Creations...

Shubh Vivah (Happy Matrimony)

2011-06-28T01:56:00.000-07:00

Exhausted she sat down on the small cement covering on the drain outside her future home.

She was the center of attention sitting, almost on the narrow road lined on both sides by the drain, which was open at most parts. The small, irregular cemented houses, each colored differently added to the ugliness like the people living in them. These impolite neighbors were curious about the young bride sitting like this and the loud arguments heard from the house; some pretended to do chores and moved in and out of their houses to catch a glimpse of her while others just stood at the variously shaped gates of their walled houses to stare at her.

She wore a wedding dress, a red and gold salwar kameez. Her palms decorated with heena and hands filled with the auspicious red and white bangles called chooda. She still wore jewelry from her wedding, the gold pendent on her forehead, the gold necklace and bangles were all her father’s life savings.

Suddenly, her eyes welled up and she sighed out loud. She clutched to the red suitcase of her belongings and white handbag so tight that her nails left an impression on her palms. She had to; this was her world, till she was allowed inside.

This was all so different; it was all supposed to be so different. As a kid, all blessings were that she will marry a prince. As a girl all dreams were that she will have a perfect marriage. Her grandmother often said that she wanted was a life long enough to see her wedding. The dolls and their dresses; love stories; romantic movies and soul-stirring music all embellished her dreams like precious gems.

Then reality smacked. She was not the most beautiful and most amazing girl that her family believed she was; she was not the princes that every prince wanted to marry. She rejected many and many rejected her, before the alliance of dreams became the most daunting tasks for her parents.

She lived through a nightmare when on days she wondered why she could not get married when everyone seems to be tying knot; on other days she believed that she was complete and could lead a beautiful life, happy by herself; on some other days she was reminded that adjusting in name of matrimony will be so much better then the loneliness of old age and there were days when she thought the marriage will at least bring an end to this turmoil.

Her father was obsessed to get over his last responsibility. Her mother almost frenzied with the thought that she would leave her daughter without a family when she died. All intensions were good. But she needed a groom to get married.

Desire was taken over by logistics just like that dreams with overpowered by reality. The qualities sought in the groom fell to the bare minimum and her inputs if negative were rubbished more promptly.

When her marriage was finally fixed, it was relief for most of her family; including her. It was the destination of a long winding road; an answers to her prayers and a reason for her to resume her life.

Her wedding was no different than other Indian weddings. Her parents spent their life savings in preparation of the reception, dinner and ceremony besides spending on her ornaments and dresses. It was the moment of their social pride, childish wishes and desperate attempt to woo their daughters to-be family. That is why when the groom asked an enormous amount of dowry at the wedding, they could not say “yes” and when her brother’s jobless friend proposed to accept her as his bride, they could not say “no”.

They let go of her with their blessings and a suitcase.

Her forlorn eyes stared without reading at the tag on her suitcase, which said Shubh Vivah (Happy Matrimony)

Part 5: High on Life (Chapter 4)

2011-02-25T05:44:00.000-08:00

The direction of life was already decided for Sameer yet he took his time preparing to face it.

He could no longer attend his classes and his work lost its sheen because it was no longer supporting the big picture. He was left with only two thoughts, the first one was what to say when he would call his dad and tell him about coming back to the folds of family and family business. There was no way he could salvage this situation. He had lost a lot of time and money along with a lot of face.

The second thought was more intriguing. He wondered how Kusum was able to create to the perfect lie. He gave thought to many characteristics that he could have used to fabricate his own little lie of a make-believe girlfriend. What combination of religion, caste, family background and education would have intrigued his parents to accept her without meeting her? Also will they ever have the patience and wait for a call from her parents…

Obviously, he could not think even close to an acceptable profile.

While his life was stagnant, it was a relief to see Kusum soar in her endeavors. In fact her calls were the only events in his life to look forward to. She was doing great working at client’s location. Beyond work also her confidence increased leaps and bounds. Now she was into marathons, skiing, toastmasters and driving cars.

Finally one morning when he realized or rather confessed to himself that there was no easy way to break the news and picked up the phone. The last thought as he dialed his father’s cell number was that he will not be in Bangalore when Kusum returns and will probably never meet her ever again in his life…

*********************************************************************************

The call was a nightmare. It was nothing like he imagined. It was almost like his father was waiting for the call. Besides his usual acknowledgment umms and aahhs the only question he asked was the date of Sameer’s return home.

Baffled Sameer could not decide if his father was too wise or his own failures were this obvious. He even called up Kusum in the middle of the night to share with her the weird reaction of his father. But Kusum just laughed, she was relieved that he was returning home.

Before closing the conversation, Sameer finally poised the question. The “only other thought” that drove him crazy. Kusum replied with her characteristic innocence, killing him on second count with her words….”Sameer, I told them your story, i told them I love you”

Part 4: High on Life (Chapter 3)

2011-01-10T19:39:00.000-08:00

The news and need for Kusum to travel for work changed the deadlock of delimma for her.

Sameer never under estimated the importance of his new found friend in his life. When kusum announced that she needs to travel to United States for six months within next 3 weeks, it was a setback to his not-going-anywhere life. Sameer decided to enjoy her presence thoroughly for these three weeks. He was wrong, Kusum’s planning, purchasing and packing for her travel was all consuming.

The only time Sameer really got to spend with her was when he accompanied her to her chores. He took her around for shopping, tried to run her errands and hang around her while she stressed. He was very tempted to ask her how she got permission from her parents without finalizing the all important alliance. Of coarse he did not ask any such politically incorrect question; there was no need for it.

He played along to the hysteria, knowing that what he was getting was a privilage. He was aware that there was no relationship or commitment to even encourage them to stay in touch. And if the madness of preperation of the travel for her assignment was any indication, she was predicted to have no time for him when her assignment actually started.

The dreadful Friday night came too soon, when he had to drop her at the airport. They talked as if this evening was no different then their meetings at the coffee shop, discussing varied impersonal topics from IPL to movies to work-life balance. Of coarse ‘miss you’s would have been inappropriate, but even the ‘take care’ was kept short and abrupt.

The next staurday felt heavy and dark. It was a realization after the escapism. It felt like coming out of a good movie knowing that it’s over and life oblivious of all the good time still stood outside the movie theatre unchanged.

The bleek picture of life was loud and clear. He never informed anyone that he has finally flunked his semester exams earlier that week. The problem was that he did not even feel guilty. MBA was a mistake he knew it. The only problem was that admitting this to his family and returning back with miminum possible embarassment.

The mundane act of going from home to bar to college was a little more painful. Her calls, meetings and even crazy SMS’s were sorely missed. He started deabting a lot about going home. Actually he was sure he wanted to go home, he started debating on the reason he will provide on abandoning his purpose and returning home defeated.

*****************************************************************************

It was difficult to explain his feelings when she finally called him the following Saturday and chimed a so-familier-and-so-yearned “Hi”. He gasped as if his face was finally hit by the breeze he was waiting for breathing.

If was difficult to express what he went through in the last week. At times he knew she will call, their friendship was not so frail. At times he thought she will not call, there was not really reason to maintain their mere social relationship overseas. At time he wanted to pray that she should call but stopped himself from the immature act. At times he did not even wanted to admit he wanted her too call. While he swayed between hope and cynicism, there were times when he simply needed her to call, just because everything was so much more difficult without her warm smile.

Of coarse, the week was not that long for her. From finding a shared accomodation to learning the subway routes of New York to the awesome new officeto the first snowfall that she witnessed to buying her new iphone and getting a india calling card, eveything was an adventure. She was as charming and as talkitive as ever.

Her stories of triumphing the unknown with her grit and charm were ample. After she caught up on all the initial excitement the lack of participation from Sameer’s part became more and more obvious. Before she could misunderstood that Sameer was not interested in her momlouge, Sameer told her about his new compunding problems.

She was very upset to know he failed his exams. “ You idiiot!! You are wasting money and time both doing that goddamn course. Go back home Sameer. You definitely don’t want to study. And your job at the bar sucks too. You have your own family business. No one with a good options of being self employeed work at some idiotic bar as a manager.” “Please go back.” She requested.

Since the uncomforting reason for Sameer to pursue his not-really-a-dream education, he decided to ask the haunting question. It was also relevant to his return home. “I have a question” he said softly. “how did you convince your parents for your travel? They did not insist on marriage?”

“Actually” she said confidently “I lied” with some pride seeping in her tone.
“Lied about what?” he was all confused.

“I told them I have a boyfriend. I came up with a make belive story on I like this son-in-law material guy. I also told them how he also wants to marry me and is trying to convince his parents. As soon as he is successful, his parents will ask for my hand from them” she shared the secret.

“What?” he struggled to absorb this rather imaginitive and daring approach.

Part 3: High on Life (Chapter 2)

2011-01-02T23:58:00.000-08:00

He was happy to have found Kusum. She occupied almost all his thoughts now. His studies suffered like never before.

Kusum had found a friend too. She could talk to someone about the problems of her life, actually problem. There was this one single but all absorbing problem of her life. Her marriage!!

She was taurmented by the reasons and pressure to get married. Meeting prospective suitors were torturous. To meet a stranger and evaluate through small talk the compatebility for a life time realation was killing. The drama aound caste and horoscope in educated families was obnoxious. The fact that she was very happy being single and had no wish to get married, made the need to bend backwards to get married all the more painful.

She always ended by sharing her feelings with Sameer a lot mainly because she came to drink whenever she was upset. Her friends told her that getting drunk and being tipsy will help her feel better about a sitaution which she could not reclaim anyway. Personally she did not like drinking; it was like blinking your eyes when confronted by a monster. Also she absolutely dreaded puking. But ofcoarse she has started using it to get rid of the suitors she did not like…..

Sameer felt honored being her confidant, he tried help her by rationalizing and simplifying her ordeal. He always tried to convince her to talk to her parents rather then getting this worked up. Each time Kusum used to loose her cool “Are you crazy? Dad says my marriage is his biggest responsibility and mom tells me how important it’s to have a companion in life.” “It does not matter what I want and when. I am already getting old and all good suitable guys are getting married to others.”

Sameer loved to talk to her, though she was for most part a girl entangled in herself. The pathos of want and need continued… where she wanted to kae her parents happy but needed her independence.

They met relguarly now mostly outside the bar as his responsibilities increased after the manager was fired. He was the new intrim manager till a new one got appointed.

She again came to the coffee shop in a bad mood that Sunday morning, so he tried to talk again about what was bothering her. ”May be you want to get married but just not go the arranged married route”. “what?” she snapped. “How else do you get married?” she asked.

He realized she was too mad to appreciate his tangential thought but still decided to speak his mind, “fall in love.”

“And how do you fall in love? Go to forum each evening with a begger’s bowl. Ah sameer! You are so immature” she said shaking her head in disappointment.

“Hunh!! Why am I immature?” he was offended. “just because I study? Well I actually worked before returning to school, you know that right?” he blasted and added after a pause “ and I am only an year younger to you.”

It was her chance to frreak out now.”How do you know my age?” She was furious. “Mam, you flash your ID each time you buy drinks. One more reason for not to drink I say.” He concluded galantly like he has scored against her.

She now wanted to change the topic. “You were happy working with your father. Why did you feel the need to study? You hardly study now, being manager out here.”

“Ahhh… I wanted to study and gain knowledge, there is so much to learn you know.” She continued to look at him, waiting for the answer, the real one. He paused, he struggled and then said quitly “They wanted me to get married.”

Part 2: High on Life (Chapter 1)

2010-12-28T23:04:00.000-08:00

While he climbed the stairs of the three storied house where he had rented a one room and kitchen on his return; all others were leaving to start the weekend.

Sameer settled down with a cup of coffee and the book. He stared at the same page for fifteen minutes before giving up. Business management was the worst subject ever. Actually he was working with his father and grandfather since he was eighteen in their garment export business. What they taught in MBA was the glorified and complicated version of the wisdom he learned first hand. After all there were very few ways to make profits legally.

Also after being brought up close to the family, his sensibilities were different. He saw society and alcohol in a different light. He saw people dying and homes breaking by alcoholism; in the society where he was brought up drinking was not a recreation.

He went back to work the next day. Work was more interesting when the manager is missing. Actually Sameer was the most experienced guy in the bar and he assumed the managers role. He liked this responsibility. He worked very hard to complete the pending finances and when he stepped out of the manager’s cabin back to the bar he saw a familiar face.

It took him some time to recognize Kusum. She has left her hair open, wore no specs and looked pretty in a sky blue kurta. When their eyes met, she smiled and waved by just moving her fingers. Sameer walked to her as if he was spell bound. As he approached her, Kusum made the eye contact and said an enthusiastic greeting. She tilted her head and ran her fingers through her hair while asking him how he was.

Sameer found himself grinning like a school boy. It was not about him, any guy who was unexpectedly flirted by a girl would have had that reaction.

'I need my usual, Jack Daniels on the rocks' she said confidently.

Sameer felt the need to bring the drink himself. But by the time he was back kusum was a different person. She looked frustrated and disappointed, even angry.

She explained " I need to meet these boys my daddy shortlist as suitable suitors. It's very painful. They come in all shapes and sizes. I hate meeting them and evaluating them for a shade of sanity. It’s the biggest torutre I person can volenterily out themselves through. This one was such a brag, if he was smarted is college, irreplaceble at work, the best guy around…hunh if he was to be belived he was the superman who decided to walk on ground on his day off.”
“Thank God for making, all men as hippocrates. So if I like a guy I order coke and if I do not like them I order whisky. No Indian men can bear his to be wife to be a habitual drinker. They quickly make an excuse to leave and never return” She said with despise

She hestaitated and said “Why am I telling you all this. You are one of them” like she was inditing him of a crime.

“I am a little different” he said simply. And before she could role her eyes he added” I don’t appreciate either men or women drinking”.

She giggled “And you work here. What an irony.” She leaned forward “So you want to preach me about stop drinking” she teased.

“No. You shouldn’t otherwise there will be no way for us to meet” He replied and blushed.

Part 1: High on Life (Prologue)

2010-12-12T23:41:00.000-08:00

He was happy to finish his shift at 6:00 PM. It was a Friday. Working on the high end bar located in the heart of the biggest IT companies in Bangalore was a blessing and a curse. The tips are good but young men with unlimited money thinking that alcohol will answer all their questions; even the question that life is yet to pose…were too much nuisance.

Though Sameer was not old himself, he clearly looked down on drinking and those who enjoyed it too much. It was an addiction after all, with no justification. At times he wondered if he should stop working here for some extra money and concentrate on his studies.

May be this was better, he felt righteous, mature and grownup as compared to all others who drank just to enjoy the day that repeated itself after every 7 days, Friday… hunh!! how frivolous? The depth and force of life was nothing for them…

He looked outside the glass door to see if it was raining. Rains are always a possibility in Bangalore. He noticed the cititaxi park outside. It was odd. It was too early. He scanned the red dazzling interiors covering the bar and lounge area. There was no one on the verge of passing out or even very drunk to call a cab.

It was then, he notices kusum at the bar. She sat at the tall bar chair staring at the three tequila shots in front of her. She was chubby with her hair tied back in a pony tail. He noticed the red and yellow dupatta wrapped around her neck. In fact she wore a red and yellow salwar suit. The thick glasses gave her, actually accentuated the ‘behenji’ look.

She was not the hip like the new age movie heroines they show boozing in the new chick flicks. Sameer walked towards her. He noticed that her feet hardly reached the foot rest of the chair, on the floor near her feet was her laptop bag and she continued to stare at the shot.

“First time?” he asked politely with a smile. She giggled half embarrassed and replied ‘Takes a lot to drink something which will make you puke”.

He smiled. “So you called the Taxi” he said sharing his revelation. She blushed.

Dreams Don’t Pay!!

2010-11-30T22:46:00.000-08:00

He entered the dark room quietly. He hated the ritual to checking the computer logs to watch over his fourteen year old son’s internet surfing. The fact that his son knew and approved made it a little easier though.

He noticed Sahil visited the usual blogs and today searched for hindi poetry over youtube. He felt a little proud that his son had classy taste and a little scared that he was leaning towards arts. He decided to hear one of them.

He found the face and voice familiar. It was Pankaj Sharma, his classmates from college. Oh yes! It was Pankaj. He could not forget the guy who quit engineering to be a poet. It was path breaking and almost impractical decision. It was crazy to work so hard to make it an engineering college and leave it for a career as non-promising and unstable as creative writing.

Pankaj’s unprecedented act caused ripples in the college campus. His act was widely condemned by the lecturers and idolized by fellow students. It was very romantic to renounce the ways of the world and follow ones heart. They now kindled the dream of finding a skill and the demonstrating the ultimate courage to make it their profession.

He quickly returned to the video he was watching and unknowingly started noticing the attire and accessories of the poet. He wanted to gauge if Pankaj made enough money. He could not, as he kept getting distracted the zest and passion of the poet's voice and the glow of contentment on his face.

He returned to the past again, as he was reminded of his own passion. He loved singing. Though he did not trust the exaggerated and biased opinion of his friends, he believed he was descent at it. In fact after Pankaj’s episode, he even approached his father and put forth his plan to pursue his dreams.

His father explained him how reality and dreams were different and they don’t coexist. And the most important dissimilarity was that “Dreams Don’t Pay”.

Even without connection to the literary world, he made a half hearted attempt to recall if pankaj was famous and then in the same thought decided that he was not.

He shut down the computer and left Sahil’s study. He was very disturbed though he could not find if the reason was the enviable content of the man who was living his dreams or the inconclusive proof of his father’s worldly wise wisdom.

Seasonal ...

2010-09-22T17:07:00.001-07:00

She closed her eyes and squeezed her eyes lids firmly, in a desperate attempt to clear her head and concentrate on the task in hand.

She once again looked at the hundreds of potted plants and trees surrounding her. She wanted something green for her home to bring solace to her eyes and positive energy to her surroundings. ‘If only a bunch of greens could bring peace..’ her logical thoughts tried to creep in but was stopped by the friendly voice of the store assistant “Hey!! need help? What are you looking for?”

“Arrrr..Plants” she said in an unsure tone. “How about some chrysanthemum” the store assistant said pointing to the closest bunch of pots with bright colored flowers.

“Oh no!! I do not want any thing seasonal. I am looking for something permanent.” she replied

‘Seasonal! Seasonal!!’ thought the big chrysanthemum flower. ‘You reject me calling me seasonal. Yes, I live for only two months but what is so permanent about your life’

‘Every few years the people who are important in your life change. Every few month what interests you change. Every few days your perception of people and their perception for you change. Every few hours your own mood change… and I am not permanent?’

‘You are defined by people who surround you. When people love you, respect you and need you; you bloom and flourish. You beam in pride, glow in confidence and chirp in happiness. When others or same people question you, ignore you and hurt you; you retreat, you close, you wilt.’

‘There is not an emotion that is yours and that does not manifest because of people around you. You feel love, joy, happiness, trust, confidence, loneliness, sadness, hurt, vengeance, depression, bitterness, hope and disgust as a reaction. These emotions touch you and leave. And then come back to touch you again. And they don’t even wait for a season.’

‘You, my friend, wilt and bloom more then me. You are only reactive like my brother touch me not. You are more fragile then the glass container that holds my likes in the living rooms.’

‘You, nice Lady, are much more seasonal then me’

Other side of the Story

2010-04-28T20:12:00.000-07:00

She came home upset and grumpy again. Work was okay but not office life. She was not able to make friends there. Actually she was not allowed to make friends. Already a group of team mates existed who pretended to be the thickest of pals forming an almost impenetrable gang. She tried to participate in their conversation time each time she heard them laughing and talking in the hallway, but her intrusion was never taken kindly. She was as smart and with same brand sense of humor if not better. She never deserved to be in this socially challenging situation.

The shared apartment she returned to was a mess too. She was greeted with the gathering of shoes at the entrance. The problem with staying with four strangers is that no one wanted to clean. She left her shoes in the middle of the carpet. If no one cares to change this pig sty then why should she.

Now within hours the daily cooking drama of sorts will start. Each room-mate on her designated cooking turn pretends to be either sick or occupied with urgent work issues. Every one liked to comes up with excuses. She thought how she on the other hand was very regular with cooking on her turns, missing her turns if she was eating out.

The stab of pain hit her heart at this thought; she really picked up an ugly fight with people she used to go out with her. She ate the least and still the bill was equally divided between all, small amount of money like this amounted a lot over the time. Just because she put her thoughts in words she was cut off from the group. Suddenly the invitation of the outings started trickling.

She ignored the mess around her and the cornflakes on the carpet that she could feel under her feet and logged on to the networking site to tell a better story.

The Custodian

2010-03-17T01:07:00.000-07:00

“I don't attend weddings.” I repeated myself.

“Wedding is a decision taken by two people to walk down the aisle of life together. It’s a decision on the way they want to live their life. This does not call for the big, extravagant Indian wedding. Imagine if the newly wed are handed the amount to be spent in the wedding they would have such an affluent start in their new, married life. And why all relatives need to be there? This is not a show of strength, why flock the couple? Makes no sense” Phew!! I knew it was gibberish. But I could hardly think straight, especially as my kid sister sat across the room crying. By the way, she was the one for whose wedding my mom wanted me to come down to Mumbai.

I still had no idea if this was a mere case of her having cold feet before the big day or she was genuinely confused and unsure of her decision to marry. There were two disturbing facts here, one that my cousin sister was unhappy and second that I had to act like the big responsible brother. Damn.

I asked again “Ok tell me once again why you do not want to get married and you can say anything but NO CRYING!!” See I may be the elder one but still get very intimidated by the tears of the women I love. “I love Justin” she whispered.

I closed my eyes and winced. So I was in another situation with no easy answers. Clearly my sister loved someone other then the match arranged for her. Obviously she was too scared and did let my uncle and aunt finalize the wedding with the groom of their choice. I now had to choose between being the responsible brother or the righteous nephew.

My one way out could be to tell my aunt about the little situation. She would emotionally blackmail my sister on things from family status to her future to social standing till the kid gives in.

I looked at the puffy, red eyed angel across the room and thought “good for her…I prefer happy endings.”

Part 7: FC-18 (Postlouge)

2009-12-24T11:42:00.000-08:00

Her eyelashes were beautiful …

I felt like an electron that reached its own orbit after emitting energy, an orbit I can be in forever or a coin that now settled at the bottom of a wish tank after changing hands all its life or like a dew drop that left the sky during a rattling storm but found the comforting solace of a glass blade in a remote landscape…

It took me a week to find the love that I searched for years.

Oh besides the fact that I am emotionally challenged and in grip of my own self-absorbing, reality-evading thoughts and mind boggling imagination … another fact is that life is much simpler then expected if we can look without the glass of perception…

Yes I can give all the gyan now because it all unfolded well for me …

She slept blissfully while I lay alongside, sleepless and mesmerized… looking at her …

I still don’t know how mom convinced Retired Major Mahinder Singh Shekhawat to give the hand of his daughter to a Punjabi-Iyenger guy he already hated. He hated me because it was me because of whom his daughter stalled marriage for so long. Every time I ask details, mom says that I can’t comprehend or understand… all I can do is to thank mom everyday for the rest of my life…

I evaluated the chances of waking her up if I kissed her eyes…

The never-ending assignment in Australia, the desperation to be back and get married, the long phone calls, the planning of honeymoon over a web-ex and a seven hour rajasthani wedding …

I kissed, I woke her up, she complained in her very sleepy voice “Go to sleep, tomorrow there is a status call at eight…” and she rolled over to bury her face in my shoulder…

I thanked mom from the bottom of my heart and drifted to sleep…

*** The End ***

Part 6:FC-18 (Chapter 5)

2009-12-22T23:28:00.000-08:00

Problems are problems till we find bigger problems …

Come next week, I tried to keep everything BAU. BAU, Business as usual … uhh ... abbreviations make one sound smart. I guessed I picked this from my managers. Damn I need to be more choosy about my source of education..

Anyway I juggled the need to be at my desk and be with Anjali. Well, I am not the kind of guy who likes to tell people I am busy. Yes Anjali is special but I would be there for anyone… a chat on messenger, a break at food court, a conversation on phone … a broken code in office or an escort on the weekend… for me “I am busy” is a bad word …

As we went through my third coffee with Anjali, I saw Aarti from the corner of my eye. She had noticed me with Anjali previously that day and looked visibility upset at the site. I was perturbed by the thought of hurting her.

This time Anjali also noticed her and waved zestfully at her, obviously oblivious of my unspoken discomfort. I kept quiet.

“You know this is all wrong!” Anjali spoke to me with a sudden insight. “Look at Aarti, she successfully managed to stay away from marriage. Her parents insisted but somehow she convinced them that she will not marry for any reason other then love. And she hails from a conservative rajput family. I can’t even imagine the drama she must have braved.” She was excited to find her source of inspiration.

With what I heard, I could only let out a sigh in response.

As I walked out of the food courts, at the end of the stairs, Aarti called my name. As I turned back, she walked towards me and asked “Coffee?” I chuckled. ‘She just saw me having coffee with Anjali she can’t be serious’ I assumed. But Aarti was not smiling.

When we settled with the coffee, she broke the grave silence “Stop seeing Anjali she said” … “What!!” my mind yelled….”Stop hurting yourself” she repeated…

I blinked twice and glared. She was obviously aware of my feelings and was hurting with the fact that I was exposing myself to more hurt. I stared hard. She blushed. But she brought herself to speak her mind. “Listen, stop this. You are not this kind of a guy”. She meant the guy who could tolerate unwarranted pain. I understood. But I was decided to pretend ”Really! What kind of a guy I am?” I made her more mad at me. “Useless” she snapped in anger. And then felt sorry on her own outburst.

I was not sure if this was the right time to talk. But I knew that even if this was the wrong the time, there would not be any better one. “I am going to Australia. The production bug last weekend made the client ask for a resource at onsite for support”.

Her eyes looked like mine, in peace and shielding the voices of the head. She pain stabbed her hard and it took a lot of time to ask the only ask the one word question she could think of “When?” “By this weekend” I answered.

All events were falling into place in her mind. The obvious analysis for her was that to avoid the pain of witnessing Anjali with someone, I found a way to leave the country…

Things were falling in place …

****************************************

When I reached home I saw masi in the living room. Ahh, everyone refuses to admit but going to a foreign land is still a big deal, I thought. Masi probably came to congratulate mom and reassure her for company in my absence.

“So Cool! We always knew you would do your mother proud” She reacted on seeing me. While she probably was thinking, this useless boy is going to Australia just because he learned some computers while my hard working, well deserving kids got no such easy opportunity. He he he…

I smiled. “So you are all settled… good job, now overseas assignment, now you can get married…” My mom bit her lip, to prevent herself from chuckling. She knew how I hated this beaten conversation.

“I will marry very soon masi” Today I had a new answer. Mom looked at me with astonishment. “Oh so you found a nice Punjabi gal?” She teased. She also wanted to know if the gal was a Punjabi like my late father or a Iyenger Brahmin like mom.

“She is a Rajasthani. Oh I mean a Rajput.” Mom’s jaw dropped. She was not expecting this. Oh no not at all. “Who is it?” masi asked. Her stare now shifting to mom, she felt betrayed that her elder sister withheld facts from her on her only nephew’s wedding. But mom continued to stare at me.

She for better or for worse knew me inside out. But today she needed more explanation around what I was up to.

“Oh mom!” I thrusted a crumpled piece of paper in Mom’s hand. ”This is her Dad’s phone number can you please call him and ask if he will marry off his daughter to me.” I paused “And can you call him after a board the flight, he is retired from the army but still owns some firearms”. Mom burst out laughing.

It was not my sense of humor that tickled her but the relief of seeing me out of the pain and dilemma she saw me struggling with. Masi was still very confused and shooting questions to make sense of the situation. “What is her name?” she asked
`
“Aarti Shekhawat” I smiled.

Part 5: FC-18 (Chapter 4)

2009-12-10T23:14:00.000-08:00

I went behind her and put my arms around. I lowered my head to rest my chin on her shoulder and pleaded “Please don’t leave me… Please don’t go”. She chuckled at the obvious and rare display of my affection, even though she was surprised by my outrageous demand.

Yes outrageous. Mom is a workaholic. I assume she is the best gynecologist in the city based on per her workload …. Her working on off days in wake of emergencies is a more common site then taking an off. Actually I don’t remember the last time when she stayed away from work…

she suddenly turned back…while I was engrossed in my thoughts and asked mocking at me” trouble at workplace or girl trouble…” “No trouble…” I was prompted to say as expected from my adult, all-in-control persona….

Wait a minute …As per the last status the girl I love in marrying someone she don’t want to marry and I am her shoulder to cry on. Another girl confesses “to the whole world” that she loves me, besides me.

Oops!! I hate these thoughts!! they caused enough delay for mom to get her answer. She teased ”Let me know which mandap to make it to and when. I wont like to miss your wedding even for a complex hysterectomy.” The last part was true … I chuckled at my scalpel-crazy mom.

It was obvious that she knows more than what I had told her and also that she does not take my troubles seriously. May be for a person not living the agony this was all very immature and dramatic

Yet, the blanket of fear engulfed me as I saw her leaving the house, I was very scared that voice of my head would drive me crazy on a lonely Saturday. Today was one of the rare juncture when a weekend with no plan seems to be a very bad idea.

She turned back at the door and tried to appease me with her words “You are too young to take this seriously. It will all sort itself out”. I wanted to reply “ yes I know it will all sort out, I just want to know where I will be at the end of it” but I kept silent and smiled.

As I closed the door behind her my mind started chalking the combat plan. How quickly and for how long can I sleep? Should I eat and then sleep so I don’t wake up around lunch time or should I sleep at the earliest without taking the risk of my mind loosing itself in its imagined maze? Phew…

My mobile rang. I dreaded that this would be Anjali. Her pain and agony was unfathomable but the biggest problem was that somehow her talks stopped me from making peace with my loosing her. More then her disinterest in the marriage, her need of my presence and approval kindled hope…

The phone was from office. There was production bug. The team member who called sounded like he was the last man drowning after the titanic had already sank. His message should have been recorded and used by the English professors to teach how to make a complex sentence using the words “shit” “screwed” and “dead” more them once.

When I reached office the work area at office had no resemblance with any other day. Today the air was heavy with stress. The palpitation and throbbing of the team members thoughts resonated all around. The whole team including boss was there. Root cause analysis, salvaging the situation, damage control, face saving, earliest restoration … such things were on mind …Honestly a morning gathering would have had more life…

All members were not in position to fix the issue, actually the real cause of the bug was still unknown but still each of them pretended to be the sincerest, most important, most impacted and most motivated in the room. As if the solemn aura they brought to the environment itself would find and resolve the issue.

Hey issue, by the way the issue was not meteor-showing, hurricane or earthquake… some values on our site got wiped out… Duh!! Real serious stuff… see dollar amount disappearing from a godforsaken website was not my idea of a crisis. I would love to tell the idiots using my site … all the weird issues it silently housed… huh!! Big deal if one came out in open… I have personally coded thousands of logic bloopers when I worked half asleep, disillusioned and at times plain disinterested…

While I though all this… I behaved like all. I talked little, frowned a lot. I generally stared my comp and in sudden outbursts typed prolifically on my keyboard. Heavy sighs and occasional murmurs of disappointed “oh shit!!” were fashioed to remind that I was still around and still trying.

The drama was somehow endearing today … may be because it saved me from myself.

Part 4:FC-18 (Chapter 3)

2009-12-04T22:27:00.000-08:00

I love my job as a software engineer, not because its easy to get if you completed your engineering in any discipline, in any number of attempts from any, just any, college or because the pay is better then the most available options; I like it because I can be happy, ecstatic, crazy, cranky, dreamy, reflective, enthusiastic, indifferent, sad, devastated, hurt, jerk, confused, in love or out of love… my mood, on a good day, it is exposed only to my computer.

“Abhay Manchanda” boss called me. Oh ok so today is not a good day!

He had loads of complains with my work. I am not really aware of the details as while he professed the code of conduct of the work place I was distracted on the motivation of him choosing to adorn a bight red full sleeved t-shirt on his dark, short body cursed with extra fat. I was both amused and absorbed by my thoughts, which I deemed to be more important then his.

I returned to the lonely confines of my cubicle which I shared with four more team members. I checked the mails hoping to find some interesting forward. Just then Aarti came in silently and sat at my desk, next to my monitor. “Hey you” I smiled unable to conceal my surprise. She smiled wearily as her eyes kept looking for the hurt, she knew, existed.

“Today forgot my wallet and now I am starving, so come buy me breakfast” she lied and jumped off the desk. She started walking, giving me no option but to follow to the FC.

It was obvious that she observed me too closely all these days and was aware of my feelings and heart break. She was worried about me. Now I knew why but couldn’t tell her how much better I was after she showed me the unabashed disloyalty of my heart. I so wanted to talk to take away the tension caused by the flurry of questions on her mind. After few failed awkward efforts from my part to start a conversation, she took up that task. We talked long, about everything except the gang and Anjali. She cracked up at my description of my bull-inviting boss … hehehe

Normalcy prevailed. I was really happy at returning the favor of helping me out by pacifying her doubts on my state of mind. Obviously on my return to my desk, my boss was exasperated. I was, for him, the little stubborn boy with wall around me, through which he could not reach and put anything in my head. And since the little boy was not so little … his frustration was justified just like my unreasoned but feel-good rebellion to his authority.

I decided not to push my luck today and settled to work.

The phone rang just then. “I need to talk. Come to FC” it was Anjali. She sounded weird. I darted back to the FC, almost running unmindful of my boss by now.

When I saw her, all my fears of facing her vanished. They were displaced by a deep sense of concern. She looked pale and in a lot of pain.

“How are you?” I asked. She broke into tears in response to my question, inconsolable tears. Shit. This was totally unexpected. I panicked. I had no clue what to say to do, what to say. I looked around; others at the food court were staring at us. “Anjali, control yourself” I pleaded in the lack of more sensitive words.

She tried her best. But the pain and frustration was too much. She did not want to marry. She simply hated the guy. “He is gross. He burps so loudly even at a crowded restaurant. He is manner less. He puts his feet up on the seat in front in a movie theatre. In all public places he shoves and pushes and preaches me to do the same. He bargains at all shops…” her complains were many; though not all seem serious but it was obvious that she had little respect or love for the man her family chose for her.

As I patiently heard her pain and agreed with her in the hope to pacify her, the voices in my heads soared to a new high, my feelings slipped into a new muddle of confusion and I dreaded to evaluate this new turn of events, in the light of my own emotions.

Part 3: FC-18 (Chapter 2)

2009-11-30T19:28:00.000-08:00

My throbbing hurt had left my mind, my heart and my thoughts spinning.

As I got down from the office bus I realized that God had been kind to me for the first time in the day. It was still raining. My eyes started raining too. Damn. I took the alley in the direction opposite to my home, as I knew my eyes were not stopping anytime soon.

Anjali announced to the entire gang she was getting married. I missed the part to whom and when. My brain crashed at the first sentence itself. The all absorbing plight and anguish engulfed me.

I continued walking and crying thinking of the wonderful life. I was crazy about her. She was the coolest girl I ever met. I was mad about everything … her spontaneity, her crazy blabber and even her mood swings.

Of coarse, her thoughts made me cry more; probably I just wanted to cry away her memories. But her memories were neither few nor frivolous to be washed by small drops of salty water.

Tired of crying I moved towards home, now my thoughts were more on how to dodge Mom’s question and her insistence for dinner. My hunger had extinguished long back. I planned to somehow reach my room at the earliest and cry myself to sleep.

Mom probably knew about the state of my heart and she surprisingly provided no obstruction on my way to the room.

Back in the solitary confines of my room, I emptied the contest of this soaked pockets, including my now useless mobile. My instrument of love has no chances to revive after today, like my love.

Love. Shit, tears ran down my eyes again. I wanted to glorify my pain by calling it what it was not. There was no love. I was crazy about from almost from the time a met her. But scared of loosing her by confessing my true feelings, I hid behind the charade of a friend to be and stay close to her.

Random thoughts of pain and anger passed through my head. From accusing my coward self to bring upon this inevitable pain on me to the angry resolutions to move out of the gang forever … reeled in my head. I was almost afraid to go to the office, lest I face her and loose control over my emotions…

I used the most obvious excuse available at workplace …. I told them I was busy with work and stopped the snack breaks. It was killing. It seemed that I was abstaining from life. I secretly wished someone will catch my bluff and uncover my hurt. But it never happened …uhhh actually it has been just three days ….Thursday of the same week when my world shattered …too little time for them to miss me…even though my longing for the old routine was severe.

As I walked towards the parking, all absorbed in my thoughts... Ajay called my name. He ran to join me and slapped my back in an endearing gesture. “What man you also starting working??” he commented with a short laugh. “yeah! Build end date is this weekend” I replied apologetically to the accusation of working. “Oh! Back to normal next week” he wanted to confirm…

“May be!! Hope so!!” I spoke with a clue of tentativeness in my voice. I was afraid to give him any false hope. I was not ready to join the gang and face Anjali anytime soon. “Evening snacks are not same without you. Anjali is all distracted and Aarti would not even consider coming if you are missing from the gang.” He continued.

Anjali is distracted. I hope happy distracted. Marriage is a big decision. May be she is talking to him on phone all the time.

Ahhh!!! I have this amazing ability to stab my own heart with the sting of my own thoughts…

Wait!! What Aarti would not come for the snack breaks if I am not there… I, first time proactively conversed with Ajay to confirm if I got it right. “Hey as if you donn know!! She has a crush on you. The whole world knows” he confirmed. Wow!! The whole world knows… guess that would be the whole world minus one…I had no clue

Aarti was a short, slim and dusky introvert girl, who spoke seldom. Actually she spoke seldom in the group, but as I could recall now, she chatted blatantly when only both of us went to the FC. Her lost look, her smiles, her chatting with me on intranet messenger all seemed to have morphed in a different meaning now.

As I lay in my bed, looking at the fan… which was the witness of my three nights of tears and turmoils… I was shocked my disloyalty … from the conversation with Ajay all my thoughts revolved around Aarti, as I tried to come in terms of this rather encouraging gossip that she had a crush on me.

My pain and despair were clouded by the fluttery hope of myself becoming someone’s love interest.

Part 2: FC-18 (Chapter 1)

2009-11-26T19:36:00.000-08:00

“Crap!!” escaped my lips when my bike's stand hit my shin.
I turned back my head to see if mom was close enough to hear me. No, she was opening the main gate for me at the end of the driveway.

As I rolled out of the house I smiled. This was a usual morning. After too much snoozing I got up late. I had some ironed cloths but no proper shirt trouser combination. I used all my creativity to come up with an acceptable business formal from the options I had. I bit my tongue while eating the breakfast and I am starting from home when I should ideally be in office…. Hehehe .. the usual morning. And yes my shin still hurts.

I will be late again for the status meeting. I hate them. I think the only reason for an early morning meeting is to ensure that everyone is in office by a certain time. And evening status calls are to tell everyone that there is still too much work left and how the workday was not productive enough. And all afternoon status calls are because the boss does not have enough work to keep him occupied. Hehehehe

I received a mail which questioned me on yesterday’s attendance. Probably my security batch is not registering properly on swipe machine. But yesterday? Come on man!! She wore the emerald green kurta … I would have not missed that for a world.

“Abhay” boss called me after the meeting. He again questioned me being late to the office. “Traffic” I said with an innocent smile. This is what I like about Bangalore, I don’t even have to fish for a new excuse everyday. Of coarse, this explanation did not suffice and of coarse, I do not care…

As I settled to pretend working, Anjali called. She needed company for breakfast. I almost chuckled as I imagined boss's expressions if he saw me left my desk soon after his heart felt be-at-office-on-time conversation.

Anjali took forever to decide the dosa wanted to eat. You know why because she is trying to loose weight…what Crap!! Yes she looked plump in the western formals today and her cheeks a little more fuller … I smiled ... She looked cute. She need not sweat about this, I still l… ummm

She was pissed off for some reason. Well I know this because she was not making any eye contact with me. This was an obvious body language sign that she wanted to be left alone. Like a dutiful friend I sat in front of her drinking my coffee and not uttering a word, lest I offend her; though I stole a few glances of her troubled face. Must be work, I lied to myself.

As we were walking out of the food court, Aarti came out of nowhere. She was all smiles to see us, happy at the prospect of finding company for breakfast. Anjali returned to her desk as she had a meeting while I stayed back with Aarti. She was happy; the day seemed to be working for her. In fact, she talked and talked and talked, I never thought she was capable of talking so much. I smiled and acknowledged her words; this is what I usually do the best.

By the time I returned to my desk, it was obvious that Anjali’s mood had rubbed on me. I impatiently waited for the four o’clock snack break as I was sure time spent with the whole gang would definitely cheer her up.

To my disappointment Anjali gave the evening break a miss. Out of the many events in the day what stayed in front of my eyes was her grim face and what stayed in my ears was her sober voice.

A long, snail paced ride back home, a quiet dinner with mom and endless sleepless hours in bed followed… I stared at the moving fan. I hate to confess this was really a usual day…Anjali has been really off lately, unknowingly setting my life on a grim path

As I lay in bed with Anjali’s mood, too scared to reflect on real world I started imagining stories…

Yes I am an introvert because my head speaks. I spin stories in my head. My imaginary characters speak and behave and respond, they keep me company all the time. At times they are a reflection of my frame of mind and at other times they cheer me up. I don’t know the significance of these stories except that they are my companion.

As my hero sank in the comforting arms of his beloved, the warmth of my romantic imagination soothed me and drew me to sleep with an unsaid prayer on my lips ‘Let tomorrow be unusual’.

Part 1: FC-18 (Prologue)

2009-11-22T18:28:00.000-08:00

I don’t know if any body thinks like me…

I come to office only for the traditional three thirty tea break. It’s embarrassing even to confess, even to myself. I am this mature adult 25-year old, who should think about life and money and responsibilities and all such big terms … but my life is defined by a tea/snack break

Even in school I loved the intervals more then my classes but that was general apathy towards studies…this is different…

We have many food courts that serve many cuisines within the office premises; after all I work at one of the biggest IT companies at Bangalore. It is one of the employee friendly arrangements at work…

Our three thirty break is always delayed as one or the other run into some undefined urgent work and seeks a delay of five mins. These five minutes are never five minutes but much more. We work in different projects and different building, the workload is also way different and so is our sincerity towards it. Abhi is usually the most anxious to get the group moving and is most irritated at the phrase ‘just 5 more mins’. Probably he being his efficient self thinks it to be yet another task he should get over with… Me? Oh! I savor it…

Everyone has their own reasons for this break, like Anandi joins us only to stay in our group. What is special about us? Nothing. Just that she is not a charmer and can’t make many friends and want to hold on to even a bunch of PJ cracking idiots, who only came to know each other by the virtue of their names. Ah!! actually by virtue of a brain wave our parents had while naming us…Yuck!! And Yup, we belong to the same training batch.

Ajay and Avi are loitering behind, hoping I will run out of patience and join the coupon queue…then Ajay can come from the side and say …”Long Queue Man, get me a tea and Dosa” and will rather loudly ask Avi if he needs anything … just to prove they are not partners in the crime…

Atul has joined the queue, he is above such petty issues. He has bigger responsibilities on his shoulders. He has to find a wife and that too from the girls eating here, here in the food court located in building 18. He earnestly stares at each and every female dining here. As if his penetrating eyes will impress a girl and his X-Ray vision find his true love… Of coarse he is standing behind a white kurta clad gorgeous girl and at this very movement he is the happiest soul in this FC…

The drama unfolds as usual and as usual I stare without blinking at the stairs leading to the food court ... Ha!! Green again… she is wearing the green kurta… my heart skip couple of beats as she come running….Anjali is late again… She looks around for the usual faces… Of coarse she missed me ...locating Ajay, Avi and Anandi she joins them on the table… she forgot to order again. She probably asks for other when she is pointed in the direction of the queue where Anandi, Abhi and I stand… me with anandi and Abhi behind the angel in white….

I wait for our eyes to meet and when they do…I raise my eyebrows to ask what she wants… she folds all fingers except her thumb and move her thumbs-up fist to her mouth.. she wants the usual, a Pepsi

The Game of Life

2009-05-10T23:21:00.000-07:00

She stepped out of her car and smoothed her dressed nervously. She looked around at a very full parking lot, and her head screamed “IT’S SUICIDE. DON’T DO IT”.

She had no reason to be at this school reunion. This was an event to unabashed show off personal and professional success and she could boast of neither. She was not a ‘successful’ person. She had a modest job, and her biggest failure according to her mother was that she was still single.

She pulled in her stomach to make her less then perfect figure look better; she seriously intended to hold her breath that way for the rest of the party. As she entered the crowded hall full of men, women and children while walking on those uncomfortable and high heeled shoes, her inner voice protested one last time “Don’t put yourself through this, you don’t have to”.

What she faced for next three hours were stories of professional and financial success, the dazzle of the diamond rings, sagas of loving children and fables of perfect marriages. Her classmates with whom she spent her childhood were changed people, they spoke only establish their achievements and outshine each other; as if they were serious competitors in the game called life. They talked about their busy schedules, gym routines for perfect bodies, favorite cars, foreign vacations, perfect house, prodigy kids and some even of well bred pets.

She was disturbed by the fact that she had no stories to share. She could not ignore the look of compassion she got, when she disclosed she taught at a school and was still single; or the look of arrogance that was thrown at her, when they realized of that they had beaten her in the game.

She let out a loud sigh of relief when she retuned to her car. The lonely interiors of her second hand car never seemed so warm and soothing. As she held the steering she noticed there was some yellow paint in the engravings of her ring. Today she taught her class of autistic children how to paint Sun. She smiled as she recalled those smiling faces, most with paint on them. The grey clouds of thought lifted, she realized her game of life was a little different and she was definitely winning it.

Bad Times?

2009-03-15T17:42:00.000-07:00

Today was different.

When she entered her house, it was still evening. She could hear the children play at the garden behind her apartment, which was different then the usual silence of the night. Though her head felt heavy, her arms did not; today she was not carrying her laptop.

Today, she also got fired.

She sank in the sofa as soon as she entered. This was the day she dreaded since the day news of global recession started translating to people around her, loosing jobs. To avoid it, she worked like a slave, toiling day and night. Not to mention the raw deal she took from many to hang-in there, yes this was the expression she used to calm her overworked and stressed nerves.And today the rope to hang in snapped.

But things were not as she expected. No one held her responsible for her losing the job, people around her did not stop to glare at her. And the earth did not stop spinning.

She had no plan for tomorrow. She had no time to set her alarm for. She would have to account for her savings and plan for future. But still what disturbed her the most, was that when she looked back she could not account for her last year.

She wondered what the bad times really were…

Growing Tall

2008-09-18T23:16:00.000-07:00

He looked through the glass windows of his office. All he could see where terraces of surrounding buildings. He took another deep breath, the altitude of his office also seem to point toward his new social position.

He turned back to look at his desk and smiled. The power and position a CEO enjoyed was like a beautiful unfaithful sweetheart, waiting to move on. He has been lately steeling many of them. Each merger he planned made him more compassionate to the people he conquered.

Till recently, he was just another banker with an iron hand; whose conservative approach held his bank back, not allowing it to soar and prosper like others. The growth graphs under his guidance never generated any admiration. He was just another riches to riches story till the economy nosedived.

Soon he seemed to be the last man standing in a war field with casualties all around. And then the inevitable happened, the unhurried growth pace of his bank, which was looked down upon by analyst turned into a sign of maturity and constraint. The B-school turned to study and understand his philosophy.

He smiled again.

Nothing changed beside perception.

His building just became tall as other taller building around him shattered. He picked the remote just in time to unmute the LCD TV on the white wall opposite to his desk to hear the line he spoke to conclude his interview to CNN this morning, “Success is the most humbling experience, if you can understand it”.

Autobiography of a Bullet

2008-07-09T23:06:00.000-07:00

One of my works that got recognition at an online writing competition…

Instrument of Death

When people think of me, they think of power, rage, destruction, death…

I was born in a factory in a small down of Utter Pradesh. It was a dark shanty and my creators were dirty, tired men. I am very costly and precious but my creators hardly benefit from my existence, they say it’s the fault of the social structure of the country. Structure in my view is to organize, if you can’t organize well, what’s the purpose of a structure?

Anyway, I am small, shiny and look almost identical to my creed, yet I pride myself of a luminous heritage. My great great grandfather was born in London and was bought to India in a large wooden ship. That time his kind was very less in number. He died when he was shot to in a brave king’s back. His death brought big gains to the British.
My great grandfather was born in India but for the British. He died and was buried in the wall of a meeting ground, after passing through the heart of an Indian who had come to attend a non violent meeting against the British rule. The place is known as Jaliawalan bagh. His death shook and woke a whole nation.

My grandfather, like his father, was created by Indians for British but he was stolen by Indians and used to kill an English policeman. His martyrdom changed the course of history for India, they say. My father was born in free India. He was created for a goonda, who filled him in his pistol and just with flauting the two, built a lot of money and power. My dad finally died when the goonda was killed by his own brother and his own gun.

I am a believer in destiny. And any one would be, if they witnessed the death of my brother. He was instrumental in trade of death. Yes! Trade of death. He was used by a police inspector to stage fake encounters of members of underworld and win medals. People talked about his bravery and honesty, made movies to honor their real life hero while he made money.

As for me, I have already been bought by a local politician, the elections are near they say. To win the elections and tame the democracy, they need to kill some Hindus and some Muslims…don’t know in who’s chest I will die. I don’t know the last words I will hear will be allah or ram.

Oh I talk a lot about death, but that is because my life is intertwined closely with death. I am a tool of it.

And I understand death like no one. My family has seen it all treachery, bravery, betrayal, cheating and all leading to death. I have seen the many faces, reasons and consequences of death. I have even seen it being traded, by people, organizations and even countries. Some countries use it to buy oil, seriously, what a mockery of God’s creation called life.

...Than Ever Before

2007-02-03T13:44:00.000-08:00

She knew something was wrong. It was morning so she couldn’t be tired, though she felt that way. She took a deep breath and decided she will ask her husband to take her to the hospital when she go back home. She will buy bread and milk real quick, ditch fruits that she can buy later.
She thought she will take the back alley to the grocery shop, which would be shorter distance from the parking lot. After she moved a few more paces, suddenly she felt a flush of heat. And everything was shiny and then blurred. The last thought that crossed her mind was she was falling on her face, how she wanted to change that, but couldn’t and she lost consciousness.

She opened her eyes and saw whiteness all around. She closed again and opened after some time with the hope things would look different. As she was closing her eyes again the thought bolted in her mind, her baby. She fell down, what happened to her baby. She was gripped by the fear, probably the biggest had ever known. She was very scared to open her eyes. For some reason her body felt numb and she could not feel her baby within.

She opened her eyes when she heard footsteps, she saw the nurse holding a white bundle. She let out a loud sigh of relief and tears erupted. The nurse smiled as she understood and came forward to show her the baby without any delay.
“It’s a boy”, nurse said reassuringly.
“What happened” she asked.
“You collapsed on the road, a man bought you here”. Suddenly it dawned to the nurse she had not cared to know the name of the man. All she knew was this lady was not related to this man, a white very beautiful women cannot be related to a black but he was still concerned and waiting outside to know if his unknown friend was fine.
“Do you want us to inform anyone, your family or your relatives?” the nurse asked.
“Can I meet him?” she asked sincerely.
“I will ask him to see you right away”, the nurse left the room, leaving the baby in the cradle. This was a usual practice in such cases, to reassure the worried mother of the presence of their babies.

A man with jeans and dirty black T-shirt entered the room after several minutes. He was in his early 40’s. He was unshaven with unkept hair. He was at the door, not wanting to step in.
“You ok?” he asked in a soft voice as if not comfortable being heard.
“Yes”, she said. He turned to leave.
”I really want to thank you for saving my baby”, she said, she wanted to talk and tell him how grateful she was.
“No problem” , he murmured. He wanted to leave.
“Can you please tell me your name? I will like to name my son after you. You gave him the life, I almost lost for him.” her voice very emotional.

“Don’t, I am not good.” The man said, suddenly very hurt her.
“Pardon me” she asked as she could not hear him.
”Don’t give him my name, I am not good.” His words were clearer this time.
“You saved him” she said loudly, they were having a conversation across the room.
“Ya”, he murmured and started to leave the room. She tried to get up to stop him so that she could finish what she wanted to say. Only that stopped him from leaving, as he reluctantly came back to the room to make sure she stayed in bed. She saw him closely now. He was probably younger than what he looked, his left ear pierced and eyes surrounded by dark circles.

“I don’t know how to say but I am so grateful to you for saving my little boy. I want to know your name so I can give my son your name, so that both of us can remember what you did for us.” she explained on her and her son’s behalf.
He neither looked at her nor replied. He was not looking at the baby in the cradle.
“What is your name”, she asked a little impatient.
“I am no good” he said.
“What is you name? its ok if you don’t want to share, its just a request.” She was suddenly conscience that she might be acting stubborn.

“I am a murderer, you cant call your boy with my name”, he said closing his eyes in pain. She was shocked; she waited for him to continue. Somehow she had more patience than ever before.

Not hearing a reaction, he opened his eyes and turned his face to look at her. He was surprised not to see any disgust.
“I killed a boy, my boy. When I beat my pregnant wife, I got myself drunk enough to kill my own son. My name is not good, if I kill my own family. ”looking with disgust at him hands.
“Me not good.” He said pouring out the grief of his heart in one go, it seemed for the first time.

“What was that you wanted to call your boy? I mean what you wanted to name ….” she asked. “James” he replied softly cutting her short, not sure of the relevance of the question.

“Then may be we should call him James. And you can be his godfather. You can come over and meet him. And when he grows a little old, you can play with him and never hurt him.” She said with clarity, confidence and maturity than ever before. He looked at the first time at beautiful crystal green eyes, and then slowly towards the baby in the cradle. Still unclear of what was happening.

The door was swung open by a tall good looking man, very anxious to see his wife. “What happened, you ok?” he asked as he barged in.
”I am fine, thanks to this gentleman”, she still didn’t knew his name. Her husband looked a little surprised to see a middle aged, poor, black man present in the room.
“He is the godfather of your son James.” She said answering her husband’s quizzing looks and giving a man reason to live, something very different, something better than ever before.

Happiness

2007-01-31T17:14:00.000-08:00

One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all I needed to buy happiness. Yes, seriously. A coffee. Nothing makes me feel better, refreshed and energized then a hot, bitter coffee in the cold winter of Chicago.
As I sat in the coffee shop, looking at the snow covered pavement and very limited number of people passing by. A high pitched voice of a girl, full of pain diverted my attention. She was very sad. Her parents didn’t seem to care for her. They never respected her views, plans or needs. They refused her a holiday at Europe. The captain of the soccer team at her high school, who I understood from her description, was the most amazing man alive on the face of this earth, was not attracted to her like many other not so good looking men. And then there was this new girl who had joined the school recently, and was challenging her status of the prettiest girl in school.
She spoke amidst tears; regularly blowing her nose into the tissues that her understanding friend was supplying her. I turned my head to look at a sixteen, may be seventeen year old, very beautiful young lady. Her green eyes and silky blond hair were beautiful and she was genuinely grieved.
Suddenly I thought about my life. It had been ages since I thought about my life; I hardly find time for it.
I never had parents. Some very kind nuns who found me in the garbage can along the roadside, in a city of kerala in India, decided to raise me. My upbringing included a lot of prayers and studies. I still remember when I was beaten with a cane, till I could not feel my hands, for coming second in class sixth. I always topped my classes after that episode. Though it was much later that I realized the reason of such treatment was my guardians understanding that nothing but education could salvage my life. They were so right. And god was so kind to give them this understanding.
My friends are many, though I don’t remember any of them supplying me any tissues. God made me an instrument to happiness for many of them when I treated their children in the city hospital. They remember me years after their kids got discharged from the hospital and some even after the sad demise of their kids as they believe I did all I could do, to save their little angels.
Vacation, I had 8 years back when I went to Uganda, as a member of team of doctors to help children hit by the civil war. I sat on the elephant back. I will be indebted to god for that trip. I meet both my kids there, whom I subsequently adopted and bought here with me.
And the man in my life, my husband. He was the fire fighter who saved me, after our ambulance rushing a patient to the hospital, met with a serious accident. Oh my survival was a miracle. God is so kind.
About being attractive, I don’t know if I am one and I don’t care to be one. When I first met my husband , I have metal equipment pierced in my chest and left leg, so I am sure looks can’t be important. But I want to be more useful, definitely. There is so much for me to do, I should be returning to the hospital. Grace the lord who let me help his people.
I turned around again to see the poor young girl in pain one last time, and said a small prayer for her. Then I took my crutches and as I leaned on them to stand up, I thanked god again. He has kept the price of happiness so affordable for me, one dollar and eighty seven cents.