I don’t usually like to comment on the society and it ways, mostly because I am not eligible and partly because after all, we are all hypocrites aren't we?
But the events that happened the day before yesterday inside a LAW college campus and just behind the High court of the state, made me loosen up on my notepad ethics.
The scene:
Almost all the local cable channels played the gruesome reel a thousand times that night, of a group of armed students beating the life out of two people. The events are being video graphed amidst the presence of a decent police turnout, media and the locals. The arms included sticks, Iron rods, tube lights, a knife and a shovel. It was a LAW college which is behind the state's highest judicial office. The people who brandished sticks and rods were students, people in early 20s.
There have been hues and cries over the past two days of politicians, media and the students themselves of the failure in the system and of the police to take charge of the situation. For a while I even thought they were right, but for starters it was not just the police that were witness to the event. Come to think of it, even if the police were muted, where is the human in the students? And the last time the police went in to a college for riot control there were the same hues and cries of police over handedness.
So where was the real problem? With the police watching muted? The principal of the college not taking enough steps to curb the rivalry? With the media video taping it?
where did they get the knives, crowbars from ? what are they doing in student's hands? what was the issue that led to this merciless carnage? Are they even students ? if they are is it a law school ? too many questions, too little answers, too many rumours.
A few incidents that I have been in myself…
When I was at college and a brawl started, I was kicked twice in my knees for trying to push away the rivals.
This one time I turned in to a small road on my bike, there were three 20 some things standing in the middle of the road, my repeated horns doing nothing to them. Obviously drunk all three of them wanted to pick up a fight, they almost had me telling me my friend mouthed filth and in the local language. My friend was from another state and he rarely spoke my language.
Yet another place yet another day, this 20 something slapped a petite 20 something because he came in the way of his bike. And that was not all; the petite was actually calling his friends on his mobile to push it further.
Why do we use hands more than we use the mouth? Where is the whole meaning of being HUMAN? What do we even get out this petty bullying and being the boss? Why isn’t life precious to every one?
Imagine getting beaten up by at least 10 people with iron rods and pipes, the bastards even targeted the scalp. I had a head ache just watching the video for a while, my room mates cringed every time the guy was getting hit and I can't fathom children and women watching it. To their credit the two students getting hit did not go down easily either, they had long knives in hands and slashed them hard before they went down fighting.
Even if the rivalry was that worse, how would you even want to hurt some one mercilessly? Accidentally knocking on to a wooden cot takes the breath out of me and the gang went about smashing the two students with Iron bars even as they lay immobile, lifeless to even cry out of pain. And the best part, the day after in a few other law colleges in the state, students ransacked the college for reasons their Gods wouldn't know.
The students beaten up lie in hospitals bandaged all over, of crushed bones, innumerous cuts and a very uncertain future.
If the police weren't acting what was the media doing? Videotaping for the TRPs? What were the numerous locals doing? Watching it first hand? What were the other 'sensible' students doing? Worried about their future?
To me it seems like it wasn’t the police’s mistake, it wasn’t the now suspended Principal’s mistake, it wasn’t the Media’s problem and neither was it the locals’ concern.
It was the bloody animals themselves and in the world that we now live in there is little that can be done… Because when one world is talking of recession, economy, liquidity, health care, poverty, AIDS, LHC and the Moon, the other world is busy mooting terrorism, hatred, violence and crime.
"Theethum nanrum pirar thara vaara"
You are the good and the bad that happens to you..
Lead kindly light
"Lead, kindly Light, amid th'encircling gloom,
lead thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home;
lead thou me on!
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
the distant scene; one step enough for me."
This beautiful song / hymn was always sung / played at my school farewell dinner, dinners for the passing out batch.
The dinner was an exotic multi-course, British style dinner. Appetizers, white bread, fish, soup, custard and sometimes Ice-cream, the menu had it all.
The dinner was followed by a traditional lighting of candles. The lights at the dining hall would be put out and each member of the staff would light candles held by the students of the passing out batch, who would then move on to light the candles of next batch.
This was when the song would be sung and the young men who traditionally scare the shit out of their juniors, would move around getting their candles lit and light other candles, crying. After all it was seven whole years at a residential school.
And outside the dining hall, in another one of those traditions the students of passing out batch would be tossed up the air, by their favorite juniors. It was my favorite part; I always wanted to be tossed up in the air.
I think I was in tears in my first year at school. Guess it’s the song, or because everyone around you is crying. I soon grew out of it, probably because I was in the choir that sang the song once and soon afterward I was in the school band playing trumpet, we played Lead Kindly Light and Auld Lang Syne repeatedly through the dinner and the ceremony afterward.
It was soon my farewell, I hadn't shed a tear in a long time nor had I helped toss anyone in the air. I was late for the dinner, I had no blazer one me as is the tradition and I had no place in the pool with my friends and had to take one of the normal tables. I sat at the table of my favorite teacher.
When I walked out of the dining hall after the ceremony, almost all of my friends were being tossed up; leaders, sportsmen, geeks, painters, dancers, gymnasts every one of them. For all that I was, I knew I had no favorite juniors but I stood there for a long time, before I decided to walk.
A small boy pushed himself through the crowd towards me, I think I had seen him somewhere, I mean like spoken to him or something, sometime, because I rarely did.
He gave me a small packet and told me I had always been an inspiration to him, he told me I taught him play the Bugle and the trumpet. I did not remember a moment, it had been years. He also told me he and his friends loved watching me talk on the stage. Was he lying? Because I had been like precisely three times on the stage for an oration in all seven years; but believing him made me feel good.
We walked to the where the band was, they were winding up. Almost all of them walked up to me to wish me luck. Though I had forgotten most of the notes, we played Lead kindly light for one last time, with the band.
That night I walked to the hostel with my arm around my new friend.
I think I knew what was it like being tossed up in the air, though it was by just one little boy.
lead thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home;
lead thou me on!
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
the distant scene; one step enough for me."
This beautiful song / hymn was always sung / played at my school farewell dinner, dinners for the passing out batch.
The dinner was an exotic multi-course, British style dinner. Appetizers, white bread, fish, soup, custard and sometimes Ice-cream, the menu had it all.
The dinner was followed by a traditional lighting of candles. The lights at the dining hall would be put out and each member of the staff would light candles held by the students of the passing out batch, who would then move on to light the candles of next batch.
This was when the song would be sung and the young men who traditionally scare the shit out of their juniors, would move around getting their candles lit and light other candles, crying. After all it was seven whole years at a residential school.
And outside the dining hall, in another one of those traditions the students of passing out batch would be tossed up the air, by their favorite juniors. It was my favorite part; I always wanted to be tossed up in the air.
I think I was in tears in my first year at school. Guess it’s the song, or because everyone around you is crying. I soon grew out of it, probably because I was in the choir that sang the song once and soon afterward I was in the school band playing trumpet, we played Lead Kindly Light and Auld Lang Syne repeatedly through the dinner and the ceremony afterward.
It was soon my farewell, I hadn't shed a tear in a long time nor had I helped toss anyone in the air. I was late for the dinner, I had no blazer one me as is the tradition and I had no place in the pool with my friends and had to take one of the normal tables. I sat at the table of my favorite teacher.
When I walked out of the dining hall after the ceremony, almost all of my friends were being tossed up; leaders, sportsmen, geeks, painters, dancers, gymnasts every one of them. For all that I was, I knew I had no favorite juniors but I stood there for a long time, before I decided to walk.
A small boy pushed himself through the crowd towards me, I think I had seen him somewhere, I mean like spoken to him or something, sometime, because I rarely did.
He gave me a small packet and told me I had always been an inspiration to him, he told me I taught him play the Bugle and the trumpet. I did not remember a moment, it had been years. He also told me he and his friends loved watching me talk on the stage. Was he lying? Because I had been like precisely three times on the stage for an oration in all seven years; but believing him made me feel good.
We walked to the where the band was, they were winding up. Almost all of them walked up to me to wish me luck. Though I had forgotten most of the notes, we played Lead kindly light for one last time, with the band.
That night I walked to the hostel with my arm around my new friend.
I think I knew what was it like being tossed up in the air, though it was by just one little boy.
Lost
I was watching one of Frat pack's first movies 'Old school' till 4.00 am in the morning. One of my old school mates called me in the morning at about 8.00 am, of course much to my annoyance.
I was sitting up right in a few seconds, because one of our friends was missing since he left his room drunk and at 3.45am in the morning. I was worried because his girl friend had ditched him recently and he was using my 2 month old bike.
I skipped my bath but not my breakfast to reach the place where these people actually stayed, a single room in one of the most cramped places in the city. You wouldn’t know if it was day or night if you shut the light out inside the 3m X 3m room.
When I reached the place, I noticed that my bike was missing. I and my friend weren’t even sure of where and what to start and we strolled around the mile long beach. Excited tourists, resting locals, noisy children, lovers in various states of ewww, stray dogs, leashed dogs, a leashed monkey they were all there but not my friend, neither my bike.
After scaling the beach road thrice we decided to walk in to a police station to ask for suggestions. The armed old man who stood at the gates wasn’t even sure if we should report to the law and order division or the crime division. A ‘I never smiled in my life’ guy at the crime division almost shouted us to the Law and order division.
A police man, who did not know what a BPO was wanted us to enquire at 2 more stations around the beach line and three general hospitals in the area. He also showed us one guy who had been picked up from the roadside in the morning, thankfully not our friend.
The next station at the northern end of the beach had little to offer, but the police man at the gates wanted to know what we did for living, how much we earned, where we stayed and so much else for I don’t know what. He was visibly jealous at the salary part of the questionnaire, just like I am when I learn one of my classmate's.
The police station at the southern end had bad news, a 35 year old man had been found dead in the morning near the beach. While one policeman blatantly went ahead with the details sending my friend berserk, the other one was trying to shut him up asking him to go slow on it.
I was left to handle the conversation as my friend was totally upset. They did not know the difference between a T-shirt and a shirt; neither did the report filed have any details about the dress found on the body. My friend did not look 35, he wasn’t wearing black pants, he was not fair, but my heart beats were faster.
At the first hospital the parking lot attendant was keen on his 3 rupees and seemed oblivious of our urgency. A bastard at the mortuary was keen on his 20 rupees before we had a look at the mysterious 35 yr old man. We left the hospital in a state of some unexplainable, uncomfortable relief.
After 5 hours we had our food, and our first glass of water.
The second and third hospitals had had 6 deaths and 4 accident cases from the morning and all of them had been identified. For the people at the hospitals they said it like they were talking of just numbers on the inventory, like bottles, syringes or cots.
The time inside the 'trauma and accident ward' was a real trauma, bleeding men, children bandaged all over, blood splattered on most beds, running doctors, indifferent assistants, I almost had bile up my throat but it was over soon.
We finally filed a formal report at the police station where we had started.
I reached home after 9 hours of a very different Sunday and just after a few minutes my lost friend walked in to my house, still sleepy eyed. He had slept at one of our other friends, some one who we did not try to contact for no reason.
I did not know if I was supposed to shout at him or to be angry at myself. I did neither, but at least I did not forget to get the keys of my bike back.
I was sitting up right in a few seconds, because one of our friends was missing since he left his room drunk and at 3.45am in the morning. I was worried because his girl friend had ditched him recently and he was using my 2 month old bike.
I skipped my bath but not my breakfast to reach the place where these people actually stayed, a single room in one of the most cramped places in the city. You wouldn’t know if it was day or night if you shut the light out inside the 3m X 3m room.
When I reached the place, I noticed that my bike was missing. I and my friend weren’t even sure of where and what to start and we strolled around the mile long beach. Excited tourists, resting locals, noisy children, lovers in various states of ewww, stray dogs, leashed dogs, a leashed monkey they were all there but not my friend, neither my bike.
After scaling the beach road thrice we decided to walk in to a police station to ask for suggestions. The armed old man who stood at the gates wasn’t even sure if we should report to the law and order division or the crime division. A ‘I never smiled in my life’ guy at the crime division almost shouted us to the Law and order division.
A police man, who did not know what a BPO was wanted us to enquire at 2 more stations around the beach line and three general hospitals in the area. He also showed us one guy who had been picked up from the roadside in the morning, thankfully not our friend.
The next station at the northern end of the beach had little to offer, but the police man at the gates wanted to know what we did for living, how much we earned, where we stayed and so much else for I don’t know what. He was visibly jealous at the salary part of the questionnaire, just like I am when I learn one of my classmate's.
The police station at the southern end had bad news, a 35 year old man had been found dead in the morning near the beach. While one policeman blatantly went ahead with the details sending my friend berserk, the other one was trying to shut him up asking him to go slow on it.
I was left to handle the conversation as my friend was totally upset. They did not know the difference between a T-shirt and a shirt; neither did the report filed have any details about the dress found on the body. My friend did not look 35, he wasn’t wearing black pants, he was not fair, but my heart beats were faster.
At the first hospital the parking lot attendant was keen on his 3 rupees and seemed oblivious of our urgency. A bastard at the mortuary was keen on his 20 rupees before we had a look at the mysterious 35 yr old man. We left the hospital in a state of some unexplainable, uncomfortable relief.
After 5 hours we had our food, and our first glass of water.
The second and third hospitals had had 6 deaths and 4 accident cases from the morning and all of them had been identified. For the people at the hospitals they said it like they were talking of just numbers on the inventory, like bottles, syringes or cots.
The time inside the 'trauma and accident ward' was a real trauma, bleeding men, children bandaged all over, blood splattered on most beds, running doctors, indifferent assistants, I almost had bile up my throat but it was over soon.
We finally filed a formal report at the police station where we had started.
I reached home after 9 hours of a very different Sunday and just after a few minutes my lost friend walked in to my house, still sleepy eyed. He had slept at one of our other friends, some one who we did not try to contact for no reason.
I did not know if I was supposed to shout at him or to be angry at myself. I did neither, but at least I did not forget to get the keys of my bike back.
Hotel Paranoia
The following events are not purely the outcome of a restless imaginary mind, but observed and summed real life events of a eerily repeating nature.
The only table that is empty whenever I walk in to this hotel is always beside these two software engineers.
'entra aa ammayiee ela...' geez i forgot to mention, they are almost always from Andhra pradesh.
To my right there’s always this lone woman cajoling and at times scaring her small child to eat. Her make up scares me.
For some reason my idea of an exquisite lunch never lingered far away from butter naans, Gobi Manchurian and rarely Malay kofta and today I opt for naans and Gobi Manchurian.
The stiff faced waiter is taking my orders like I interrupted his life.
In a while they walk in, the newly married couple, the guy is dark as always and sports this translucent white shirt with black pants and a shiny pair of black shoes complete with at least two gold rings on each hand, a gold plated wrist watch, a gold bracelet and a thick gold chain around his neck. The wife, she has this flashy saree on, with a zillion bangles on her hands, a slightly high heeled sandal and at least a kilogram of jewelry around her neck.
Why do all these women carry a small white, blue bordered hanky and keep wiping their mouth all the time? They sit in my watching distance, opposite to each other, the blah blahs go on, the loud and gabby husband and the sweet smiling, shy wife. I wish I see you in a year sweethearts.
Time to welcome the lovers now, dark boot-cut pants, an odd patterned shirt, shoes and the helmet, these Romeos they are all the same. Juliet always has this dull colored salwar on; at least she's better dressed than him, adorns a lot of flowers on her hair and wears high heeled footwear that makes noise on tiled floors. They always sit directly in a table front of me where I cannot miss them, they sit beside each other, like they are travelling in a general compartment of a long distance train.
I can only see them talking, I cannot hear them at all.
Walking, in almost what looks, like in a trot, grandpa enters the hotel impeccably dressed as always. I don’t know what these grampas do so neatly dressed and with shoes on a hot summer after noon and after all these years. Grampa starts to complain as soon as he is in, starting all his sentences with the phrase 'In those days/during those days' and looking at me for approval, what the heck?
My butter naans arrive after almost half an hour, the Gobi doesn’t taste like it tasted during my college days (jeez am i thinking like grampa ?) but they both cost a fortune now.
The software engineers don’t seem to agree on any thing, there’s lot of talk, heated talk.
The new wife's muffed laughter with her husband's 'i run this place' laughter, starts to get on my nerves now. I try to concentrate on my food or the friend in my table I had been ignoring till now.
I can’t help but watch hands clasp under the lovers table, my Beeeauuutiful eyes. Grampa is now on a bout of curd and rice that he seems to enjoy so much, so much to my disgust.
I try to look at my food, they seem to use too much of color on Gobi Manchurian, my stomach starts to hurt, I try to look at my friend, he is busy on his phone and his second naan.
The software engineers are now leaving but not without arguing on who’s paying the bill.
Grampa has cleaned up his plate and his fingers, starts to complain on the air conditioner being too close to the table.
The fruit juice, the lovers had ordered is only half empty and I seem to think they are exchanging glasses, now that’s divine.
The new weds are off to wash hands, holding hands, of course the clean ones..
I have only eaten one butter naan that comes in 2 pieces and I am already done, but I wait for my friend who orders an ice-cream.
The waiter in the brown safari suit is back closing the orders, as my Truman show totters to a close.
As I walkout, grampa smiles at me, the lovers seem to talk about me, the child is crying and the newly weds walk in front of me holding hands..
The only table that is empty whenever I walk in to this hotel is always beside these two software engineers.
'entra aa ammayiee ela...' geez i forgot to mention, they are almost always from Andhra pradesh.
To my right there’s always this lone woman cajoling and at times scaring her small child to eat. Her make up scares me.
For some reason my idea of an exquisite lunch never lingered far away from butter naans, Gobi Manchurian and rarely Malay kofta and today I opt for naans and Gobi Manchurian.
The stiff faced waiter is taking my orders like I interrupted his life.
In a while they walk in, the newly married couple, the guy is dark as always and sports this translucent white shirt with black pants and a shiny pair of black shoes complete with at least two gold rings on each hand, a gold plated wrist watch, a gold bracelet and a thick gold chain around his neck. The wife, she has this flashy saree on, with a zillion bangles on her hands, a slightly high heeled sandal and at least a kilogram of jewelry around her neck.
Why do all these women carry a small white, blue bordered hanky and keep wiping their mouth all the time? They sit in my watching distance, opposite to each other, the blah blahs go on, the loud and gabby husband and the sweet smiling, shy wife. I wish I see you in a year sweethearts.
Time to welcome the lovers now, dark boot-cut pants, an odd patterned shirt, shoes and the helmet, these Romeos they are all the same. Juliet always has this dull colored salwar on; at least she's better dressed than him, adorns a lot of flowers on her hair and wears high heeled footwear that makes noise on tiled floors. They always sit directly in a table front of me where I cannot miss them, they sit beside each other, like they are travelling in a general compartment of a long distance train.
I can only see them talking, I cannot hear them at all.
Walking, in almost what looks, like in a trot, grandpa enters the hotel impeccably dressed as always. I don’t know what these grampas do so neatly dressed and with shoes on a hot summer after noon and after all these years. Grampa starts to complain as soon as he is in, starting all his sentences with the phrase 'In those days/during those days' and looking at me for approval, what the heck?
My butter naans arrive after almost half an hour, the Gobi doesn’t taste like it tasted during my college days (jeez am i thinking like grampa ?) but they both cost a fortune now.
The software engineers don’t seem to agree on any thing, there’s lot of talk, heated talk.
The new wife's muffed laughter with her husband's 'i run this place' laughter, starts to get on my nerves now. I try to concentrate on my food or the friend in my table I had been ignoring till now.
I can’t help but watch hands clasp under the lovers table, my Beeeauuutiful eyes. Grampa is now on a bout of curd and rice that he seems to enjoy so much, so much to my disgust.
I try to look at my food, they seem to use too much of color on Gobi Manchurian, my stomach starts to hurt, I try to look at my friend, he is busy on his phone and his second naan.
The software engineers are now leaving but not without arguing on who’s paying the bill.
Grampa has cleaned up his plate and his fingers, starts to complain on the air conditioner being too close to the table.
The fruit juice, the lovers had ordered is only half empty and I seem to think they are exchanging glasses, now that’s divine.
The new weds are off to wash hands, holding hands, of course the clean ones..
I have only eaten one butter naan that comes in 2 pieces and I am already done, but I wait for my friend who orders an ice-cream.
The waiter in the brown safari suit is back closing the orders, as my Truman show totters to a close.
As I walkout, grampa smiles at me, the lovers seem to talk about me, the child is crying and the newly weds walk in front of me holding hands..
Dream
It was a seven year old dream and dad and mom had lived it more than I had, mostly because of the turmoil my family had to go through to sustain my dream. The armed forces, The Indian Navy to be specific, was my dream.
Looking up to seniors, pictures in white uniforms borrowed from my NCC instructor, the ship modeling club, posters of warships around my small cubicle, course material starting from my eighth grade, mental and physical exercises through the day, my dreams were splattered all over my seven year school life.
Making through the exams was simple, I knew I had it coming before I even completed my exams. We also knew the interview was where the real tests lay.
For the interview, I was with these four friends of mine. Three of them were proven leaders even at school, the fourth one was a geek and quite simply, I was the dumb guy.
The interview is a tedious and lengthy process involving a strange mix of tests that goes on for 5-6 days.
On the first day, before even I was at the gates, my dad was at the gates, they wouldn’t let him in, and he was in front of the gates unmindful of the summer morning and of course better dressed than I was.
We had a screening test very soon and the only thing I remember about that was that the lady who conducted it. She had a beautiful aura about her, her presence brought serenity to the place so much so even the people who had failed to clear the preliminaries had a smile when they left. My geek friend was also smiling as we bid him good bye.
My father who was now allowed and inside the compound was brimming with pride, wishing all of us in tandem and kissing my hands which is his signature of love.
I was given a chest number, it read '4', I was elated when my mother told me it was my lucky number over the phone.
I managed a fair run at the physical tests; I knew it because I beat one of my three friends on the course. Group tasks were a little hazy in the beginning, but I soon came to terms and before I could lift a log the game was over.
The group discussion irked me the most, because another language (which I did not know) was also allowed, some took to it and I fell out of the discussion. Though I managed to make a few points before the discussion was over, it seemed to do nothing to change the still face of the observer.
I almost thought I had made an impression in the personal interview until I tried to bluff an answer.
My dad was there almost every morning, smiling as always, and kissing my hand as always, sometimes to my embarrassment.
The results were put off for the last day and I did not sleep for long that night, I knew my father was also staring at the skies through the night.
I had a slight shiver in my body hours before we were at the hall where the results would be announced. My dad was of course there at his now familiar table near the giant gates.
The moment came, the results were read, it read 1,2,3,5,7,8.... all my friends had cleared and the whole place seemed to be celebrating, oblivious to the fact that some of us were sitting broken and probably crying.
My worry at that moment was not my shattered 7 year old dream, but my father who was jus a few feet away on the other side of the wall.
When I walked out of the room he probably knew from my face or my excited friends faces, he wished my friends with the same excitement he had the first day.
He kissed my hands just as he had on the first day, he still said nothing.
But I knew he needed one of his pills for his chest pain, I knew I had to call mom, tell my sister, my brothers... I only did not know how...
Looking up to seniors, pictures in white uniforms borrowed from my NCC instructor, the ship modeling club, posters of warships around my small cubicle, course material starting from my eighth grade, mental and physical exercises through the day, my dreams were splattered all over my seven year school life.
Making through the exams was simple, I knew I had it coming before I even completed my exams. We also knew the interview was where the real tests lay.
For the interview, I was with these four friends of mine. Three of them were proven leaders even at school, the fourth one was a geek and quite simply, I was the dumb guy.
The interview is a tedious and lengthy process involving a strange mix of tests that goes on for 5-6 days.
On the first day, before even I was at the gates, my dad was at the gates, they wouldn’t let him in, and he was in front of the gates unmindful of the summer morning and of course better dressed than I was.
We had a screening test very soon and the only thing I remember about that was that the lady who conducted it. She had a beautiful aura about her, her presence brought serenity to the place so much so even the people who had failed to clear the preliminaries had a smile when they left. My geek friend was also smiling as we bid him good bye.
My father who was now allowed and inside the compound was brimming with pride, wishing all of us in tandem and kissing my hands which is his signature of love.
I was given a chest number, it read '4', I was elated when my mother told me it was my lucky number over the phone.
I managed a fair run at the physical tests; I knew it because I beat one of my three friends on the course. Group tasks were a little hazy in the beginning, but I soon came to terms and before I could lift a log the game was over.
The group discussion irked me the most, because another language (which I did not know) was also allowed, some took to it and I fell out of the discussion. Though I managed to make a few points before the discussion was over, it seemed to do nothing to change the still face of the observer.
I almost thought I had made an impression in the personal interview until I tried to bluff an answer.
My dad was there almost every morning, smiling as always, and kissing my hand as always, sometimes to my embarrassment.
The results were put off for the last day and I did not sleep for long that night, I knew my father was also staring at the skies through the night.
I had a slight shiver in my body hours before we were at the hall where the results would be announced. My dad was of course there at his now familiar table near the giant gates.
The moment came, the results were read, it read 1,2,3,5,7,8.... all my friends had cleared and the whole place seemed to be celebrating, oblivious to the fact that some of us were sitting broken and probably crying.
My worry at that moment was not my shattered 7 year old dream, but my father who was jus a few feet away on the other side of the wall.
When I walked out of the room he probably knew from my face or my excited friends faces, he wished my friends with the same excitement he had the first day.
He kissed my hands just as he had on the first day, he still said nothing.
But I knew he needed one of his pills for his chest pain, I knew I had to call mom, tell my sister, my brothers... I only did not know how...
The butterfly effect ?
Kumar was to be in Chennai the next morning for a seminar, he booked the 6.30 bus and then his boss told him of a conference call with his clients at 6.00 pm.
He made arrangements to leave by the 8.30 bus.
Param slept early that night, mostly because there was no cricket/football match on TV and his brother's kid wanted to watch Jetix.
Vicky slept late because he watched 'Liar Liar' on his PC.
Param woke up at 7.15 am, 15 minutes earlier than usual. Vicky woke up at 8.45 am, 15 minutes later than usual.
I woke up at 8.00 am, too early by my standards and only because kumar wanted me to pick him up from the bus station. I was up and ready by 8.26 something else that wasn't me.
After waiting for a while for 'J', kumar started to walk.
I picked kumar on the way.
I went to buy some breakfast, while kumar got ready for his seminar. It was 9.20 when we finished our breakfast, I had convinced on of my friends to take kumar to the seminar.
Param reached office at 9.21 am, J and Vicky hadn't reached office yet.
Vicky called me at 9.29 and asked me come to a bike service centre to pick him because he was letting his bike for service.
Vicky reached the service centre at 9.50 am; it was a while before they took his bike for inspection.
I reached the service centre at 10.05 am, they were still inspecting Vicky's bike, it was 10.10 when we could leave.
Vicky was little too heavy for me but I rode my bike in spite of him wanting to.
Even as we were on our way a black pulsar overtook me, Vicky was laughing, I think more because my bike was only a month old and he has had one for two years now.
I told him it was a higher capacity vehicle and I was still on 40kmph limits.
And then the woman on a yellow 'sunny' over took us, Vicky was laughing a lot louder so much to my annoyance I pulled up the accelerator.
At 10.15 with no signs of J and Vicky, Param called J on his mobile.
My phone was ringing and I slowed down to stop, the woman on the yellow sunny overtook me again, I stopped to fiddle with my pockets and was at my accelerator again.
We were now on a flyover a few minutes away from office and the bike was now touching 55kmph, I hadn’t driven over this flyover before and the steep turn was having its effects.
With J was not picking up his phone, Param tried Vicky.
I tried to overtake a cab even as the turn was getting sharper on the flyover, another vehicle over took me from my right gently nudging my handle bar.
I felt Vicky bump over me even as we both skid on the tarred road.
Bruised all over my right side, I sat on this small platform on one side of the flyover as countless bikes over took us.
Some stopped to check if we needed help and most just gave us a weird 'Wat the @#$%' look.
Vicky's phone rang, it was Param and it was 10.17 am.
He made arrangements to leave by the 8.30 bus.
Param slept early that night, mostly because there was no cricket/football match on TV and his brother's kid wanted to watch Jetix.
Vicky slept late because he watched 'Liar Liar' on his PC.
Param woke up at 7.15 am, 15 minutes earlier than usual. Vicky woke up at 8.45 am, 15 minutes later than usual.
I woke up at 8.00 am, too early by my standards and only because kumar wanted me to pick him up from the bus station. I was up and ready by 8.26 something else that wasn't me.
After waiting for a while for 'J', kumar started to walk.
I picked kumar on the way.
I went to buy some breakfast, while kumar got ready for his seminar. It was 9.20 when we finished our breakfast, I had convinced on of my friends to take kumar to the seminar.
Param reached office at 9.21 am, J and Vicky hadn't reached office yet.
Vicky called me at 9.29 and asked me come to a bike service centre to pick him because he was letting his bike for service.
Vicky reached the service centre at 9.50 am; it was a while before they took his bike for inspection.
I reached the service centre at 10.05 am, they were still inspecting Vicky's bike, it was 10.10 when we could leave.
Vicky was little too heavy for me but I rode my bike in spite of him wanting to.
Even as we were on our way a black pulsar overtook me, Vicky was laughing, I think more because my bike was only a month old and he has had one for two years now.
I told him it was a higher capacity vehicle and I was still on 40kmph limits.
And then the woman on a yellow 'sunny' over took us, Vicky was laughing a lot louder so much to my annoyance I pulled up the accelerator.
At 10.15 with no signs of J and Vicky, Param called J on his mobile.
My phone was ringing and I slowed down to stop, the woman on the yellow sunny overtook me again, I stopped to fiddle with my pockets and was at my accelerator again.
We were now on a flyover a few minutes away from office and the bike was now touching 55kmph, I hadn’t driven over this flyover before and the steep turn was having its effects.
With J was not picking up his phone, Param tried Vicky.
I tried to overtake a cab even as the turn was getting sharper on the flyover, another vehicle over took me from my right gently nudging my handle bar.
I felt Vicky bump over me even as we both skid on the tarred road.
Bruised all over my right side, I sat on this small platform on one side of the flyover as countless bikes over took us.
Some stopped to check if we needed help and most just gave us a weird 'Wat the @#$%' look.
Vicky's phone rang, it was Param and it was 10.17 am.
Team B
It was my first year at a residential school, I wanted to play cricket; I could not, not that I was incompetent, but that I wasn't out going. People who could talk and who looked big made the team in the sixth grade and only with the help of one of my friends I was the 12th man. I smiled when we lost.
Seventh grade was no better, the big guys still made the hostel team. I tried my hands at everything else, but was scared at hockey, slow at football, small for basketball and volley ball and too bad for tennis. For a while I just roamed around the grounds aimlessly, whiling my mandatory games hours in the evening.
One day I noticed a small number of people playing cricket with a worn out bat, sticks for stumps and a brand new ball on a hand ball court. I thought I almost found my creed, most of them were small and not very built either, and the built ones were the introverts.
We grew in number during the next few months, and since I was one of the founding members, I almost often captained a side everyday.
On one of the first few days of the Eighth grade, one of my little friends suggested making a Team B for every hostel. Faces brightened but making a team of 11 was a mammoth challenge, because the other guys in the hostel did not want to offend the biggies by joining a rebel team.
We managed to make it 9 for the first match between the blues and the reds, some of them playing cricket for the first time. I wouldn't forget that day, not because it was our first match or that we lost but because I lost my first watch, a gift from my father.
Before long we had 11 regulars for the team, sometimes even substitutes and a few ‘A team’ (the hostel team was now known by this name) members who played for their B, though the older bats and the sticks stayed.
Middle school was when we had our best times. After each vacation we managed to get a new bat or a couple of new balls from back home. By the end of Eighth grade almost all the hostels had a 'team B' and I had managed to gain the wrath of almost all of the biggies, because I stood tall and every time.
Personally we managed to strike a chord amongst us that kept us together even away from the grounds.
By the end of high school, the best of the B teams was already playing for their hostels and not surprisingly I was not picked for the hostel team. Many of the reds were playing for the hostel already; it only hurt when they refused to play for the Team B.
At senior school there weren't many people to fill two teams and eventually the B teams died out. In all the while it existed, Red B was arguably the best of the B teams, though the yellows and blues too came good in parts. Through the 3 years we had also played against some of the hostel teams, almost winning a few of them.
I was finally picked for the hostel team during my last year at school; I imagine it was more because of the loss in strength at the hostel than my own capabilities. I had a good share of spoils in the very few matches I played and the best performances were almost always from the once small, shy kids who started with sticks and broken bats on a handball court.
I had reasons to smile even when we lost.
Nanda's
That was a time when we did not have a television in our house and the only household that had a television set in the neighborhood was Nanda’s, I spent almost all of my Sunday evenings there. The next best part was his mom; she always had something to give me whenever I was at their home and I had this privilege to walk in to their kitchen anytime. I was crazy for the ice cold water from their refrigerator something else my house wasn’t to see for a while.
When I left to study from a boarding school, my visits to their house started to dwindle and almost stopped when we could afford a television, a telephone and of course a refrigerator.
This one time when I went home after almost 7 months, I for some reason wanted to go to Nanda's house. The drawing room of their house was not the same, the TV had changed and the sofa was different. Nanda’s mother made me sit on the sofa, it was new and uncomfortable because I always sat on the floor to watch TV and as always she got me my favorite glass of cold water.
Nanda's mother is a sweet woman, she was asking all sorts of questions that friends who had lost touch would, I was eager answering her because I was in a new place, living a new life and I liked boasting about it. In all the while, I couldn’t help noticing a couple of plaited coconut leaves strung vertically up to the ceiling in the room, the other side of which was a moving figure.
Nanda's mother soon left to the kitchen to make me some coffee and I was alone with only the figure behind the leaves and of course the television. I walked over to find Nanda’s cousin Tara busy knitting something. I knew her of course from our child hood days, especially this one time when I climbed up a chimney in front of her for 'god knows what' and was mashed up by my elder brother for 'god knows what'.
I asked her what she was doing and she sheepishly said knitting. I asked her what a coconut leaf was doing in the middle of a house and she only twisted her lips as if to say 'I don’t know'. All my other questions to strike a conversation only evoked single words and body language from her, like I was a stranger.
Nanda's mother was there now holding a steaming cup of coffee, and I should have known she was a little flustered. I came back to the sofa and now Nanda's mother took to single words, for a while I even thought she wanted me to leave and I left very soon unable to apprehend the situation and without finishing the coffee.
I told my mother and my brother's wife of what had happened when I walked home and before I finished they burst out laughing. It was a whole ten minutes before they stopped to laugh and tell me that it was a custom all new women followed for a few days. Tara was not supposed to talk to me, not to any man for that matter.
I did not understand much at that time, but at least that was the last time I ever went to Nanda's house.
When I left to study from a boarding school, my visits to their house started to dwindle and almost stopped when we could afford a television, a telephone and of course a refrigerator.
This one time when I went home after almost 7 months, I for some reason wanted to go to Nanda's house. The drawing room of their house was not the same, the TV had changed and the sofa was different. Nanda’s mother made me sit on the sofa, it was new and uncomfortable because I always sat on the floor to watch TV and as always she got me my favorite glass of cold water.
Nanda's mother is a sweet woman, she was asking all sorts of questions that friends who had lost touch would, I was eager answering her because I was in a new place, living a new life and I liked boasting about it. In all the while, I couldn’t help noticing a couple of plaited coconut leaves strung vertically up to the ceiling in the room, the other side of which was a moving figure.
Nanda's mother soon left to the kitchen to make me some coffee and I was alone with only the figure behind the leaves and of course the television. I walked over to find Nanda’s cousin Tara busy knitting something. I knew her of course from our child hood days, especially this one time when I climbed up a chimney in front of her for 'god knows what' and was mashed up by my elder brother for 'god knows what'.
I asked her what she was doing and she sheepishly said knitting. I asked her what a coconut leaf was doing in the middle of a house and she only twisted her lips as if to say 'I don’t know'. All my other questions to strike a conversation only evoked single words and body language from her, like I was a stranger.
Nanda's mother was there now holding a steaming cup of coffee, and I should have known she was a little flustered. I came back to the sofa and now Nanda's mother took to single words, for a while I even thought she wanted me to leave and I left very soon unable to apprehend the situation and without finishing the coffee.
I told my mother and my brother's wife of what had happened when I walked home and before I finished they burst out laughing. It was a whole ten minutes before they stopped to laugh and tell me that it was a custom all new women followed for a few days. Tara was not supposed to talk to me, not to any man for that matter.
I did not understand much at that time, but at least that was the last time I ever went to Nanda's house.
Wrong number, Mister!
‘This number has been on my phone for a while now, but who’s this?’
I knew it was a girl, I knew her name, what she did and where she was, but I sent her this message like a dumb flirt.
She messaged me back; I almost had a black eye. I forgot about it for a while before calling her again. I must have spoken to at least three or four voices, all of them blasting me like there was no mercy in this world.
Two days later I had a call; one of those four voices spoke to me. She told me her name was Anamika, which I knew was a lie and I told her my name was Kumar which she probably thought was my full name. She was sorry for me, sorry because her friends were rude to me and she did not mean a thing. Protective friends I thought before we spoke for quite a while that day, when we hung up I knew both of us were smiling.
I called her back a day after, this time she wasn't alone, I was hearing her friends talk about ‘these bad boys’ and there was guilt for a few days. I didn't call her and neither did I answer her calls, though there weren't too many of them.
I answered her call that night, more because I was drunk. I told her my name she didn't like it, she told me hers and I confessed I was only a flirt trying to find a friend when I called her. She was angry and was terribly upset, she did not believe people called up strangers to make friends; she hung up, so much for my being truthful.
We did not speak for a week before she called me up.
She had some exam the next day and she just said “wake me up after an hour, okay mister” and hung up. I had a book 'Acts of faith' by Erich Segal in my hands. The next morning when I went to bed, I had finished the book, woken her up six times through the night and it was 6.00 am. She called me in the evening and said "you are a good guy" but added after a pause "sometimes"; I think I loved the book.
The following week, I had a terrible ulcer and I was almost crying in pain when she called me. To this day she doesn't know why she cried that day over the phone. Our calls were more frequent in the days that followed and I bore the brunt because she was still at college and I was working, when I did not call her for a few days, she would call me up only to tell me what a 'miser I was'.
Our birthdays fall a day apart, that year I sent her a box of chocolates and had my drunken friends sing her a happy birthday over the phone and she cried, again but not before she said “thank you beggar”.
I met her two months later at an old fort near her college a place near my home town, wearing a black Tee, she loved black. She was huge, she was not pretty at first sight, she loved chocolates and more importantly she had two of her beautiful protective friends with her. She didn’t like me either I guess, because she said “who do you think you are, the angry young man? Stop frowning at me and.. and drooling at them“.
I took her to my house the next month; in retrospect a bad decision because she loved my parents more than me. She called my father by an actor's name, my father laughs at it to this day; he doesn't laugh much. I noticed she was pretty when she laughed. She frequented my house until she had to leave college.
She went to work a few months later at a hospital in a neighboring state; our calls became less frequent, though we spoke at least once a week. A train I once traveled was passing through her place and she was at the station in the middle of the night smiling; standing besides a frowning, shivering-out-of-cold friend.
Railway stations have since become our only rendezvous, I only saw her every time she left home or when she was at her college to get her papers. She soon left to her home town to live with her parents and work from there, a city in a far northern state.
She still calls me up, when she is angry, when she is scared, when her brother is back from the gulf, when her back hurts, when she wants to cry, when she wants to laugh, when she has seen someone look like 'the stingy beggar' or simply because she thought she should disturb Mr. KUMMAARRR.
It’s too bad she always laughs at my proposals and worse because I do too...
I knew it was a girl, I knew her name, what she did and where she was, but I sent her this message like a dumb flirt.
She messaged me back; I almost had a black eye. I forgot about it for a while before calling her again. I must have spoken to at least three or four voices, all of them blasting me like there was no mercy in this world.
Two days later I had a call; one of those four voices spoke to me. She told me her name was Anamika, which I knew was a lie and I told her my name was Kumar which she probably thought was my full name. She was sorry for me, sorry because her friends were rude to me and she did not mean a thing. Protective friends I thought before we spoke for quite a while that day, when we hung up I knew both of us were smiling.
I called her back a day after, this time she wasn't alone, I was hearing her friends talk about ‘these bad boys’ and there was guilt for a few days. I didn't call her and neither did I answer her calls, though there weren't too many of them.
I answered her call that night, more because I was drunk. I told her my name she didn't like it, she told me hers and I confessed I was only a flirt trying to find a friend when I called her. She was angry and was terribly upset, she did not believe people called up strangers to make friends; she hung up, so much for my being truthful.
We did not speak for a week before she called me up.
She had some exam the next day and she just said “wake me up after an hour, okay mister” and hung up. I had a book 'Acts of faith' by Erich Segal in my hands. The next morning when I went to bed, I had finished the book, woken her up six times through the night and it was 6.00 am. She called me in the evening and said "you are a good guy" but added after a pause "sometimes"; I think I loved the book.
The following week, I had a terrible ulcer and I was almost crying in pain when she called me. To this day she doesn't know why she cried that day over the phone. Our calls were more frequent in the days that followed and I bore the brunt because she was still at college and I was working, when I did not call her for a few days, she would call me up only to tell me what a 'miser I was'.
Our birthdays fall a day apart, that year I sent her a box of chocolates and had my drunken friends sing her a happy birthday over the phone and she cried, again but not before she said “thank you beggar”.
I met her two months later at an old fort near her college a place near my home town, wearing a black Tee, she loved black. She was huge, she was not pretty at first sight, she loved chocolates and more importantly she had two of her beautiful protective friends with her. She didn’t like me either I guess, because she said “who do you think you are, the angry young man? Stop frowning at me and.. and drooling at them“.
I took her to my house the next month; in retrospect a bad decision because she loved my parents more than me. She called my father by an actor's name, my father laughs at it to this day; he doesn't laugh much. I noticed she was pretty when she laughed. She frequented my house until she had to leave college.
She went to work a few months later at a hospital in a neighboring state; our calls became less frequent, though we spoke at least once a week. A train I once traveled was passing through her place and she was at the station in the middle of the night smiling; standing besides a frowning, shivering-out-of-cold friend.
Railway stations have since become our only rendezvous, I only saw her every time she left home or when she was at her college to get her papers. She soon left to her home town to live with her parents and work from there, a city in a far northern state.
She still calls me up, when she is angry, when she is scared, when her brother is back from the gulf, when her back hurts, when she wants to cry, when she wants to laugh, when she has seen someone look like 'the stingy beggar' or simply because she thought she should disturb Mr. KUMMAARRR.
It’s too bad she always laughs at my proposals and worse because I do too...
Phones.
The first time I ever touched a mobile phone was my friend's at my college hostel. Those were times when incoming calls were being charged; I paid him every time my mother called me on his phone. The phone was big, in fact huge it almost resembled a telephone, I don’t remember the model or the 'make' though.
I almost bought a phone when I was leaving college, a Panasonic, I don’t remember the model, and it had a -then happening- metal finish. It wasn't huge, but was still big. I was convinced I needed a phone, my mom wasn't.
It was one and half years after I had left college when I had my first mobile phone. After months of pestering, my brother brought me a used Ericsson c45, with a bright yellow display. Though basic, the phone had a hands-free kit, so it didn't heat my ears because the phone almost always started burning after only a few minutes of talking.
I used it until my girlfriend wanted a phone; I gifted the used, used phone to her and survived on fixed lines for a few months. I parted ways with her in less than 6 months.
I bought my first phone in May 2005, it was a Nokia 2600 my first color display phone, it lasted a good month because my brother wanted it. I exchanged it for his 2 year old -I don’t know what model- Nokia phone. It only had a B/w display with the keys already worn out. It worked fine but only till I dropped the phone in the Bay of Bengal. While playing with my friends on the East coast road at a Beach, my phone fell in to the salty sea waters. The next two months I could only call numbers that were already stored on the phone and pick calls. Soon the phone went dead.
In the mean while, I also bought a Sony Ericsson j200i for my recently graduated sister, she was going to her first job.
I bought my second phone, a Nokia 2300, I bought it because I had long hours of travel and it had a FM receiver in built. For almost 6 months it served me and served me good. I absent mindedly left the phone on the road after a small accident , while on my way to a marriage. I never saw the phone again.
My sister started to have problems with her Sony Ericsson; the battery was draining way too soon.
I used my friend's old, old phone for a few months before it went dead as well. I got a new Motorola W220, a simple flip phone with only a FM receiver being its big feature.
In six months I met with an accident, my vehicle tripped over a boulder, I saw in vain as my phone slowly flew out of my shirt pocket. The rain didn’t deter me from searching for the parts and when I reassembled them, the back cover of the phone was missing.
My sister's phone went dead.
I bought a phone last week a Motorola with almost all features, it was for my brother.
He called me up yesterday; the phone had gone dead. Shit.
I almost bought a phone when I was leaving college, a Panasonic, I don’t remember the model, and it had a -then happening- metal finish. It wasn't huge, but was still big. I was convinced I needed a phone, my mom wasn't.
It was one and half years after I had left college when I had my first mobile phone. After months of pestering, my brother brought me a used Ericsson c45, with a bright yellow display. Though basic, the phone had a hands-free kit, so it didn't heat my ears because the phone almost always started burning after only a few minutes of talking.
I used it until my girlfriend wanted a phone; I gifted the used, used phone to her and survived on fixed lines for a few months. I parted ways with her in less than 6 months.
I bought my first phone in May 2005, it was a Nokia 2600 my first color display phone, it lasted a good month because my brother wanted it. I exchanged it for his 2 year old -I don’t know what model- Nokia phone. It only had a B/w display with the keys already worn out. It worked fine but only till I dropped the phone in the Bay of Bengal. While playing with my friends on the East coast road at a Beach, my phone fell in to the salty sea waters. The next two months I could only call numbers that were already stored on the phone and pick calls. Soon the phone went dead.
In the mean while, I also bought a Sony Ericsson j200i for my recently graduated sister, she was going to her first job.
I bought my second phone, a Nokia 2300, I bought it because I had long hours of travel and it had a FM receiver in built. For almost 6 months it served me and served me good. I absent mindedly left the phone on the road after a small accident , while on my way to a marriage. I never saw the phone again.
My sister started to have problems with her Sony Ericsson; the battery was draining way too soon.
I used my friend's old, old phone for a few months before it went dead as well. I got a new Motorola W220, a simple flip phone with only a FM receiver being its big feature.
In six months I met with an accident, my vehicle tripped over a boulder, I saw in vain as my phone slowly flew out of my shirt pocket. The rain didn’t deter me from searching for the parts and when I reassembled them, the back cover of the phone was missing.
My sister's phone went dead.
I bought a phone last week a Motorola with almost all features, it was for my brother.
He called me up yesterday; the phone had gone dead. Shit.
Hail Mary
Maha was seven, when her mom had left her dad and their children, unhappy with her husband. She was 16 when her dad married again, this time someone young enough to be her sister. She was 17 when she was pulled out of school and was married off to her step mother's brother, fifteen years her senior. She was 27 when she saw her mother again. She is now a mother of 2 children, the daughter has just started college and the son is in a middle school.
Today the doctors had told her only physiotherapy would help her husband anymore, she was crying.
When she had started to talk I tried searching for words, with not much getting my way, all I did was to look at her, until she finished and leaned on to a cot sobbing.
I must have spoken to her twice before when I had seen her with my mom, probably thrice but not more than that, I was surprised she was crying to me today, this was different, very different from any other pair of eyes that ever cried with me; for one thing she is 35 years old.
I met Maha at a hospital; her husband was in the intensive care after an accident at his workplace, a gas station. I had seen her husband in his bed before, old, tired and gaunt he is everything he should not be. The accident had ruptured his spine and left his legs and hands immobile for now although the doctors have assured better days.
In the one month I saw her at the hospital, her mom was her only constant visitor; her husband's four brothers were at the hospital for a whole five minutes once and her family never came not even her father.
Maha works as an accountant in some small company that pays her Rs.5000 pm, that’s of course as much your high school education can give you in a bustling metro. For now she travels 45 kms every day from the hospital to her workplace and back while her mother takes care of her husband during the day. Her mother also takes care of her children during the nights but she is keen on leaving home.
Though sober most of the time, I have also seen Maha laugh, she is always happy with her children around. The two children visit during the weekends, the younger one is too small to understand much, he spends most of his time playing on his mother’s mobile phone and the daughter is older but can only helplessly sit beside her mother holding her hands.
Today the doctors had told her only physiotherapy would help her husband anymore, she was crying and not just for her husband. Now that he would be discharged, Maha is scared to leave the hospital because when she does, she would have two children to feed, an immobile husband to take care of, a day job that doesn’t pay much, an almost empty bank account and no one to cry to.
She leaned on to a cot sobbing.
It was abrupt when she left as the physiotherapist was attending to her husband, I was relieved, not because she left but because the physiotherapist is actually funny to be with.
That night when I left the hospital at around 10.00 pm, I saw her kneeling in front of a wooden bench with her eyes closed. She was clutching firmly to a copy of the Bible in front of the bench on which a figurine of Virgin Mary holding infant Jesus stood still.
Today the doctors had told her only physiotherapy would help her husband anymore, she was crying.
When she had started to talk I tried searching for words, with not much getting my way, all I did was to look at her, until she finished and leaned on to a cot sobbing.
I must have spoken to her twice before when I had seen her with my mom, probably thrice but not more than that, I was surprised she was crying to me today, this was different, very different from any other pair of eyes that ever cried with me; for one thing she is 35 years old.
I met Maha at a hospital; her husband was in the intensive care after an accident at his workplace, a gas station. I had seen her husband in his bed before, old, tired and gaunt he is everything he should not be. The accident had ruptured his spine and left his legs and hands immobile for now although the doctors have assured better days.
In the one month I saw her at the hospital, her mom was her only constant visitor; her husband's four brothers were at the hospital for a whole five minutes once and her family never came not even her father.
Maha works as an accountant in some small company that pays her Rs.5000 pm, that’s of course as much your high school education can give you in a bustling metro. For now she travels 45 kms every day from the hospital to her workplace and back while her mother takes care of her husband during the day. Her mother also takes care of her children during the nights but she is keen on leaving home.
Though sober most of the time, I have also seen Maha laugh, she is always happy with her children around. The two children visit during the weekends, the younger one is too small to understand much, he spends most of his time playing on his mother’s mobile phone and the daughter is older but can only helplessly sit beside her mother holding her hands.
Today the doctors had told her only physiotherapy would help her husband anymore, she was crying and not just for her husband. Now that he would be discharged, Maha is scared to leave the hospital because when she does, she would have two children to feed, an immobile husband to take care of, a day job that doesn’t pay much, an almost empty bank account and no one to cry to.
She leaned on to a cot sobbing.
It was abrupt when she left as the physiotherapist was attending to her husband, I was relieved, not because she left but because the physiotherapist is actually funny to be with.
That night when I left the hospital at around 10.00 pm, I saw her kneeling in front of a wooden bench with her eyes closed. She was clutching firmly to a copy of the Bible in front of the bench on which a figurine of Virgin Mary holding infant Jesus stood still.
Somethings wrong
I had to miss my evening classes that day as one of my friend's friend was coming to Chennai. It was her first time to Chennai; she was coming for her visa processing at the US Consulate. I was also asked by my good friend to accompany her to the Consulate the next day because she was new to the city. It was my first time to the airport to wait for a girl and I had not heard of Tamanna before the evening.
When I reached the airport after having convinced one of my friends out of the classroom for company and of course for his bike, I was a tad too early, 30 minutes to be precise. We aimlessly roamed the airport, for another 45 minutes.
She promptly described her dress and her location, when she had picked her luggage. I couldn’t believe she was 24, I still cant, she was too small for her age, or her supposed age. I ditched my friend who had driven me through the night traffic to the airport, he left even before I started talking to her.
I hired a cab and to make her feel more comfortable or something of that sort I pleaded a late 40s man waiting for a cab join us. I was sitting between the two of them. As always, I had little to talk and the older man and the girl were soon in conversation. I was almost an intrusion to their talk that ranged from her mainframes to his chartered accountancy and from Chennai to Hyderabad. For some reason I started to feel queasy but I did not let my face emote. He also offered to take her to the Consulate the next day, I smiled to myself when she said a ‘no, thanks’ to him.
But all along I was mute, very mute.
When we reached the hotel where she had to stay the night, we had to bid the older man farewell, they exchanged numbers. She had her room ready but her company at Hyderabad was still to send some document that was a necessity for the visa process. I was told I couldn't leave her at her room’s door; like I wanted to.
She thanked me with a nice tap on my shoulder with a scarf she had. The smile was still on my face when I reached home even as the clock was ticking to 1.00 am. She woke me up at 2.00 am to tell me that the fax had arrived and promised to call me the next day. I rose at 6.00 am and to the surprise of my room mates was ready by 7.00 waiting for her call.
It was 10.30 when I reached my office, she hadn't called me and neither was she answering my calls.
She called me up at 7.00 pm, when I had almost forgotten her, to tell me she was at the airport. She was excited that her visa was granted. I was more worried about how she got the Consulate and the airport. She had asked the older man lead her to the Consulate in the morning. After her interview she had simply hired a cab to the airport.
Tamanna thanked me and promised me she would call me once she reached Hyderabad. I guessed it right, she didn't.
When I reached the airport after having convinced one of my friends out of the classroom for company and of course for his bike, I was a tad too early, 30 minutes to be precise. We aimlessly roamed the airport, for another 45 minutes.
She promptly described her dress and her location, when she had picked her luggage. I couldn’t believe she was 24, I still cant, she was too small for her age, or her supposed age. I ditched my friend who had driven me through the night traffic to the airport, he left even before I started talking to her.
I hired a cab and to make her feel more comfortable or something of that sort I pleaded a late 40s man waiting for a cab join us. I was sitting between the two of them. As always, I had little to talk and the older man and the girl were soon in conversation. I was almost an intrusion to their talk that ranged from her mainframes to his chartered accountancy and from Chennai to Hyderabad. For some reason I started to feel queasy but I did not let my face emote. He also offered to take her to the Consulate the next day, I smiled to myself when she said a ‘no, thanks’ to him.
But all along I was mute, very mute.
When we reached the hotel where she had to stay the night, we had to bid the older man farewell, they exchanged numbers. She had her room ready but her company at Hyderabad was still to send some document that was a necessity for the visa process. I was told I couldn't leave her at her room’s door; like I wanted to.
She thanked me with a nice tap on my shoulder with a scarf she had. The smile was still on my face when I reached home even as the clock was ticking to 1.00 am. She woke me up at 2.00 am to tell me that the fax had arrived and promised to call me the next day. I rose at 6.00 am and to the surprise of my room mates was ready by 7.00 waiting for her call.
It was 10.30 when I reached my office, she hadn't called me and neither was she answering my calls.
She called me up at 7.00 pm, when I had almost forgotten her, to tell me she was at the airport. She was excited that her visa was granted. I was more worried about how she got the Consulate and the airport. She had asked the older man lead her to the Consulate in the morning. After her interview she had simply hired a cab to the airport.
Tamanna thanked me and promised me she would call me once she reached Hyderabad. I guessed it right, she didn't.
Nuts.
Around the 3rd week of December 2006.
Evening classes aren't always fun after a day's work, especially on those days when your patience limits are knowingly tested countless times. Again it is not your usual classroom, where people are around your age, take a year or give two. My class room has people so old we actually stood up upon their entry the first day. Evening classes aren't fun; I go because I need some attendance registered to have my exams written.
It was one of those days when we had just been to a new semester and of course my manager had sat on my nerve through the day. There was this new girl in my class, in a black salwar, mid 20s was my guess. I learnt she was from the previous batch, after a year's break from college.
I noticed her, not only because I let my eyes wade through the class room to keep myself from drowsing, but the fat girl was standing up for every little thing. Nuts! She had doubts on almost every line, nuts! She was pulling the classes long, the lecturer was getting impatient, soon it was time to leave and the girl was still in conversation with the lecturer.
It never got better, whenever she was in the class, even in the midst of an almost audible boo and a blatant sigh from the lecturer she dragged with her doubts and the after class discussion; our classes usually end at 09.15 pm. Nuts..
Around mid 2000.
Sheth was at college doing his diploma, specializing in Computer sciences when he first saw Maha, well may be he heard about her first. Maha was a sensation at her college, she sang, she danced, she lectured, she was vociferous on stage, she topped the class, period, she was beautiful.
For obvious reasons she made little but very close friends and for every one else, including Sheth, she was another arrogant BITCH. Maha didn't seem to mind, her exploits continued, to the last day.
Sheth had to struggle finding a job when he left college, the IT industry hadn't grown then. When he finally had a job with a firm, he found Maha had been working there for almost a year then. Sheth had to work under her.
Soon Sheth found out Maha wasn't what he had thought she was, she helped him accustom to the job, stayed late to sort his problems, was always backing him when relegated. He liked her, She protected him like a big sister; he enjoyed the cuddle, albeit to a few people's envy, until that morning when she passed out.
Maha was diagnosed with a form of epilepsy that would soon rake her brains out of what ever it stored. After a week when Sheth met her, she didn’t seem to recognize him she was scared and he had to constantly remind her that he was her colleague.
November 2007.
I could only smile as Sheth finished telling us the story of Maha.
Sheth soon changed jobs; Maha was a little better but was never her original self again. Sheth said she still sang beautifully but a year at the hospital had destroyed her once lean physique, hampered her memory, her face.. I stopped him from saying anymore.
In a while the class started, Maha was shooting her doubts already, the boos and the sighs started and only the two rows around Sheth were silent. Nuts..
Evening classes aren't always fun after a day's work, especially on those days when your patience limits are knowingly tested countless times. Again it is not your usual classroom, where people are around your age, take a year or give two. My class room has people so old we actually stood up upon their entry the first day. Evening classes aren't fun; I go because I need some attendance registered to have my exams written.
It was one of those days when we had just been to a new semester and of course my manager had sat on my nerve through the day. There was this new girl in my class, in a black salwar, mid 20s was my guess. I learnt she was from the previous batch, after a year's break from college.
I noticed her, not only because I let my eyes wade through the class room to keep myself from drowsing, but the fat girl was standing up for every little thing. Nuts! She had doubts on almost every line, nuts! She was pulling the classes long, the lecturer was getting impatient, soon it was time to leave and the girl was still in conversation with the lecturer.
It never got better, whenever she was in the class, even in the midst of an almost audible boo and a blatant sigh from the lecturer she dragged with her doubts and the after class discussion; our classes usually end at 09.15 pm. Nuts..
Around mid 2000.
Sheth was at college doing his diploma, specializing in Computer sciences when he first saw Maha, well may be he heard about her first. Maha was a sensation at her college, she sang, she danced, she lectured, she was vociferous on stage, she topped the class, period, she was beautiful.
For obvious reasons she made little but very close friends and for every one else, including Sheth, she was another arrogant BITCH. Maha didn't seem to mind, her exploits continued, to the last day.
Sheth had to struggle finding a job when he left college, the IT industry hadn't grown then. When he finally had a job with a firm, he found Maha had been working there for almost a year then. Sheth had to work under her.
Soon Sheth found out Maha wasn't what he had thought she was, she helped him accustom to the job, stayed late to sort his problems, was always backing him when relegated. He liked her, She protected him like a big sister; he enjoyed the cuddle, albeit to a few people's envy, until that morning when she passed out.
Maha was diagnosed with a form of epilepsy that would soon rake her brains out of what ever it stored. After a week when Sheth met her, she didn’t seem to recognize him she was scared and he had to constantly remind her that he was her colleague.
November 2007.
I could only smile as Sheth finished telling us the story of Maha.
Sheth soon changed jobs; Maha was a little better but was never her original self again. Sheth said she still sang beautifully but a year at the hospital had destroyed her once lean physique, hampered her memory, her face.. I stopped him from saying anymore.
In a while the class started, Maha was shooting her doubts already, the boos and the sighs started and only the two rows around Sheth were silent. Nuts..
Bizarre
How would you REACT if
A child probably not more than 8 yrs in her soiled school uniform on her way to school stops in front of you and asks you for money?
You are on the silent evening beach with friends and beer, a few feet away a guy is being beaten up by some thugs and the guy being beaten up is crying for help. These hoodlums then confront you and ask you to leave?
An old lady seeking alms at the bus stop asks you aloud if you don’t eat every day, because you told her you gave her money only the previous night?
A software engineer working for one of the software giants, his identity card around his neck tells you so, is totally drunk and lying on a platform on your walk home?
A girl who proposed you recently, was once in your room with your room mate?
It is raining heavily and a girl is walking in the rain. Her dress is drenched to a very awkward proportion, with only a plastic folder that she’s holding close to her bosom, she is visibly very queasy, you offer her your friend's leather jacket and she gives you a cold stare?
Inside a crowded bus you see a man may be in his early 20s pushing himself against a girl, her face is turning angles but she’s silent, a lot of people around you are looking at it, but are silent?
You recently made friends with a tart; she feels so close to you that she cries to you. One fine night at 11.00pm she calls you up and asks you start to a place 3 hours away, that very moment because she was leaving home once and for all?
You simply told your friend that you would be passing by her town while on a train to another place and she turns up at the station at the wee of the night waking you up?
I smiled and walked off most of the situations, except for these
I got the software engineer inside an auto-rickshaw, saw him walk by me the next day with no hint of recognition.
I stood between the girl and the guy inside the bus for the next half hour.
I did not travel the three hours that night, she hasn't spoken to me in 8 months and I do not know where she is.
A child probably not more than 8 yrs in her soiled school uniform on her way to school stops in front of you and asks you for money?
You are on the silent evening beach with friends and beer, a few feet away a guy is being beaten up by some thugs and the guy being beaten up is crying for help. These hoodlums then confront you and ask you to leave?
An old lady seeking alms at the bus stop asks you aloud if you don’t eat every day, because you told her you gave her money only the previous night?
A software engineer working for one of the software giants, his identity card around his neck tells you so, is totally drunk and lying on a platform on your walk home?
A girl who proposed you recently, was once in your room with your room mate?
It is raining heavily and a girl is walking in the rain. Her dress is drenched to a very awkward proportion, with only a plastic folder that she’s holding close to her bosom, she is visibly very queasy, you offer her your friend's leather jacket and she gives you a cold stare?
Inside a crowded bus you see a man may be in his early 20s pushing himself against a girl, her face is turning angles but she’s silent, a lot of people around you are looking at it, but are silent?
You recently made friends with a tart; she feels so close to you that she cries to you. One fine night at 11.00pm she calls you up and asks you start to a place 3 hours away, that very moment because she was leaving home once and for all?
You simply told your friend that you would be passing by her town while on a train to another place and she turns up at the station at the wee of the night waking you up?
I smiled and walked off most of the situations, except for these
I got the software engineer inside an auto-rickshaw, saw him walk by me the next day with no hint of recognition.
I stood between the girl and the guy inside the bus for the next half hour.
I did not travel the three hours that night, she hasn't spoken to me in 8 months and I do not know where she is.
The Police story, part II
My phone rang even as I was rushing to my evening classes from my office. It was my friend Jai, calling me after a while and from an all women police station.
I quickly got in to an auto-rickshaw, trying to recollect what Jai told me over the phone. He had been picked up at a famous eat-out by police women while he was returning his former girl friend's mobile phone to her brother.
I barked at him for having taken Maha's phone, for only a fortnight before she had ditched him citing family reasons only to be seen with another guy the very next day. The day before he had met her and for some reason snatched her mobile and she had left the place running.
Although this was not the first time I was visiting (or made to??) a police station, my heart beat was so loud I heard it, my legs we shivering and my black shirt didn't help the situation. I was called by my friend as a witness to the fact that Maha had in fact been his girl friend once, interestingly Maha had claimed that she had met Jai only thrice all her life and that Jai was forcing her to marriage. I had to smile, because not very long before she had cried to me, scared that Jai might ditch her!!
I walked very uncomfortably in to the station, and was offered a seat by a stern faced Inspector. The Inspector asked me a string of questions, all of them trying to ascertain the relationship, I barely mouthed words though my head shakes answered her as a smiling Sub-Inspector joined her. I was relieved when they asked me wait in one of the waiting rooms, by then two more of my friends joined me, we sat down.
I could see Maha and her parents in the waiting room, she wasn't looking at me. She was sober yet beautiful as ever but for so many other reasons I wanted to confront her, their 5 year relationship for one. Another older woman in a khaki saree (the others wore shirts and pants) bent towards me and whispered that the commissioner was a relative of Maha's and she suggested Jai be a little more regretful. She also walked two floors to fetch us a bottle of water; police women aren't what the movies portray!!
We were called back to the Inspector's room; Maha was inside. Only after, a few Photographs of Jai and Maha together and some letters she had written to Jai, were produced did the Inspector's face lose its wrinkles. Maha was only looking at the police woman, the woman was unforgiving now, telling Jai precisely and men in general to be careful about girls, I didn't like the generalising but sat tight, Maha's face was turning red while jai tried to be at least verbally regretful.
The Sub-Inspector gave us a piece of paper for a statement that we/Jai wouldn't disturb Maha, she smiled when I asked her for a pen, though she lent one.
Respected madam,
We are not/will not be responsible/ the reason for the troubles that have been/may be caused to the concerned person.
Signed.
I didn't know how correct was the sentence actually/grammatically, but we signed.
Even as we were leaving the station barking and howling at Jai, we heard some one shout my name hard, I turned back it was the sub Inspector. I slowly walked to her, she got her hands towards me hard, on my instincts I had a hand on my face in defense, my friends laughed with her while she slowly pulled her pen out of my shirt pocket.
I quickly got in to an auto-rickshaw, trying to recollect what Jai told me over the phone. He had been picked up at a famous eat-out by police women while he was returning his former girl friend's mobile phone to her brother.
I barked at him for having taken Maha's phone, for only a fortnight before she had ditched him citing family reasons only to be seen with another guy the very next day. The day before he had met her and for some reason snatched her mobile and she had left the place running.
Although this was not the first time I was visiting (or made to??) a police station, my heart beat was so loud I heard it, my legs we shivering and my black shirt didn't help the situation. I was called by my friend as a witness to the fact that Maha had in fact been his girl friend once, interestingly Maha had claimed that she had met Jai only thrice all her life and that Jai was forcing her to marriage. I had to smile, because not very long before she had cried to me, scared that Jai might ditch her!!
I walked very uncomfortably in to the station, and was offered a seat by a stern faced Inspector. The Inspector asked me a string of questions, all of them trying to ascertain the relationship, I barely mouthed words though my head shakes answered her as a smiling Sub-Inspector joined her. I was relieved when they asked me wait in one of the waiting rooms, by then two more of my friends joined me, we sat down.
I could see Maha and her parents in the waiting room, she wasn't looking at me. She was sober yet beautiful as ever but for so many other reasons I wanted to confront her, their 5 year relationship for one. Another older woman in a khaki saree (the others wore shirts and pants) bent towards me and whispered that the commissioner was a relative of Maha's and she suggested Jai be a little more regretful. She also walked two floors to fetch us a bottle of water; police women aren't what the movies portray!!
We were called back to the Inspector's room; Maha was inside. Only after, a few Photographs of Jai and Maha together and some letters she had written to Jai, were produced did the Inspector's face lose its wrinkles. Maha was only looking at the police woman, the woman was unforgiving now, telling Jai precisely and men in general to be careful about girls, I didn't like the generalising but sat tight, Maha's face was turning red while jai tried to be at least verbally regretful.
The Sub-Inspector gave us a piece of paper for a statement that we/Jai wouldn't disturb Maha, she smiled when I asked her for a pen, though she lent one.
Respected madam,
We are not/will not be responsible/ the reason for the troubles that have been/may be caused to the concerned person.
Signed.
I didn't know how correct was the sentence actually/grammatically, but we signed.
Even as we were leaving the station barking and howling at Jai, we heard some one shout my name hard, I turned back it was the sub Inspector. I slowly walked to her, she got her hands towards me hard, on my instincts I had a hand on my face in defense, my friends laughed with her while she slowly pulled her pen out of my shirt pocket.
Alumni
I was inside the old white-red rickety bus again, after a long time, the 'long' meant seven years. The bus ride from the last big town to the village which is almost occupied by a 200 acre school campus, was the same as I had felt it almost a decade before.
This time I was an alumni getting back to high school for a meet, I couldn't accept the fact that I had grown older, though I haven't much. I seemed to even remember the smell of the place as the bus crossed through the same green patches and little land marks.
There were times when I hated to get back to school, because that meant half an year of seniors mastering my every move, uniforms even through nights, the same menu all week long, not being able to visit my house and more importantly solitude as I made very little friends the first few years. But today there was longing, a kind of hollowness below my chest that wanted the school days back, my breath wasn't smooth as the bus drudged towards my school.
I pushed my face to the window of the bus, trying to see as much as possible through the little window; it was just like old times, only the once big hills and the once giant trees seemed to have grown smaller.
Vast playfields and trouser clad cadets with hockey sticks were the first things I saw of my school, well old school. Even the once majestic arch in front of the school was looking small. The hockey coach was as usual getting back from the fields he has been manning since, I don’t know when, the bald man was balder, but his impeccable English was intact. A few words with him, he had his expletives bag ready and I enjoyed it for may be the first time.
Nothing about the school had changed, seemed like it was like the way I had left it, untouched. We walked the distance I once marched all day long, to the Mess that catered almost a thousand people. We were almost ten from my batch now, large for a recent pass-out, though it was seven years since we passed out.
Ironically we were accommodated in the hostel that we had stayed at, during our first year at school; the vicinity had not changed in 15 years. That night I visited all the rooms that once was my home, I sat on the beds that I once slept upon, some strange small kid was sleeping on each one of them; I couldn't believe I would have been so small anytime in my life. Inside the cupboards of my last year room, was still the graffiti that I once made “Great men are great, because we are on our knees ". I smiled.
We must have slept for may be an hour, when the school was up and running- literally, it was the morning run that was a must for everyone, everyday and for all seven years. I decided to skip this part but my friends thought otherwise and got their shoes out and I slept for an hour more.
Bread, butter, boiled eggs and coffee, the breakfast was the same that Saturday and I did not understand why I hated it once. Khaki uniforms, maroon berets, polished black shoes and belts welcomed me to the huge assembly hall. I was wearing a formal white shirt and black pants, this time I envied the people in khakis. I occupied one of the last benches as was the custom while the older, greyer heads occupied the chairs in the front, some of them could have been almost my father's age.
The teachers paraded in soon to the stage, in long flowing black coats, each one of them reminding me of something or the other. Some very familiar faces were missing and some very unfamiliar faces were on the stage.
After the assembly, I walked the class rooms, I could not remember the benches I occupied in the years I started, but I identified some of them that came later by the caricatures and sculptures that I had left on them. In the midst of all this I met the man I owe so much; my English teacher and idol, he didn't remember my name, it hurt. He took me to the language lab, the one I remember had microphones, head sets and an audio cassette player; the lab now had computers on every table and sir was using 'Adobe flash MX' to teach.
It was lunch when I, at last met some one who called me by my name; it was the head waiter at the Mess. Through the buffet I met almost every teacher who taught me, not many remembered my name and ones who recognized me were the ones I had always been indifferent to, like my dance teacher.
The afternoon went past while I tried playing and only fumbled, entertainment lit up the evening stage while I danced amongst the audience, the night soon went and it was the Sunday morning, reminding me of the end of a beautiful weekend.
I was inside the old white-red rickety bus again; I held back my tears, it started to rain.
Love story III
Long, long ago there were two small children attending the same grade school, fiercely fighting for the marks all the years. The fights were all they had in common, a short haired, chubby Maha was in stark contrast to the fairer, lanky Jai and while Jai excelled on the play fields, Maha lit up the stage. Albeit involving in innocent combats for their first 5 grades, they made good friends.
When the Years moved on, they too did, Jai to a boarding school, where his hockey skills flourished at the expense of his books and Maha to a girls' school where her love for the books and stage continued. In the mean while, their families had also moved away from the little town that had brought them together.
Language compelled Maha and the seas beckoned Jai when they graduated, Maha continued to do her doctorate in English even as Jai was getting ready to safeguard the coasts. In all the while, Jai and Maha had flashes of each other’s face grinning in their minds though their careers allowed little time for anything else and fifteen years passed. Curiously enough the ever nomadic Maha's family had moved to a place only 15kms from Jai's house.
Maha still has the same short hair and isn't chubby anymore and Jai stopped growing after school. Jai, despite his famed self, is a shy loner and Maha was nick named ruffian for her daring ways at college. Jai's fair, tall stature and his exploits on the fields had made faces turn at college and Maha had no dearth for proposals herself but none of them stood time.
One fine day Maha's curiosity bumped her on to Jai online and after a few days together online, they decided to meet. The once tall skinny Jai was a handsome young man, and once the fat, short haired girl was a beautiful young lady but the meeting was mostly awkward, with neither of them having enough words in a sentence.
After two days of talk, a lot of smiles and a few tear drops, Jai 'the loner' proposed Maha looking at the sky and Maha 'the ruffian' gave her consent looking at the ground. All that Maha wanted was someone who understood her character and Jai promised he would. All that Jai wanted was Maha with her hair long and Maha said she could.
Maha's family had no problems but Jai's parents disapproved of the relation. Upon Jai's insistence, Jai and Maha soon exchanged vows at a private ceremony amidst her family and close friends, one of them, their old grade school class mate.
Jai stays with his parents but is mostly away on ships and Maha stays at her house both hoping to find favour with Jai's parents someday!!
When the Years moved on, they too did, Jai to a boarding school, where his hockey skills flourished at the expense of his books and Maha to a girls' school where her love for the books and stage continued. In the mean while, their families had also moved away from the little town that had brought them together.
Language compelled Maha and the seas beckoned Jai when they graduated, Maha continued to do her doctorate in English even as Jai was getting ready to safeguard the coasts. In all the while, Jai and Maha had flashes of each other’s face grinning in their minds though their careers allowed little time for anything else and fifteen years passed. Curiously enough the ever nomadic Maha's family had moved to a place only 15kms from Jai's house.
Maha still has the same short hair and isn't chubby anymore and Jai stopped growing after school. Jai, despite his famed self, is a shy loner and Maha was nick named ruffian for her daring ways at college. Jai's fair, tall stature and his exploits on the fields had made faces turn at college and Maha had no dearth for proposals herself but none of them stood time.
One fine day Maha's curiosity bumped her on to Jai online and after a few days together online, they decided to meet. The once tall skinny Jai was a handsome young man, and once the fat, short haired girl was a beautiful young lady but the meeting was mostly awkward, with neither of them having enough words in a sentence.
After two days of talk, a lot of smiles and a few tear drops, Jai 'the loner' proposed Maha looking at the sky and Maha 'the ruffian' gave her consent looking at the ground. All that Maha wanted was someone who understood her character and Jai promised he would. All that Jai wanted was Maha with her hair long and Maha said she could.
Maha's family had no problems but Jai's parents disapproved of the relation. Upon Jai's insistence, Jai and Maha soon exchanged vows at a private ceremony amidst her family and close friends, one of them, their old grade school class mate.
Jai stays with his parents but is mostly away on ships and Maha stays at her house both hoping to find favour with Jai's parents someday!!
Love story - II
Maha is a tad dark and with her protruding nose she doesn't make a great picture at first. Though not very attractive, Maha doesn’t definitely look her age, 30. But for some people though, Maha is one of the few beautiful people they will ever see.
Before 11-12 years Maha was the usual high school girl of my town, trying earnestly to enter a medical college and Jai came to her life. Jai had to quit school at a very early age, courtesy his father who to date hasn't found a permanent job and he started working as an electrician. Maha is from a middle class family, her father works in a government office and her mother a house wife. Jai was the only son of a careless father and a faithful house wife, a lower middle class family.
It was around that time that they started seeing each other. I have no idea how he met her, but from what I have heard, it was a good three months and a loss of business before Jai could make a mark with Maha.
Soon I was seeing them smile at me every time I saw them together in the barren land behind my house. Jai was never a keen sportsman, his younger days were lost in work, but he was always present at the cricket field during our twilight games. When Maha was around he always pretended he knew the game and Maha seemed proud every time the ball hit his bat and he repaid us with something that night.
Jai was going through probably the greenest patch of his life. After years of working under someone, he started working on his own and sometimes hiring people under him. He was soon setting up the electric systems of whole buildings; a long way for someone who had started with rewinding motors. And of course he had Maha; sometimes he even attributed his career turn around to her, though he always ended up in a free-for-all when he said that with his friends around.
Jai’s parents were aware of the two getting along but Maha’s never knew or pretended they did not. Maha did not seem to care and but Jai was concerned.
Interestingly Maha did not get an admission to a medical college, not even an engineering college, which was then an automatic second choice. She joined a local college and stayed closer to home and Jai.
It was during one of those days that Jai passed away doing what he did all his life, setting up an electric connection. He had accidentally come in contact with a transmission line while working on a newly built house.
10 years since, Maha hasn't married yet. Talks of marriage only bring a mad rage in to her and no one talks about it these days, not her parents and not Jai's friends.
She doesn't want to let it go, like Jai is always there some where behind those barren lands, some where under a tree near the cricket field, somewhere...
Before 11-12 years Maha was the usual high school girl of my town, trying earnestly to enter a medical college and Jai came to her life. Jai had to quit school at a very early age, courtesy his father who to date hasn't found a permanent job and he started working as an electrician. Maha is from a middle class family, her father works in a government office and her mother a house wife. Jai was the only son of a careless father and a faithful house wife, a lower middle class family.
It was around that time that they started seeing each other. I have no idea how he met her, but from what I have heard, it was a good three months and a loss of business before Jai could make a mark with Maha.
Soon I was seeing them smile at me every time I saw them together in the barren land behind my house. Jai was never a keen sportsman, his younger days were lost in work, but he was always present at the cricket field during our twilight games. When Maha was around he always pretended he knew the game and Maha seemed proud every time the ball hit his bat and he repaid us with something that night.
Jai was going through probably the greenest patch of his life. After years of working under someone, he started working on his own and sometimes hiring people under him. He was soon setting up the electric systems of whole buildings; a long way for someone who had started with rewinding motors. And of course he had Maha; sometimes he even attributed his career turn around to her, though he always ended up in a free-for-all when he said that with his friends around.
Jai’s parents were aware of the two getting along but Maha’s never knew or pretended they did not. Maha did not seem to care and but Jai was concerned.
Interestingly Maha did not get an admission to a medical college, not even an engineering college, which was then an automatic second choice. She joined a local college and stayed closer to home and Jai.
It was during one of those days that Jai passed away doing what he did all his life, setting up an electric connection. He had accidentally come in contact with a transmission line while working on a newly built house.
10 years since, Maha hasn't married yet. Talks of marriage only bring a mad rage in to her and no one talks about it these days, not her parents and not Jai's friends.
She doesn't want to let it go, like Jai is always there some where behind those barren lands, some where under a tree near the cricket field, somewhere...
Love Story - I
I liked Maha the first time I saw her, she was pretty, she was shrewd and I enjoyed her company, her humour to be precise. After spending only a few minutes the first time I saw her, I was longing to see her again. Only her being one of my best friends Jai's girl did not help my cause.
My friend had first seen her from some 'Learn English' school and his language skills never got any better. Soon Jai was in love with her and she had responded in green. It was good to see them together.
Having brought up in a family that never gave the, as she often said, warmth that she expected, her possessiveness wasn't a surprise. Somewhere along the course I noticed she was losing her nerve too soon and that she preferred speaking to listening, every time. The one thing that I once liked in her, possessiveness was also to a disastrous extreme. Our common friends seemed to share similar thoughts. I never tried to suppress my feelings about her with Jai, he was in no mood to listen; sometimes he even said, I was jealous. Was I? I don't know.
These instances never dented the liking I had for the two of them, not until they were married with only the consent of Jai's parents, not until they shifted to a small but pretty house and started living themselves, not until they had two beautiful daughters and not until that day when I tried to surprise them and I was surprised myself.
I had been home after a while and visiting them was as usual on my list of priorities. I wanted my visit to be a surprise and it was in more ways than one. When I reached their house, I just heard a few indistinct noises; soon I was sure there was a fierce quarrel. She went to the extent of blaming him for spoiling her life. My face silenced them but I couldn't stay there for long; that was the last time I saw Maha.
Jai was a different man when I spoke to him the next day, he seemed to have aged more than what his years should have. Life and love after marriage had taken a 90 degree turn for him. No day had passed without a conflict of interest. He doesn't remember the last time they had a good day or a good night. I hugged him for no reason and may be for the first time in the 8-10 yrs I knew him. I only left when he seemed a little lighter; it was close to three hours. I very soon lost touch with both of them as they had shifted out to a nearby city.
I saw Jai after almost two years at a common friend's marriage; he was with his two beautiful daughters. He smiled even as his elder daughter ran towards me. The elder one is just like her mother, funny and shrewd. The younger daughter is like her father of the old times, naughty but silent. I liked them together, the three of them, they seem to have a resonance that I wouldn't expect of a single father.
The children didn't seem to miss having a mother, not even the younger one; she was barely a year old when her mother succumbed to the third degree burns she inflicted on herself.
--------------------------------------------------------
Jai is actually my brother's friend, and the above incidents are actually my brother's narration.
Despite the compulsions and requests of his family and friends, Jai hasn't married again. Jai now runs a photo studio at a nearby town, his elder daughter is in school and his younger one grows up mostly at the studio.
My friend had first seen her from some 'Learn English' school and his language skills never got any better. Soon Jai was in love with her and she had responded in green. It was good to see them together.
Having brought up in a family that never gave the, as she often said, warmth that she expected, her possessiveness wasn't a surprise. Somewhere along the course I noticed she was losing her nerve too soon and that she preferred speaking to listening, every time. The one thing that I once liked in her, possessiveness was also to a disastrous extreme. Our common friends seemed to share similar thoughts. I never tried to suppress my feelings about her with Jai, he was in no mood to listen; sometimes he even said, I was jealous. Was I? I don't know.
These instances never dented the liking I had for the two of them, not until they were married with only the consent of Jai's parents, not until they shifted to a small but pretty house and started living themselves, not until they had two beautiful daughters and not until that day when I tried to surprise them and I was surprised myself.
I had been home after a while and visiting them was as usual on my list of priorities. I wanted my visit to be a surprise and it was in more ways than one. When I reached their house, I just heard a few indistinct noises; soon I was sure there was a fierce quarrel. She went to the extent of blaming him for spoiling her life. My face silenced them but I couldn't stay there for long; that was the last time I saw Maha.
Jai was a different man when I spoke to him the next day, he seemed to have aged more than what his years should have. Life and love after marriage had taken a 90 degree turn for him. No day had passed without a conflict of interest. He doesn't remember the last time they had a good day or a good night. I hugged him for no reason and may be for the first time in the 8-10 yrs I knew him. I only left when he seemed a little lighter; it was close to three hours. I very soon lost touch with both of them as they had shifted out to a nearby city.
I saw Jai after almost two years at a common friend's marriage; he was with his two beautiful daughters. He smiled even as his elder daughter ran towards me. The elder one is just like her mother, funny and shrewd. The younger daughter is like her father of the old times, naughty but silent. I liked them together, the three of them, they seem to have a resonance that I wouldn't expect of a single father.
The children didn't seem to miss having a mother, not even the younger one; she was barely a year old when her mother succumbed to the third degree burns she inflicted on herself.
--------------------------------------------------------
Jai is actually my brother's friend, and the above incidents are actually my brother's narration.
Despite the compulsions and requests of his family and friends, Jai hasn't married again. Jai now runs a photo studio at a nearby town, his elder daughter is in school and his younger one grows up mostly at the studio.
Long long ago..
There were only two kinds of people in my school, the famous and the infamous, others were almost nonexistent or were considered so. Since books and playfields rarely interested me, I quickly graduated to the infamous list although it needed some extraordinary courage and shamelessness.
Defiance of the rules, muddling the uniform, frequenting the TV hall in wee hours (just to prove) and marking my absence at every gathering pushed me to the ranks, but I was not complete, not without an escapade to the next town.
A residential public school with a military back drop that rarely allowed real world expoure wasn't the only thing that stood in my way and the next town. It also included,
1. Dodging the security, that involved changing in to civilian clothes inside one of those dense wild shrubs.
2. Stopping a bus, raising no alarms and not giving away the identity with my crew cut for the next half hour of the journey.
3. Watching a movie or hanging around the town very often infested by the school staff.
4. Reversal of steps one and two. For Javed too it was a virgin act.
Javed was a rich man, meaning he had a hundred rupee note and I was worth only a quarter of it.
Scene 1
I was changing clothes in broad day light and inside a shrub with one of my best friends; a surprise visitor would have doubted our orientation. Javed was dirtying his face with sand, must be some tips from the older guys I thought and I followed suit. The tallest shrub protected our uniforms.
We spent an hour behind a tree before a bus stopped; we found the last seat empty and ducked our heads for the next half hour. When we reached the movie hall running and gasping for breath, the ticket sales had already closed down.
Having no other option other than to roam around the town, the first thing I did was call my mother at her office. I was talking to my mother after three long months and I pretended I was talking to her during an official trip.
The telephone bill was an exorbitant forty rupees; visibly angry Javed reluctantly slipped his hands inside his pant pockets. I was pawned at the phone booth and Javed said he would return in an hour, he had forgotten his 100 rupee note inside his uniform.
Scene 2
Javed is nervous and is sweating overtly, grabbing the attention of the vicinity. Some stranger strikes a conversation with Javed trying to make him comfortable, Javed is relaxed but almost crying. The stranger helps him with some money after hearing a rather bizarre story.
Although the guy at the booth was trying his best to comfort me, I continued sweating. To my relief, Javed returned in twenty minutes I was traded back, phew.
Scene 3
Only stage four was remaining but our heads were already drooping. Lady luck must have been taking a real long break, for when were about to board the bus, we were met right on face by the big mustached English teacher Mr. Jeyaraj. With no valid reasons for us being in the town, we had the right to remain silent.
We were again at the last row and it was showbiz for us. We had the undivided attention of the almost all passengers, hearing our histories and watching him play with our ears (he was known for his long finger nails and his fondness for ears).
I was afraid, the tragedy could prolong if we were handed over at the school gates. It meant public humiliation and a complete Khaki outfit with leather shoes at all places (play field included) for another week. Mr. Jeyaraj stopped the bus exactly where we had boarded only a few hours before, and said "run, you stupid buggers" with a smirk on his face. We lived the expression, "running for lives" till we reached the tree where we had started it all. The uniforms were missing.
Scene 4
We walked inside the hostel, making up faces that brimmed with pride.
Voila! we had done it, well almost.
Defiance of the rules, muddling the uniform, frequenting the TV hall in wee hours (just to prove) and marking my absence at every gathering pushed me to the ranks, but I was not complete, not without an escapade to the next town.
A residential public school with a military back drop that rarely allowed real world expoure wasn't the only thing that stood in my way and the next town. It also included,
1. Dodging the security, that involved changing in to civilian clothes inside one of those dense wild shrubs.
2. Stopping a bus, raising no alarms and not giving away the identity with my crew cut for the next half hour of the journey.
3. Watching a movie or hanging around the town very often infested by the school staff.
4. Reversal of steps one and two. For Javed too it was a virgin act.
Javed was a rich man, meaning he had a hundred rupee note and I was worth only a quarter of it.
Scene 1
I was changing clothes in broad day light and inside a shrub with one of my best friends; a surprise visitor would have doubted our orientation. Javed was dirtying his face with sand, must be some tips from the older guys I thought and I followed suit. The tallest shrub protected our uniforms.
We spent an hour behind a tree before a bus stopped; we found the last seat empty and ducked our heads for the next half hour. When we reached the movie hall running and gasping for breath, the ticket sales had already closed down.
Having no other option other than to roam around the town, the first thing I did was call my mother at her office. I was talking to my mother after three long months and I pretended I was talking to her during an official trip.
The telephone bill was an exorbitant forty rupees; visibly angry Javed reluctantly slipped his hands inside his pant pockets. I was pawned at the phone booth and Javed said he would return in an hour, he had forgotten his 100 rupee note inside his uniform.
Scene 2
Javed is nervous and is sweating overtly, grabbing the attention of the vicinity. Some stranger strikes a conversation with Javed trying to make him comfortable, Javed is relaxed but almost crying. The stranger helps him with some money after hearing a rather bizarre story.
Although the guy at the booth was trying his best to comfort me, I continued sweating. To my relief, Javed returned in twenty minutes I was traded back, phew.
Scene 3
Only stage four was remaining but our heads were already drooping. Lady luck must have been taking a real long break, for when were about to board the bus, we were met right on face by the big mustached English teacher Mr. Jeyaraj. With no valid reasons for us being in the town, we had the right to remain silent.
We were again at the last row and it was showbiz for us. We had the undivided attention of the almost all passengers, hearing our histories and watching him play with our ears (he was known for his long finger nails and his fondness for ears).
I was afraid, the tragedy could prolong if we were handed over at the school gates. It meant public humiliation and a complete Khaki outfit with leather shoes at all places (play field included) for another week. Mr. Jeyaraj stopped the bus exactly where we had boarded only a few hours before, and said "run, you stupid buggers" with a smirk on his face. We lived the expression, "running for lives" till we reached the tree where we had started it all. The uniforms were missing.
Scene 4
We walked inside the hostel, making up faces that brimmed with pride.
Voila! we had done it, well almost.
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