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...
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.
Mary Ebenezer
The frail old man on the next bed passed away despite the last-ditch efforts of at least four doctors and even more nurses. It was hall 201, the emergency ward,
The next day morning, the doctor on duty prescribed a flurry of tests which included blood tests at three different places, a cranial CT scan and a bladder scan. The blood tests took a lot of time, there were at least 25 people at each counter, and I was almost alone amongst the mostly female queue, each of them holding at least two tubes of brick red blood.
When I reached the counter for the CT scan, the man at the counter was deep asleep on his PC's black keyboard. At least 10 minutes passed before he woke up with a yawn and asked me check out the timings for the scan with the lab. The lab is the last room inside a building that resembles a haunted house, with hanging wires, battered walls and a half lit verandah, I could hear my heart beat every time I walked to the lab alone.
A middle aged woman was lying on the floor in a night gown in front of the lab; another woman sat crouching on the floor beside her. A dark Lab attendant was howling “If you talk rules once again, you will never have your scan done". The crouching woman mumbled she had been waiting for over an hour beside her sister who needed a pelvic CT scan. A younger woman was holding a few months old child in her hands, the child's head was completely dressed on one side. Two more middle aged women sat with their teen aged children. We were asked to be at the Lab at 07.30pm that evening.
The next day morning, the post graduate student-duty doctor wanted the CT scan results, but the results were only to be available in the evening. My brother was refused the report by the same dark attendant. Armed with a written request from the doctor he went to the lab again for the scan and the reports, this time he was offered both but the report was priced at 100 rupees. When he came back he only had the scan in hand.
On the sixth day my cousin was discharged from the hospital as his legs had found some movement and more importantly there was a dearth of the available beds. I wished our neighbors a fast recovery and as I was leaving, I saw the ever smiling Ebenezer walk inside the ward for her night shift. For some reason I said "See you Madam".
"Don't ever say 'see you' when you leave a hospital, always say goodbye, Now good bye, I have people to look after" she retorted.
Before I could bid her bye she was already walking away trying to silence the noise inside the ward. For the first time in almost a week I had a smile on my face.
May be It was..
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I was never so frustrated at least in the recent times. I pay, never mind if my friend does, 3000 bucks for a New Year bash and what was I supposed to do? Watch some wowow babe dance with some one who made me feel I was a handsome prince. That was not all, we had to watch them from a balcony standing all the while, not minding the trampling legs (some moron had combat boots on), because the place couldn’t seat more than 25 people and we had 100 single men for the bash. Although the number of single men around helped me resurrect my confidence levels, some how I thought I needed blood pressure pills.
It was supposed to be 'the night', with my school buddies around some of them after almost a decade, I could only grumble. We had already swigged two rounds of a drink that I had only heard of, from people used to shopping at the airports and holidaying in tax free zones. My friends aren't grumblers; soon I was outside silently watching an animated conversation between my friends and some official looking butterball. A faint smile was beginning to appear on all their faces.
We marched in to another place all the while being watched by people who seemed so interested in my white T-shirt and jeans. Was I hallucinating? I am not sure. Not that it bothered me, but being in a dimly lit hall again seemed to increase my comfort levels. The music inside was loud and blaring, obvious indications of 'this was not a room made for a dance floor'. It was a conference hall, which we soon found out from a plaque carelessly covered with a blind. Not one inside looked like he/she has ever danced in his life before. Throw your hands up in the air, jump move around, don’t even bother about the beat and yes bump someone, and what do we have?? A new year's dance floor, yuck.
One fat girl/ lady was looking like a total freak shaking her long hair like Shakira doing her pelvis. The other guy must be living in a joint family for he was doing things with his wife (I suppose) my father would have called lewd, given the situation and vicinity. We tried dancing a little in the one corner that seemed empty, only to be pushed off the dance floor in a few minutes by a gang of four girls and one 'I am rich and dumb' looking guy. So much for the arguments and the dance floor, we were only gulping up the foreign brand, breaking our previous records and trying to make up for the paid sum the next half hour. One of my friends even shrugged of an interested dancer of the opposite gender.
A drink, a bit of dance, anothar dirnk and soime more or dlance, a litkle mire drijnk and likkee nore dsance (alright, alright I copied it from a joke!!). It went on until all our previous records were broken, our clothes drenched, the old year gone, my friends out of their jackets and I saw this cute small girl dancing all to herself. Very often I had chased children away from my vicinity, even my brother's daughter stays a foot away when she talks to me. For some godforsaken reason this girl in black pants, rose tops and a black jacket was moving towards me smiling or was she laughing? I moved my limbs as if to dance, she mimicked my movements and we started to dance. Very soon she ditched me for my friends all of them playing her pair in tandem.
At her age, I would have most probably been tripping on my toes and here she was dancing like a ballerina (doesn't the word mean a beautiful dancer?), in sync with the beat and movements that made me go wow. I was kneeling most of the time to match my little girl's height; I still stood a few inches tall. We even played the movements we used a decade before at high school, a moment of nostalgia took over. Whenever we took a break for a breather she hugged me tight (because I was her height) and asked us come back soon. I wonder if I never smelt of the drink all the while because in the morning I had a breath a skunk would have frowned upon. Some more kids were starting to dance, her parents were so wonderfully enjoying the moment and in all the noise one of my friends bent closer and told me “May be it was worth all of it or was it more?”
The music was fading away and as I sat down, Sai-preetha leapt on to my lap and started to sleep, I am not very sure what I felt at that moment, I think it felt good probably very good patting the girl to sleep. We had danced close to two hours, it was soon time to go and Sai was awake, I got my first kiss this year and a long one. Though I talked to her parents a lot that night mostly to tell them they had the most beautiful daughter on earth, for some reason I did not take a number, or leave one. Even after two days we were still talking about her and my friend kept telling us “May be it was worth all of it and more eh?”.
It was supposed to be 'the night', with my school buddies around some of them after almost a decade, I could only grumble. We had already swigged two rounds of a drink that I had only heard of, from people used to shopping at the airports and holidaying in tax free zones. My friends aren't grumblers; soon I was outside silently watching an animated conversation between my friends and some official looking butterball. A faint smile was beginning to appear on all their faces.
We marched in to another place all the while being watched by people who seemed so interested in my white T-shirt and jeans. Was I hallucinating? I am not sure. Not that it bothered me, but being in a dimly lit hall again seemed to increase my comfort levels. The music inside was loud and blaring, obvious indications of 'this was not a room made for a dance floor'. It was a conference hall, which we soon found out from a plaque carelessly covered with a blind. Not one inside looked like he/she has ever danced in his life before. Throw your hands up in the air, jump move around, don’t even bother about the beat and yes bump someone, and what do we have?? A new year's dance floor, yuck.
One fat girl/ lady was looking like a total freak shaking her long hair like Shakira doing her pelvis. The other guy must be living in a joint family for he was doing things with his wife (I suppose) my father would have called lewd, given the situation and vicinity. We tried dancing a little in the one corner that seemed empty, only to be pushed off the dance floor in a few minutes by a gang of four girls and one 'I am rich and dumb' looking guy. So much for the arguments and the dance floor, we were only gulping up the foreign brand, breaking our previous records and trying to make up for the paid sum the next half hour. One of my friends even shrugged of an interested dancer of the opposite gender.
A drink, a bit of dance, anothar dirnk and soime more or dlance, a litkle mire drijnk and likkee nore dsance (alright, alright I copied it from a joke!!). It went on until all our previous records were broken, our clothes drenched, the old year gone, my friends out of their jackets and I saw this cute small girl dancing all to herself. Very often I had chased children away from my vicinity, even my brother's daughter stays a foot away when she talks to me. For some godforsaken reason this girl in black pants, rose tops and a black jacket was moving towards me smiling or was she laughing? I moved my limbs as if to dance, she mimicked my movements and we started to dance. Very soon she ditched me for my friends all of them playing her pair in tandem.
At her age, I would have most probably been tripping on my toes and here she was dancing like a ballerina (doesn't the word mean a beautiful dancer?), in sync with the beat and movements that made me go wow. I was kneeling most of the time to match my little girl's height; I still stood a few inches tall. We even played the movements we used a decade before at high school, a moment of nostalgia took over. Whenever we took a break for a breather she hugged me tight (because I was her height) and asked us come back soon. I wonder if I never smelt of the drink all the while because in the morning I had a breath a skunk would have frowned upon. Some more kids were starting to dance, her parents were so wonderfully enjoying the moment and in all the noise one of my friends bent closer and told me “May be it was worth all of it or was it more?”
The music was fading away and as I sat down, Sai-preetha leapt on to my lap and started to sleep, I am not very sure what I felt at that moment, I think it felt good probably very good patting the girl to sleep. We had danced close to two hours, it was soon time to go and Sai was awake, I got my first kiss this year and a long one. Though I talked to her parents a lot that night mostly to tell them they had the most beautiful daughter on earth, for some reason I did not take a number, or leave one. Even after two days we were still talking about her and my friend kept telling us “May be it was worth all of it and more eh?”.
Hyundai Accent
That day I saw one of the new Hyundai cars commissioned to the Chennai city Police department, it was a welcome change from the stale Blue-black jeeps, I thought. What I didn't know at that time was, I would, the very day be intercepted by one of those shiny white vehicles.
3.00 am that night: I am not sure if having a cup of tea at this hour of the night is a crime under the Indian penal code But When I and my friend were just about leaving the shop on a Pulsar, I heard a siren whine loud and clear.
"Pondy registration Pulsar, vandiya niruthunge " blared a megaphone, along with the whine. simply meaning " You morons on the Black pulsar stop the vehicle".
I, at first did not remember that the bike's registration number started PY 01 and continued working the accelerator. My friend's hands gripped my shoulders but it was sometime before I realized the graveness of the situation and came to a screeching halt a feet away from the new shiny white Hyundai. The car was perpendicular to the road. The police man's face inside was redder than the indicator on the top of his car. He came out with a scrap pad and a pen in his hand and so did his driver.
The cop: what is your name?
Me: Kumar.
The cop: and yours?
My friend: Ram
The cop: didn't you guys hear the siren?
My friend: yes we did, but...
The cop: at least the yelling over the megaphone?? What do you guys do? Software Engineers? Call centre?
Me: Sir, I am a Power electronics Engineer, with...
The cop: you are a what??
Me: I am an Electronics (He was lost...) I am a software Engineer..
The cop: and you?
My friend: I am running a consultancy.
The cop: running a what??
My friend: Business consultancy, staffing and setting up of BPOs(Obvious reaction of I did not understand a thing on the cops face!!!) er.. I am running a call centre.
Even as the driver was adding more scribbles on his pad, his walky went out loud. “Control room, Control room calling, (number and name of the station were pronounced )"
Control room: “Sir, one more on the list sir”
The cop: yes.
control room : " Male, wheatish, acne marks on face, alleged name Sekhar, mole on mid forehead, left chest, last seen with long hair(couldn't get a few words because of the noisy walky) wanted for theft and extortion, over.
The cop: okay. I only have a Kumar and Ram here, anyone’s on wanted list with these names??
(I and my friend simply looked at each other suppressing a smile)
Control room: Not anyone I know of let me check sir, over.
The cop: over.
I felt I almost fit in Sekhar's shoes whoever the hell he was. My reason of being on the road at 3.00 am was probably not convincing, we were asked to empty our pockets, checked for drunken driving, and were asked to hand over the bike's keys. We were soon inside a Toyota Qualis on the way to the police station, while some Policeman rode the Pulsar.
That was the first time I ever went inside a police station. There were at least five half-uniformed men, only one of them was awake. After another 15 minutes of answering another set of questions which included audacious ones like "if I had my underwear on and if I was in to drugs" and serious ones like "If I had my license and an NOC for the vehicle " (I neither had a license nor a NOC, I simply shook my head in the negative), we were allotted a wooden bench on one corner of the room. .
The station was neat, the big binders and papers, the weapons, tables everything was in order. Pictures of yesteryear leaders adorned the walls in symmetry. The wandering of my eyes stopped when I saw two young men in only their boxers crouching inside one of the cells, I started to sweat. After sometime we were offered tea by a boy of probably 15-16, which I gleefully accepted while my friend preferred to sleep sitting upright on the bench.
It was almost 5.00am and a good one and half hours of looking at the wall, when one of the older uniforms summoned us. The cop who had brought us to the station was sleeping on his table with a snore. The old man jotted down only our names and asked us to collect the vehicle at 8.00 am sharp in the morning. We walked almost a mile to my house.
When I woke up it was 8.00 am already. I woke up my friend and we were on another bike very soon in rumpled clothes, half brushed and half made up. The old man was almost leaving his table when we rushed in. He simply gave us the keys and more importantly with no questions. The two men inside the cell were still crouching as they were 3 hours before.
As I got out I saw the Hyundai Accent parked in front of the station, like an angry kid I wanted to break at least one of those shiny glasses.
3.00 am that night: I am not sure if having a cup of tea at this hour of the night is a crime under the Indian penal code But When I and my friend were just about leaving the shop on a Pulsar, I heard a siren whine loud and clear.
"Pondy registration Pulsar, vandiya niruthunge " blared a megaphone, along with the whine. simply meaning " You morons on the Black pulsar stop the vehicle".
I, at first did not remember that the bike's registration number started PY 01 and continued working the accelerator. My friend's hands gripped my shoulders but it was sometime before I realized the graveness of the situation and came to a screeching halt a feet away from the new shiny white Hyundai. The car was perpendicular to the road. The police man's face inside was redder than the indicator on the top of his car. He came out with a scrap pad and a pen in his hand and so did his driver.
The cop: what is your name?
Me: Kumar.
The cop: and yours?
My friend: Ram
The cop: didn't you guys hear the siren?
My friend: yes we did, but...
The cop: at least the yelling over the megaphone?? What do you guys do? Software Engineers? Call centre?
Me: Sir, I am a Power electronics Engineer, with...
The cop: you are a what??
Me: I am an Electronics (He was lost...) I am a software Engineer..
The cop: and you?
My friend: I am running a consultancy.
The cop: running a what??
My friend: Business consultancy, staffing and setting up of BPOs(Obvious reaction of I did not understand a thing on the cops face!!!) er.. I am running a call centre.
Even as the driver was adding more scribbles on his pad, his walky went out loud. “Control room, Control room calling, (number and name of the station were pronounced )"
Control room: “Sir, one more on the list sir”
The cop: yes.
control room : " Male, wheatish, acne marks on face, alleged name Sekhar, mole on mid forehead, left chest, last seen with long hair(couldn't get a few words because of the noisy walky) wanted for theft and extortion, over.
The cop: okay. I only have a Kumar and Ram here, anyone’s on wanted list with these names??
(I and my friend simply looked at each other suppressing a smile)
Control room: Not anyone I know of let me check sir, over.
The cop: over.
I felt I almost fit in Sekhar's shoes whoever the hell he was. My reason of being on the road at 3.00 am was probably not convincing, we were asked to empty our pockets, checked for drunken driving, and were asked to hand over the bike's keys. We were soon inside a Toyota Qualis on the way to the police station, while some Policeman rode the Pulsar.
That was the first time I ever went inside a police station. There were at least five half-uniformed men, only one of them was awake. After another 15 minutes of answering another set of questions which included audacious ones like "if I had my underwear on and if I was in to drugs" and serious ones like "If I had my license and an NOC for the vehicle " (I neither had a license nor a NOC, I simply shook my head in the negative), we were allotted a wooden bench on one corner of the room. .
The station was neat, the big binders and papers, the weapons, tables everything was in order. Pictures of yesteryear leaders adorned the walls in symmetry. The wandering of my eyes stopped when I saw two young men in only their boxers crouching inside one of the cells, I started to sweat. After sometime we were offered tea by a boy of probably 15-16, which I gleefully accepted while my friend preferred to sleep sitting upright on the bench.
It was almost 5.00am and a good one and half hours of looking at the wall, when one of the older uniforms summoned us. The cop who had brought us to the station was sleeping on his table with a snore. The old man jotted down only our names and asked us to collect the vehicle at 8.00 am sharp in the morning. We walked almost a mile to my house.
When I woke up it was 8.00 am already. I woke up my friend and we were on another bike very soon in rumpled clothes, half brushed and half made up. The old man was almost leaving his table when we rushed in. He simply gave us the keys and more importantly with no questions. The two men inside the cell were still crouching as they were 3 hours before.
As I got out I saw the Hyundai Accent parked in front of the station, like an angry kid I wanted to break at least one of those shiny glasses.
I love you Dad
The first day I saw him he was in his starched white clothes, very odd for that dingy, cramped place. He kept looking at me anxiously while I drank at the local wine shop, I thought he was one of those drunkards who have a few rupees less for their second drink. When I was just about leaving, I gave him a few coins. He asked me what I wanted and I blinked. It was actually the first day at work for him.
I sat down and I suggested him change to some less clean clothes. He came back after a few minutes, in a black but clean shirt and soon found people seeking him. His job is to clean the ever-dirty tables, collect the empty bottles and of course wait on drunken people for a tip. That day I had very little money left in my pocket; I emptied it and walked back home.
The shop is on the way to my house and I saw him often. For some one who once owned a grocery shop in Tuticorin, he shows no signs of discomfort working there although I had seen him wiping his eyes sometimes. Every time I see his eyes wet, he pretends and with a beautiful smile.
He is 52 yrs old, married and has a son and a daughter, both at college. I am not sure if his family knows about his whereabouts or the nature of his job but by the first week of every month he sends them all the money he had carefully saved the previous month.
When I first saw him, it had been almost five months since he had come to Chennai. A new super market in the same street as his shop had put him out of business and soon in a pool of debts. When the moneylenders had started to frequent his house, his son and daughter had gone against him, blaming him for everything and one night he finds himself a seat inside a train to Chennai.
Nothing seems to have changed for him though; his beautiful daughter (I forgot her name), his ever-angry son Muthu, his faithful wife Aandaal, the house that he once owned, the shop he dreams of running again someday, everything is on his head and all the time. He even carries around a photograph of the four of them together at Ooty, in good times.
I still go to the wine shop, albeit rarely and sometimes just to see him. I see Arogiyaraj running around with bottles, helping people and cleaning the tables. He is thinking of a day job now and is already working as a security (part time) in one of those big apartments in Thiruvanmiyur. He makes sure I am being taken care, even when he is not available, but for some reason doesn’t accept my tip these days.
I don’t know why, but everytime I leave the shop after seeing him, I find myself saying, “I love you dad”.
I sat down and I suggested him change to some less clean clothes. He came back after a few minutes, in a black but clean shirt and soon found people seeking him. His job is to clean the ever-dirty tables, collect the empty bottles and of course wait on drunken people for a tip. That day I had very little money left in my pocket; I emptied it and walked back home.
The shop is on the way to my house and I saw him often. For some one who once owned a grocery shop in Tuticorin, he shows no signs of discomfort working there although I had seen him wiping his eyes sometimes. Every time I see his eyes wet, he pretends and with a beautiful smile.
He is 52 yrs old, married and has a son and a daughter, both at college. I am not sure if his family knows about his whereabouts or the nature of his job but by the first week of every month he sends them all the money he had carefully saved the previous month.
When I first saw him, it had been almost five months since he had come to Chennai. A new super market in the same street as his shop had put him out of business and soon in a pool of debts. When the moneylenders had started to frequent his house, his son and daughter had gone against him, blaming him for everything and one night he finds himself a seat inside a train to Chennai.
Nothing seems to have changed for him though; his beautiful daughter (I forgot her name), his ever-angry son Muthu, his faithful wife Aandaal, the house that he once owned, the shop he dreams of running again someday, everything is on his head and all the time. He even carries around a photograph of the four of them together at Ooty, in good times.
I still go to the wine shop, albeit rarely and sometimes just to see him. I see Arogiyaraj running around with bottles, helping people and cleaning the tables. He is thinking of a day job now and is already working as a security (part time) in one of those big apartments in Thiruvanmiyur. He makes sure I am being taken care, even when he is not available, but for some reason doesn’t accept my tip these days.
I don’t know why, but everytime I leave the shop after seeing him, I find myself saying, “I love you dad”.
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