a few moments, and then cleared into an emptiness that I never thought I was capable of feeling… just like the clouds were clearing from time to time to reveal a plain, blue-grey, empty sky. With no airplanes. No birds. No eagles even, when it is known they ‘fly above the clouds’. But then I realized.
I was above the world.
Just like I had once been.
But this time, I was really above the world. Up and above. Where no one could reach me. Or find me.
Up and above the hypocrites.
Up and above people.
Beyond the reach of mom and dad.
Beyond the reach of anyone.
It felt amazing.
My pace quickened. I was almost jogging up now, the stones cutting at the bare sole of my feet. The blood caked around my toes almost as quickly as it started flowing. It froze, and the red crystals fell off my feet and crushed beneath them as I broke off into a splint___ or as close to a splint as my condition could allow me. No clothes on, except my thin track-pant. No shirt, no shoes. Nothing. Except the cold cold wind blowing across my entire body, determined to throw me off my feet. To bend me. Break me. And I determined not to be broken.
Not to be broken before I decided.
Before I chose to break.
I felt small drops of water freeze over my body and melt___ for surely I couldn’t possibly sweat in these conditions. Even with all the running. I possibly couldn’t. You don’t sweat topless and in below freezing temperatures. The wind was cruelly cold. It stung my bare body, as I ran against it.
I ran like my life depended on it.
Ha.
How far the truth was from this thought. This stupid stupid thought that had entered my mind.
Even in these final moments, I hadn’t given up being stupid.
Stupid.
Fucking stupid.
But no more now. It was all going to end. Shortly.
I had reached the highest point I could. I looked around me and took in the earthly beauty, as an unearthly calmness settled over me. My breathing grew steady. I wasn’t feeling cold anymore.
I looked up at the sky. It was blank. Empty. Just like my mind, at that instance.
I looked down, into the valley.
My final resting abode.
I looked up at the sky again.
I saw her face.
The only truth of my life… which had ceased to exist… which stole away from me any reason to live.
I closed my eyes.
I spread my arms.
I am coming…
I jumped.
But I couldn’t recall any of those pages.
All I could recall that moment was that line I had randomly heard that day.
There is no one in this world who hasn’t at least once felt like ending it all…
I looked at the white hills around me. I took a deep breath in. One among my last few ones. I felt the cold air pass through my nose and into my lungs. It filled my lungs. The cold was getting to my bones. I could feel it. I looked up at the sky.
I threw my shirt off.
My upper body was bare.
I began climbing again. My mind clogged with thoughts for a few moments, and then cleared into an emptiness that I never thought I was capable of feeling… just like the clouds were clearing from time to time to reveal a plain, blue-grey, empty sky. With no airplanes. No birds. No eagles even, when it is known they ‘fly above the clouds’. But then I realized.
I was above the world.
Just like I had once been.
But this time, I was really above the world. Up and above. Where no one could reach me. Or find me.
Up and above the hypocrites.
Up and above people.
Beyond the reach of mom and dad.
Beyond the reach of anyone.
It felt amazing.
My pace quickened. I was almost jogging up now, the stones cutting at the bare sole of my feet. The blood caked around my toes almost as quickly as it started flowing. It froze, and the red crystals fell off my feet and crushed beneath them as I broke off into a splint___ or as close to a splint as my condition could allow me. No clothes on, except my thin track-pant. No shirt, no shoes. Nothing. Except the cold cold wind blowing across my entire body, determined to throw me off my feet. To bend me. Break me. And I determined not to be broken.
Not to be broken before I decided.
Before I chose to break.
I felt small drops of water freeze over my body and melt___ for surely I couldn’t possibly sweat in these conditions. Even with all the running. I possibly couldn’t. You don’t sweat topless and in below freezing temperatures. The wind was cruelly cold. It stung my bare body, as I ran against it.
I ran like my life depended on it.
Ha.
How far the truth was from this thought. This stupid stupid thought that had entered my mind.
Even in these final moments, I hadn’t given up being stupid.
Stupid.
Fucking stupid.
But no more now. It was all going to end. Shortly.
I had reached the highest point I could. I looked around me and took in the earthly beauty, as an unearthly calmness settled over me. My breathing grew steady. I wasn’t feeling cold anymore.
I looked up at the sky. It was blank. Empty. Just like my mind, at that instance.
I looked down, into the valley.
My final resting abode.
I looked up at the sky again.
I saw her face.
The only truth of my life… which had ceased to exist… which stole away from me any reason to live.
I closed my eyes.
I spread my arms.
I am coming…
I jumped.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
THE WEDDING
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..."
‘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..."
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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